Thirsting After Fictional Characters

Saga | 23 | She/Her

[writingstreetspirit]

Hi, I’m Saga and I sometimes write! English is not my first language so I apologize for any spelling errors. I am always here if you’d like to talk about anything <<3 Requests are open! :)

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[writingstreetspirit]

Which character would you be interested to read about?

Bucky Barnes

Steve Harrington

Azriel

Other (comment below)

Voting ended onMar 22

While I do write stories for and about characters that I feel like doing, I’m also wondering what you guys would personally like to read. I’m currently working on a Bucky piece, but I’ve started thinking of writing for Leon Kennedy (Resident Evil), if there is any interest in that? Feel free to let me know 🤗

[stantastic-association]

Hey Barbie!! I've been looking for you everywhere!

Calm down, no need to stress! You look perfect as always Barbie! I'm sure every person in the house will be drooling over you as soon as we walk in.

How many Boys? Well, when I scooped the scene, there were eighteen bedrooms to choose from!

Oh please, that's nothing! Mojo Dojo has like- a bazillion bedrooms, now come on! They're waiting for us inside!

April 10th✶⋆.° The Hand Plants, The Heart Reaps @buckytakethewheel

౨ৎ Paring: Landscaper!Bucky X Home Owner! Reader

౨ৎ Blurb: You never planned to return to the quiet countryside, let alone inherit your late grandmother’s weathered cottage and overgrown garden. Stressed and city-worn, you hire local landscaper Bucky Barnes to tame the chaos in order to honor her memory. But what begins as a simple restoration blooms into shared stories of loss, second chances and a path to starting over.

౨ৎ Themes: (SMUT) strangers to lovers; slow burn; she falls first/he falls harder

April 13th✶⋆.° Silver Linings @ornateglass

౨ৎ Paring: Miner!Bucky X Well Off!Reader

౨ৎ Blurb: A lucky strike sets your family in the lap of wealth, drawing you into a world of status, expectations, and away from your childhood friend, Bucky. As a worker in your father’s mine, he knows he’d never have approval for your hand. Will his feelings stay buried? Or will love find its silver lining?

౨ৎ Theme: (SMUT) Set in 1885, friends to one-sided enemies to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn hurt/comfort

April 14th✶⋆.° Earned It @phoenix-in-writing

౨ৎ Paring: Massage Therapist!Bucky X Client!Reader

౨ৎ Blurb: While on vacation, your best friend books a spa day for you to loosen up. A luxury spa, the hottest masseuse you've ever laid eyes on, and the slip of a sound lead to a very not normal massage. But in your defense...he had very good hands and a flexible definition of tension relief.

౨ৎ Theme: (SMUT) Vacation fling, porn with zero plot, inappropriate use of massage oils + towels

April 15th✶⋆.° Slippery Slope @stanmarvelous

౨ৎ Paring: Ski Instructor!Bucky X Student!Reader

౨ৎ Blurb: Bucky Barnes likes order on the mountain: organized lessons, predictable guests, and smooth days on the slopes. Unfortunately, one woman spends the day unintentionally getting in his way. When they finally meet at an après-ski party, he challenges her to prove she’s more than just a tourist with a camera.

౨ৎ Themes: (SMUT) pushing professional boundaries, strangers to lovers.

April 16th✶⋆.° Jungle Fever @ornateglass

౨ৎ Paring: Zoo Keeper!Bucky X Horticulturist! Reader

౨ৎ Blurb: Two shy, clumsy people secretly in love with each other and a bottle of pheromone spray. What could possibly go wrong?

౨ৎ Theme: (SMUT)Sex pollen, friends to lovers, mutual pining

April 17th✶⋆.° Smartest In The Room @colettebarnes

౨ৎ Pairing: Substitute Teacher!Bucky X Student!Reader

౨ৎ Blurb : James Barnes, the substitute professor no one asked for, seems determined to prove you’re nothing more than predictable. You think he's condescending. And yet somehow, every argument between you feels less like an academic debate and more like a problem neither of you wants to solve. Because whatever this is, it has an expiration date.

౨ৎ Themes: (SMUT) Academic rivals dynamic, bantering/arguing as flirting, slow burn

April 18th✶⋆.° Taste Test @metal-armed-muse

౨ৎ Paring: Chef!Bucky X Sous-chef!Reader

౨ৎ Blurb: Bucky Barnes doesn’t lose control. He doesn’t blur lines. But when his new sous chef looks at him differently, control doesn’t feel so important.

౨ৎ Theme: (SMUT) Inappropriate workplace relationship, power imbalance, grumpy!Bucky to soft for reader!Bucky

April 20th✶⋆.° The Long Way back To You @phoenix-in-writing

౨ৎ Paring: Veterinarian!Bucky X Best Friend!Reader

౨ৎ Blurb: After years of traveling abroad, you are called back to your hometown to help settle your grandmother's estate. You expected to quickly sell the house and return to your life in the city, but an injured bunny leads you straight back to your high school sweetheart...and a life you thought you wanted to leave behind.

౨ৎ Themes: (SMUT) childhood friends to strangers to lovers, second chance love, a jealous boyfriend, slight hurt/comfort

April 22nd✶⋆.° Dead Stop @buckytakethewheel

౨ৎ Pairing: Mechanic!Bucky X Mechanic!Reader

౨ৎ Blurb: Bucky Barnes doesn’t do favors. Everything has a price; that’s how he’s kept his garage and himself intact since the end of the world. Then there’s you, the rival mechanic down the road who refuses to take a single scrap of bread for a radiator flush. But when a freak storm destroys his workshop, Bucky's left with nowhere to go but your grease-stained bay and forced to face every choice he's never allowed himself to make.

౨ৎ Themes: (SMUT) apocalypse au; enemies to lovers; forced proximity; mentions of death & end of the world

April 23rd✶⋆.° Love, B @planetbucky

౨ৎ Paring: Librarian!Bucky X Professor!Reader

౨ৎ Blurb: Bucky Barnes falls in love with you, his gorgeous literature professor, on his first day of college. Four years and a degree later, he’s one of the librarians at the very same college he attended, and now there’s nothing stopping him from asking you out… If not for one tiny detail: his spectacularly clumsy and painfully shy nature. That’s when his colleague, several romance books and a pen come to his aid.

౨ৎ Themes: (SMUT) younger man x older woman; college au; secret admirer trope; public indecency

April 24th✶⋆.° Taming Bullet @elixirfromthestars

౨ৎ Pairing: Ex Racer!Bucky X Childhood Best Friend!Reader

౨ৎ Blurb: James Bucky “Bullet” Barnes hasn’t taken a proper break from his racing career in years. Feeling homesick and a little lost in life, he decides to take an extended break and go back to his hometown. What he doesn’t expect to learn when he gets back, is that you and his sister Becca are no longer best friends. Not only that, but no one’s heard from you in years. And Bucky fears his biggest regret, a mistake he made years ago back in his college years, is the cause of that.

౨ৎ Themes: (SMUT) childhood friends to enemies to …?, ex best friend’s brother, second chance romance, reunion & revenge

April 25th✶⋆.° Vital Refractions @sheriff-bodecker

౨ৎ Pairing: Paramedic!Bucky X Coworker/Bestfriend!Reader

౨ৎ Blurb: You and Bucky have always been close, close enough that everyone else noticed a spark long before you did. But after a shift leaves you both strung out, comfort blurs into something heavier, then when guilt tells him to pull away, you’re left fighting for the truth of what you did and what it meant.

౨ৎ Themes: (SMUT) (first; not overly detailed, second; full on), fluff & angst, traumatic shift (not detailed), miscommunication, friends to something to lovers, arguments!!

April 26th✶⋆.° Human Nature @sunday-bug

౨ৎ Pairing: Ranger!Bucky X New Ranger!Reader

౨ৎ Blurb: Just when Ranger Barnes thought he was done mentoring rookies, he’s stuck with you: the eternally optimistic newbie with a knack for baked goods and novelty hiking socks. You’re looking forward to a memorable first season in the park, and you’re determined not to let the grumpy, albeit handsome veteran ruin it for you.

౨ৎ Themes: (SMUT) grumpy x sunshine, age gap, he falls first

April 27th✶⋆.° Slow Ride @barnes-babydoll

౨ৎ Paring: Tow truck driver!Bucky X Rich girl!reader

౨ৎ Blurb: James Buchanan Barnes. Charmer. Tow truck driver. Oh, and someone who completely grinds your gears. You hope your first encounter with him is the last. Until…the accident. Accidents happen. No biggie. You didn't break anything when the airbag deployed. Maybe your ego is a little bruised, but you'll be just fine. The worst of it isn't even the damaged car; it's the fact that when you call for a tow, that same man with the annoyingly perfect smile and ego the size of Jupiter shows up to help you. It seems like the universe is either out to get you or trying to push you and Bucky together.

౨ৎ Theme: (SMUT) Enemies to lovers, forced proximity, minor injuries

April 28th✶⋆.° La Petit Mort @miraclediviner

౨ৎ Paring: Mortician!Bucky X Lady Death!Reader

Blurb: With 13 years of private practice experience under his belt, Bucky had built a solid routine for himself. Be in the building by 5:00 am, meet families through the mornings, take care of cremations through midday, and embalm bodies through the evening. Its stability, he's never strayed from it. That is, until an unfamiliar companion lurking in the mortuary's halls visits him in the dead of night.

౨ৎ Themes: (SMUT) Strangers? to lovers, angst... , unexpected visits, death, public sex

April 29th✶⋆.° Drive You home @navybrat817

౨ৎ Paring: Taxi Driver!Bucky X Passenger!Reader

౨ৎ Blurb: You’re Bucky’s favorite passenger. He knows your schedule by heart. The same day, time, and location. You’re kind. You talk to him like he’s more than just the man behind the wheel. You always tip well.

He can’t help but fall for you.

But he’s just a taxi driver. You deserve better than that. Better than him. So, he keeps things professional… until you lean on him one fateful night when the world feels too heavy.

He doesn’t just want to drive you home anymore.

He wants to be someone you can come home to.

౨ৎ Themes: (SMUT) Pining, slow burn, hurt/comfort, angst with comfort, sick family member

April 30th✶⋆.° Classroom Management @ladymiseryy

౨ৎ Paring: Coach!Bucky X Teacher!Reader

౨ৎ Summary: Coach Barnes is everyone’s favorite. The students love him, parents love him, you love him. How could you not? He’s kind, funny, undeniably, tragically handsome. And your best friend.

You only wish you loved him a little less. Maybe then you could move the fuck on.

౨ৎ Themes: (SMUT) friends to lovers, jealousy, pining, not so unrequited love

April 31st✶⋆.° South of the Sun, East of the Nile @miraclediviner

౨ৎ Paring: Archaeologist!Bucky X Archaeologist!Reader

౨ৎ Blurb: Between early morning, dust behind your eyes, and uncomfortable cots, your dream job is turning out to be different from what you hoped. Lucky for you, a fresh opportunity has fallen into your lap. You're being sent to the Temple of Bastet with new technology to look for lost artifacts. Bad news, the co-leader of your expedition is the infamous Bucky Barnes. Casanova to some, shit head to others. A career-defining opportunity lies before you. Do you have what it takes to get the job done?

౨ৎ Theme: (SMUT) Co-workers to lovers, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, one bed trope

So Barbie, what do you think? Pretty hot right!

*Sigh* So many boys to choose from, so little time. That's alright, we'll just have to handle this buffet-style!

Hey! Sharing is caringbaby, what's mine is now yours!!

I gotta gotta go! I have a Tea party at eight, but the boys said that they're excited to see us on the 10th for their month-long party!

Hope to see you soon!! Bye Barbie!!

[writingstreetspirit]

I sure will be well feed in April! 💗✨

[planetbucky-deactivated20260321]

VIBE CHECK

18+ | MDNI

pairing: best friend!bucky barnes x female!reader

summary: your best friend has been in love with you since you were kids. he makes sure you don't skip meals, shows up at your dorm during late-night study sessions, scowls at campus idiots trying to get your attention... and apparently now he even offers to fuck you to give your brain a break.

warnings: she/her pronouns for reader; set in college; best friends to lovers; best friend!bucky; whipped!bucky; protective!bucky; reader has hair; size difference; light angst; unrequited love (according to bucky); mutual pining; jealousy & slight possessiveness; swearing; fluff; he uses A LOT of pet names & basically behaves like a boyfriend?; smut; (soft)dom!bucky & sub!reader; praise kink; sex toys; guided masturbation; slight degradation; crying (bc reader feels too good 👅); pussy slapping; orgasm delay/control; edging; oral (f receiving); fingering; nipple play; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it pls); multiple orgasms; overstimulation; messy & rough sex; squirting; creampie.

word count: 15.8k

a/n: helloo! today it's my birthday 🎈that's why this story is extremely self-indulgent, sorry 🥲 I think this is porn without plot? well, there’s a bit of plot I guess, lmao. I apologize but the smut part might be a little all over the place because l wrote it while studying for an exam and getting ready for a little trip (I’m not going to be very active for a while). I was too exhausted to write/edit something more plot-driven, so I hope you’ll enjoy this anyway 💛

Bucky is halfway through a problem set in the library, equations spread out in messy sheets all over the desk and coffee going cold at his elbow, when he checks the time on his phone and feels that familiar tug in his chest. He’s not even close to being tired, could easily grind through another two chapters, but his focus has thinned to a thread. So he closes his notebook a little too decisively and mutters something about calling it a night, about being exhausted. 

Steve looks up slowly, deeply unimpressed. His eyes scream do you think I was born yesterday? but Bucky refuses to meet them. He shrugs, trying to appear casual, and shoves his laptop into his backpack like he’s annoyed at the implication.

Steve’s mouth twitches knowingly. His friend's body has been betraying him for a while— knee bouncing incessantly, jaw tight, eyes landing back to his phone every few minutes.

Bucky has been pulling this move for years and usually Steve would drag it out by raising a brow, asking if he should send flowers already. Sometimes he’d start humming a wedding march under his breath until Bucky’s ears burn red and he threatens to blacklist him from future study sessions. But tonight, his friend just watches him for a second longer than necessary, taking in the barely concealed anticipation in the way Bucky adjusts his puffer jacket, then checks his phone twice in the span of two minutes, clearly hoping for a text.

Steve just nods once and Bucky perceives the mercy like a gift.

The walk back to the dorm is automatic at this point; his feet know the path too well, from the shortcut through the nearby park— technically closed at night but still accessible thanks to the worn patch in the bushes— to the way the lights flicker near the humanities building every fifteen seconds. And the exact amount of steps it takes to reach your floor.

The rhythm of his footsteps carries just enough weight that they draw a satisfying echo from the tile. Although Bucky thought about surprising you after not seeing each other for almost a week, he wants you to notice the noise. You hate unexpected knocks, always have. He remembers you mentioning it to him once, shrugging like it was no big deal, but he is too observant when it comes to you. Something simple like a knock rattling the silence never fails to make your shoulders tense up and your heartbeat accelerate, eyes widening just slightly. That’s why he ensures each footfall is firm, deliberate, loud enough for you to acknowledge a presence in the hallway but soft enough not to hurl your brain into panic.

When he finally reaches your door, Bucky lets his hand linger on the frame. He knows you’re inside from the quiet tapping of a keyboard and the occasional muttered curse over some paper you’re clearly taking too seriously.

The knock is gentle, barely there. “Open up, doll. Campus security’s doing a wellness check.”

“Bucky?” Your voice comes soft, but cautious. Once the door is opened, he takes a step forward and tugs you into a hug, your arms wrapping around him without thought. 

“Hi, sweetheart. Hi, angel. Hi, my little overachiever.” He murmurs into your hair, pressing a kiss there, then another to your temple.

Your surprised laugh is half-muffled by his chest. “What are you doing here?”

“Rescue mission.” He promptly exclaims, pulling back just enough to study your tired features. With his hands cupping your cheeks, he looks into your eyes with a feigned frown. “I could feel you stressing from the library, baby. It was like a disturbance in the stratosphere." 

You roll your eyes. “I’m not—”

He narrows his eyes, and you hesitate just for a second.

“... That stressed.” Your voice fades into a whisper.

“Hm-hm.” He leans down and presses a long kiss on your forehead. “Keep telling yourself that, doll.”

Bucky nudges the door shut behind him with his foot while guiding you backward into the room, as if he’s lived here with you his whole life. His backpack drops to the floor, forgotten, only for him to engulf you back in his arms.

“You’re freezing, doll.” He murmurs. “Why is your dorm always a sauna in the summer and an arctic tundra in winter?”

You giggle quietly, pulling back just enough to brush a little bit of snow off his shoulders. “It’s just particularly cold these days.” 

“Just these days?” He scoffs. “It’s inhumane. I’m having a very serious conversation with your RA about this.”

You grab his sleeve reflexively. “Please don’t.”

He blinks down at you, an eyebrow suspiciously raised. “Why not?”

“Because she already scowls at me every time we pass in the hallway after you cornered her about the radiator in the bathroom.” You mumble. “I told you it wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“It clanked in the middle of the night, and then you would jolt awake and never fall back asleep.” Bucky defends instantly.

“Still... She looks at me like I personally filed a lawsuit against her.” You argue weakly.

“Good. Maybe she’ll think twice before ignoring the pipe orchestra in your bathroom at three in the morning.”

“Bucky.” You reprimand him jokingly, squeezing his torso once.

“Shh.” He whispers, his gaze alert as it scans the room. He immediately spots your laptop and a pile of books and binders stacked like some kind of intellectual barricade on your bed. “You’re really going to bury yourself in all this tonight?”

“I have a paper due next week.” You admit, sitting on the edge of the mattress. Bucky doesn't miss the way your shoulders suddenly slump, as if resigned. “I… Just wanted to get a head start.”

He crouches in front of you after carelessly throwing his jacket on your desk chair, his hands blanketing yours perfectly. “Sweetheart, look at me.”

You peer at him through your eyelashes, noticing the exact moment his expression melts into something softer, something only you are allowed to witness. Cupping your face gently, his thumbs brush your cheeks with such tenderness you almost tear up. “When was the last time you took a break?”

You sigh. “Buck—”

“Not a ‘I-scrolled-on-my-phone-for-five-minutes’ break. I’m talking about a real one.”

You look away, suddenly feeling a scorching heat taking over your neck. You know how much he hates when you overwork yourself to the bone, and the thought of disappointing him of all people makes your stomach churn with shame.

Bucky exhales dramatically, pulling you back into his chest with a swift move that makes you yelp. “You’re working too hard, baby. Way too hard. You’re gonna burn yourself out if I don’t intervene.”

You are always three steps ahead, always prepared for some invisible emergency no one else has even considered yet. And not just on an academic level. He’s watched you fix things for others for years. You dig through your bag without looking and somehow produce exactly what is needed. Band-aids in three different sizes– yes, three. A little pouch of medicine: painkillers, allergy tablets, something for stomach aches because “campus food is unpredictable”. Extra pads tucked into the side pocket; two packs of tissues; hand sanitizer clipped to the zipper. A tiny sewing kit because one time someone’s button popped off and you decided that would never happen again. Mints. Lip gloss. Hair ties. Bobby pins. A small comb. A portable charger that’s always somehow fully charged. A granola bar “in case someone forgets to eat”. Bucky literally recoiled when some tomato sauce fell on Kate’s jeans last month and you were handing her a stain remover pen before she could even acknowledge the stain.

He’s seen you pull each of those things out at least once, along the relief on people’s faces when you quietly fix their problem before it becomes embarrassing. You never make a big deal out of it, always ready to reassure them with a smile. 

You also remember everything, from birthdays to when your friends have their exams. 

Natasha gets migraines when she’s stressed, so you make sure to always carry that specific brand of painkillers that works for her. You keep peppermint gum too, because you once read online it helps, and you don’t even like peppermint.

Steve forgets to eat when he’s buried in his art projects, so you text him reminders and shove protein bars into his hands without ceremony. You’ve memorized his deadlines better than he has, and you once stayed up proofreading his paper even though you had your own due the next morning.

Sam swears he never gets sick, yet you still bring extra throat lozenges when he starts losing his voice– the consequence of him being president of several clubs and giving one motivational speech after another.

Kate is very confident in herself, but she panics before every presentation. You sit in the front row each time, smiling and nodding at her like a proud mom. You never dwell on the mistakes or the stumbles; instead, you point out the strongest parts of her speech– the clever phrasing, the insights she came up with on the spot when the professor started asking questions, the arguments that actually landed. You always highlight the good things, the moments that matter, and she leaves the room feeling lighter, even when she doubts the quality of her work.

Wanda pretends she doesn’t get cold, but you pack an extra scarf in your bag anyway. You walk slower when she’s overwhelmed, checking in quietly, never pushing, just hovering gently in case she needs you.

Yelena acts all fearless, but you always suggest ordering something sweet at the end of a meal, because you know she won’t unless someone tags along. 

Every preference. Every weakness. Every tiny crack people try to hide… You smooth them over without them even noticing. And you do it without expecting anything in return, like it’s nothing.

Your brain is constantly scanning, ready to cushion the fall before it happens. You’ve somehow made yourself responsible for the comfort of everyone around you, and Bucky loves how capable you are, how steady your presence is to the point everyone gravitates toward you without even realizing. You’re the calm center, the one people trust, the one who fixes things.

But sometimes… Sometimes it makes his chest hurt, because he sees the cost. You don’t sit down until everyone else has, nor you relax unless someone forces you to. You’re always the one refilling glasses before your own is empty, the one staying behind to stack chairs or wipe down tables even when it isn’t your responsibility. In study groups, you’re the last to pack up, double-checking that everyone understands the material before you even glance at your own notes. You answer texts at two in the morning because someone’s panicking about something, and somehow their anxiety becomes yours, sitting heavy in your chest until you’re sure they’re okay. If a friend is upset, you carry it with you for the rest of the day, replaying their words, wondering what else you could’ve said, what more you could’ve done. You have this way of absorbing other people’s burdens and slipping them into your own pockets as if they belong there.

And Bucky wants— selfishly, desperately— to be the one place where you don’t have to take care of anything.

With him, you don’t need your emergency kit.

With him, you don’t need to think ahead.

He carries the snacks; he argues with the professor; he deals with the guys who don’t stop staring. He drives, fixes, calls, confronts, handles. You are free to flop dramatically across his lap, and steal his fries. You can let your eyes squeeze in frustration and complain about your professors without trying to solve anything, or fall asleep mid-movie, because you know he’ll carry you to bed.

You trust him to handle the world so you don’t have to. He wants to take the weight off your shoulders so permanently that you forget it was ever there, because his affection does not sit politely in his chest. It bleeds. It calls for you. It moves through him like something alive and restless that needs to breath.

Bucky has loved you for so long that he can’t remember what it felt like before. He tries, sometimes, to pinpoint the exact moment it shifted from childhood attachment to a blade pressed under his ribs, not deep enough to kill him, but the wound pulses every time he breathes, as a reminder.

Maybe it was the day you grabbed his hand on the playground and refused to let go when another kid tried to tease him for the scar on his left arm, the one he got trying to prove he wasn’t scared of the ramp behind the old basketball court. Maybe it was during your first ever movie night in middle school, when he sat completely still for three hours after you fell asleep on his shoulder to not wake you up. 

Or maybe it was gradual. Like erosion. Like water carving into stone until there’s no version of the rock that ever existed without the river running through it.

He only knows there’s never been an end.

Bucky often reflects on the fact that he’s the safest place you’ve ever known. You trust him in a way that is almost sacred. You curl into him without hesitation. You change in front of him without thinking twice. You press your cold hands under his shirt because you know he’ll yelp and then immediately tug you into his chest to warm you. Bucky finds himself more often than not lying in his own bed and thinking about this, about the way you trust him with your entire body, with your happiness, your quiet and your sadness. But not with your heart. At least, not in the way he wants.

You look at him like he’s home, like he’s already yours. Like there’s no risk of losing him– and he would never give you a reason to think otherwise. That’s the cruelest part. Bucky would stay even if you never loved him back. He’s been staying since he was fourteen and realized that the reason he wanted to punch that boy at the school dance wasn’t because the kid stepped on your shoes, but because he made you laugh too hard. He’s been staying since you cried over your first breakup and let him hold you as he tried to ignore the way his jaw clenched every time you said your ex’s name.

Taking care of you comes so easy to him, maybe too easy. Sam once told him it borders on ridiculousness. But you have no idea what it costs him. You sit in his lap and kiss the corner of his mouth by accident, giggling, looking away too fast to notice how he freezes for a second too long.

You have never kissed him on the lips, though.

Bucky thinks about that more than he should.

He’s prepared for everything: skipped meals that make you dizzy in the middle of a lecture; all-nighters where your eyes get glassy and you insist you’re “fine” as your fingers tremble around a pen; the way you grind yourself down for grades like your worth depends on them. He’s prepared to sit at the kitchen table while you bake and pretend not to want to smooth the wrinkle between your brows when you frown in concentration; or to kiss your lips after you feed him a dollop of custard, because you trust him enough to tell you if it sucks.

He’s also prepared for every guy who thinks your softness means easy access. For every hand that lingers too long and every flirtatious grin thrown your way.

He is not prepared for the possibility that one day, you might actually want one of them.

Bucky watched it happen more often than not. Smiling politely while some guy leans a little too close, and pretending he’s not tracking every movement, cataloging whether the guy’s hand drifts lower than it should.

He never interrupts. He simply waits. Because if you step back even half an inch, he’s already beside you. If your smile falters, he’s glaring at the idiot. If you look even slightly uncomfortable, he’s casually sliding an arm around your waist.

Possessive enough to send a message, but not enough to claim you.

And sometimes... It’s just unbearable.

You call him dramatic when he scowls, laughing as you remind him that you can handle yourself just fine. And he knows you can. He was the one who taught you self-defense in high school, for fuck’s sake. It's just that Bucky wants to be the only one who gets to see that soft little smile of yours when you’re on the brink of sleep, to hear your muttered curses when your fingers fumble through a tangle of yarn. Or watch you get genuinely angry over a dumb misunderstanding while reading one of those romance novels of yours that leave you sighing dreamily at the end.

The territorial edge of these thoughts leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, but the shame dissipates as soon as one of those guys smiles at you, making room for something ugly and hot that crawls through his chest and makes his jaw ache.

Bucky has imagined telling you.

It never gets far.

In his head, the words sound steady, confident. 

But you’d blink, go quiet… Look guilty. And he would rather cut his own heart out than see you blame yourself for his own feelings.

So he keeps quiet, and pours his love into other things, like gently drying your hair after you shower, and giving you little forehead kisses– Bucky knows you adore those because you unconsciously shiver each time. But also calling you sweetheart and angel and doll, and all those other pet names Natasha deems ‘corny’ with a grimace. Like they don’t mean anything deeper. He touches you, constantly. Not because he’s careless, but because he’s greedy. The contact reassures him that you’re still here, that you’re still choosing to be by his side, even if it’s not in the way he yearns for.

From time to time, when you fall asleep in the crook of his neck, Bucky presses his mouth to your hair and breathes you in like it’s something he could survive on, his arms tightening around you just how you like. It’s become his favorite thing to do ever since you told him how safe and cocooned you feel in his embrace.

Because when you’re awake, you might see the way his breathing changes when your fingers trace absentminded patterns on his chest, or the way he shivers when you call him Jamie– you are the only one allowed to do that. 

You might finally understand that every innocent kiss is just him restraining himself.

So Bucky lets himself slip only in the dark, when no one can see the awe twinkling in his eyes whenever you are around. He’s balancing on a thin line as it is; one wrong move and the entire “best friends” foundation cracks. And he swallows it all. The jealousy, the hunger, those three treacherous words that rise too close to the surface every time you look up at him with those pretty eyes of yours.

But loving you is perpetual. It hums under his skin when you let yourself melt into his hugs; it sits heavy in his stomach when your lips brush his forehead with a quick kiss before you run to class; it blooms sharp and hot every time someone asks for your number.

He wonders if he ruined himself by loving you that young, because no one else has ever fit right by his side. Yet, he would rather have you like this than risk losing you by asking for more. Even if sometimes it feels like his heart is stretched too tight in his chest. Even if when you look at him, tired and soft and wrapped in his comforter, he has to glance away and breathe through the urge to kiss you until you're both left wheezing. With Bucky, you just get to exist. And if this is the only role he ever gets to play in your life, he’ll take it.

He has always thought of himself as the equivalent of an oversized hoodie that’s been worn too long.

Comfortable, warm, easy to grab when you’re cold.

But not the thing you pick when you want to feel special.

Bucky presses a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw. When he reaches the side of your neck, his lips linger just enough to receive a squirm in return and a giggle that softens his smile impossibly more, the most tender thing you’ve ever seen.

“Bucky.” You whisper, half-scolding, half-laughing.

“What?” He asks innocently. “I’m just appreciating my favorite person.”

“You’re distracting me.”

“Good.” He hums, preening inside. “That’s the point, baby.”

Moving onto your bed, his hands tug you gently until you stumble back. “C’mere. Sit with me.” Lying down, he looks at you expectantly, blue eyes prettily begging you to follow him.

“James seriously, I have to finish—”

“Nope.” He grabs your wrists and pulls you forward so you’re kneeling right between his thighs. His hands settle on your hips like they’ve always belonged there, and you shiver, hoping he’ll blame it on the heating not working properly in the middle of winter. “You need to breathe, angel. And you breathe better when you’re not spiraling over footnotes. Look at you, you chewed on that pen like a stressed little squirrel.” He teases, guiding you until you’re reluctantly lying on your front. “You’re too precious to suffer like this. Not on my watch.”

You huff softly, but you don’t dare move away. The knowledge that you trust him to this extent, that you allow yourself to bend your strict study routines for him, floods him with a quiet, overwhelming happiness that makes his heart ache in the best way.

“You know,” Bucky starts softly, brushing his nose against your temple. “You don’t have to be in charge with me.”

Your shoulders drop just a fraction, and he takes that in with a hint of a satisfied smile.

“I’ve got it, okay? I’ve got you.” He continues with a lower voice. You finally go completely slack in his hold, the curve of your body molding against his chest as your ear presses on his left pec.

And God, he would stay like this forever if you’d let him.

Bucky kisses the top of your head again, tracing a path with his lips that ends on the apple of your cheek. “See? There’s my girl.” He murmurs. “You’re adorable, angel. Did you know that? Ridiculously, impossibly adorable.”

“And you’re impossible.” You mumble, eyelids threatening to close under his soft attention.

“I know. I know, bunny.” He murmurs, pretending to pout. “I can’t help it. It’s a curse, really. You’re just… Irresistible when you let yourself go.”

“But you adore me.” He quickly adds.

You don’t answer that, yet he pretends to ignore the way his heart skips when you squeeze your arms once around his torso. A hand comes up to run up and down your back slowly. Protective. Possessive in the quietest way. 

“If anyone bothered you today,” he mentions casually, jaw tightening just slightly. “I’d like names.”

You burst out laughing and Bucky tightens his hold just a little at that, a fuzzy feeling tingling in the back of his head as his ears are blessed with his favorite melody. “Calm down, stud. No one bothered me today.”

“Good.” His thumb brushes absent circles on your lower back. “Because I don’t feel like scowling at freshmen tonight.”

“You always scowl at freshmen.” You peek up at him, impossibly cute with your cheek smushed against his chest. The urge to kiss you is so strong he almost shortens the distance between you.

“They look at you.”

“They look at everyone.”

“Not like they look at you, baby.”

There’s a small silence after that, but Bucky fills it quickly.

“Anyway,” He glides over the topic, his voice suddenly too high to sound nonchalant, so he clears his throat. “You’re done for the next hour. Doctor’s orders.”

“You’re not a doctor.”

“I’m a concerned citizen.”

You lift your head just enough to squint at him.

“Chronic overworking, severe lack of cuddling, and acute stubbornness are very serious conditions.” His fingers walk up your spine as he lists your “symptoms”.

You snort, letting your head fall back to its previous resting place. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Mm. Tragic, really.” Bucky shifts, scooting back against the headboard to settle against the myriad of pillows you accumulated throughout the years, tugging you with him. “Prescription says: cuddles, a movie, and you,” he pats his chest, wiggling his eyebrows. “Right here.” 

You laugh again, softer now that you have given up. “Alright, alright, Dr. Barnes.” You know he hates when you roll your eyes, but you do it anyway, sighing. 

“Ha! Victory!” He whispers triumphantly.

You shake your head, the corners of your mouth betraying you as they lift just slightly when you reach for your laptop. Once you settle back down, you automatically curl into his side, like it’s muscle memory. It’s always been that simple between the two of you.

He shifts immediately to accommodate you, one arm sliding around your waist as the other tucks behind his head. 

“You know I’m proud of you, right?” Bucky mentions casually, low like a secret you are only meant to know. “You always work so hard. You’re so good– too good.”

Your fingers tighten slightly in his shirt, but you only nod, pressing closer. You’ve never known what to do with praise. It slides off you most of the time, makes you fidget, causes your eyes to drop to the floor like you’re being accused of something you don’t quite believe. And it’s not as if Bucky’s new at this— he’s been telling you how brilliant you are, how capable, how kind, and pretty since you were small enough to swing your legs off a playground bench. He’s never once missed a chance to compliment you.

Still, every time he does that, your shoulders go tight for a second before you remember it’s just him. Just Bucky. Not judging, not measuring, not expecting you to live up to the compliment. You never thank him with words, just burrow closer, like you’re doing now, hiding your face against his chest as if you can tuck the warmth of his words somewhere safe. They feel so fragile, so precious, and you are still learning how to hold them properly.

“What are we in the mood for, sweetheart, hm?” His words are gentle near your ear. “Something brainless? Something with explosions so I can complain about the physics and you can pretend to be impressed?”

You shift slightly, tucking your leg over his thigh. He adjusts immediately, never failing to make space for you, hand tightening just a little at your waist to keep you steady.

“Blanket?” A small shiver and a nod are enough for Bucky to lean sideways awkwardly, reaching for the fluffy lilac fabric lying on your second desk chair, nearly falling over in the process.

“Careful.” You snicker.

“I’m graceful.” Bucky insists, dragging the blanket back triumphantly. “Military precision.”

“You almost tripped over the air.”

“Well, the air started it.”

He drapes it over the both of you, smoothing it at your hip, before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head like it’s part of the ritual. 

“There,” he hums. “Contained.”

His chin settles then on the top of your head. “So? If you don’t choose in the next minute, I’m putting on Interstellar again.”

You go rigid at that. “James.”

“What?” He quips, entirely unapologetic.

“You made me watch that at two in the morning.”

“It’s a masterpiece.”

“It’s almost three hours long.”

“It’s cinema.”

“You paused it every five minutes,” you accuse, lifting your head to glare back at him. “You had diagrams, Bucky. You pulled out a fucking notebook.”

He grins, completely unashamed. “You said you wanted something educational.”

“I did not say I wanted a physics lecture in my pajamas.”

“You loved it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I fell asleep during the wormhole explanation.”

He gasps softly. “How dare you!”

You burst out in an incredulous laugh. “You started calculating stuff on the back of a takeout receipt!”

At that point Bucky chuckles under his breath, the sound vibrating against your cheek when you drop your head back on his chest.

“You’re impossible.” You mutter, going back to scroll through movies you've already watched, and rated with your best friend. “I need something easy. My brain’s fried.”

“Easy,” he repeats thoughtfully. “So no space, no time paradoxes–”

“No academic lectures.” You add firmly.

“Fine, bunny.” He sighs. “But one day you’re going to sit through the docking scene without complaining.”

“You cried during the docking scene.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

With a clear of his throat, he squirms awkwardly under you. “It’s an incredible scene.”

After finally picking a mindless sitcom you’ve both seen a hundred times, he sets the laptop on his thigh, adjusting the angle so it doesn’t dig into you, then shifts again so you’re draped more comfortably over him, leaving his free hand to lie on his chest. You reach forward absently and lace your fingers with his, causing Bucky to go still for half a second, before his fingers squeeze yours back. He presses another kiss into your hair, hoping you won’t hear his heart do something embarrassing in his ribcage.

“Comfy, pretty girl?” He asks softly.

“Hm.” You sigh. “You’re warm.”

“Good. Means I’m doing my job.”

Huffing a quiet laugh at that, you just curl closer.

Bucky pretends to focus on the show, but really he’s more aware of the slow sound of your breathing. His thumb keeps stroking your side, tracing slow, absent circles that leave goosebumps behind, even with the soft fabric of your sweater separating him from your skin. Every so often he presses a kiss into your hairline, or your temple... Just wherever he can reach without jostling you too much.

When you shiver again, Bucky perks up.

“Still cold?”

“No.”

He narrows his eyes playfully. “Liar.”

“I’m not cold.”

“You shivered.”

“I just—” You stop, realizing you have no explanation that you can give him.

You can feel his grin into his next words. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

You smack his chest lightly, and he laughs— soft and low— then catches your hand to press a quick peck on your knuckles.

“Careful,” he murmurs. “This is violence against your concerned citizen.”

Though the small crease in your eyebrows has finally smoothed out, your fingers keep twitching in his shirt, and your jaw ticks every few seconds like you’re biting back thoughts. The tightness in your shoulders is very much alive and burning under your skin, your breathing shaky at the edge each time you exhale. Bucky can't help but glance down at your leg shifting under the blanket every few seconds.

He lets it go on longer than he should.

His thumb traces the same slow path over your side, patient, grounding. Pressing his lips briefly to your forehead, he waits for you to melt into him the way you usually do. But instead, you sigh. It’s a little, quiet sound, but it carries too much weight.

“What is it?”

“Oh? Nothing, sorry.” Your reply is quick and rehearsed, and Bucky doesn’t like that one bit.

“Hey,” his arm squeezes your torso once. “None of that, sweetheart. You know you can tell me anything.”

At that point you shift onto your back with a slow exhale, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s just…” You hesitate for what seems like an endless amount of time to Bucky, like you’re deciding whether it’s worth saying out loud. “I keep thinking about that paper. I should finish it by tomorrow, because we haven’t made any progress with that group project I told you about last week. I’ve sent four messages on the group chat to ask when we should meet and no one has read them.” A small, frustrated laugh bursts out of your chest. “I feel so dumb for chasing them, but at this point I’ll have to finish it by myself.”

His jaw tightens.

“You know that’s what they want you to do, right? They’re gonna take all the credits while you try to finish the entire presentation by yourself on top of your own assignments. You’re not supposed to carry all of that, baby. It’s not fair.” He frowns. “You've already got enough on your plate and you need to rest.”

“I know.” You groan, momentarily closing your eyes. “But I hate not having any control over it.” Words pick up speed as your eyes flit over the surface of your white ceiling turned orange by the warm lamp on your nightstand. “Everything’s half-finished and sitting there waiting for me, and I can’t stop thinking about it long enough to breathe.”

Bucky lets you vent at your own pace, because he knows better than to rush you. You try to sound calm, reasonable, like this is just another thing to manage, but he can feel the pressure running through your veins, the strain that causes your voice to shake at the end.

“I can help you.”

The words leave him before he can fully consider them.

You immediately turn your head to give him a reproachful look. “James.”

“What?”

“No.”

“Why–”

“You have your own stuff to do–”

Bucky shakes his head, pushing himself up on one elbow so he can look at you properly. “That’s not what I meant.”

“It sounded like it.”

“You know I’d write all your papers if you’d let me, but you’re such a little spitfire, angel. You’ve got this ridiculous way of holding yourself to every rule, every detail... I love it, but damn, you’re stubborn as hell about doing things your own way.” A faint exhale of a laugh slips out the both of you despite the tension. “But I meant I can help you not think about it.”

You study him carefully, brows furrowed. “What do you mean? Aren’t we already taking a break?”

That question sits between you, innocent, and Bucky swears the room is starting to spin. 

His mind betrays him with an image so vivid it nearly steals the air from his lungs: you beneath him, pliant and hot, your fingers tangled in his shirt, and your mouth soft against his, muffling your sweet little pants and moans. Just that morning Bucky woke up from the most wicked of dreams. It was of you, of your mouth, of your skin. He was touching and kissing you everywhere. His sheets were drenched in sweat and his underwear embarrassingly sticky when the sunrays split through the curtains to hit him with a brutal dose of reality. He tried jerking off in the shower, but the ache is always there, challenging him.

His eyes close briefly.

This is not the time.

But the truth is sitting at the back of his tongue, heavy and impatient.

“Maybe,” he starts slowly, choosing each word like the world might explode. “You just need something that forces your brain to focus on one thing.”

“Like what?”

His heart is pounding so loudly he’s certain you can hear it. He can't believe he's really going to say it.

“I just–” He swallows. “Have you ever thought about… I don’t know… Sex?”

It feels as if someone snatched the word from his throat and let it fall between the two of you, like a sturdy stone being violently thrown into a still lake.

You don’t react immediately, but you recoil a little, taken aback. 

“I didn’t mean it like–” Bucky winces, suddenly aware of the very small distance between your bodies. So he stands up, cheeks flushed as your eyes follow him. “I mean, I did mean it, but not in a–” He exhales sharply. “God. That sounded worse.”

You blink at him, and Bucky runs a hand through his hair, pacing at the edge of the bed like he’s trying to outrun his own suggestion.

“I just meant,” he tries again, slower now. “Sometimes when your brain won’t shut up, you need something… Physical. Something that makes you focus on anything but your thoughts.” He gestures vaguely between you, not quite daring to point. “We’re– We’ve always been– I mean, there’s nothing we haven’t shared, so it doesn’t have to be weird. It could just be...”

You tilt your head. “What?”

“I…” His mouth opens and closes pathetically twice, the words dying in his throat as you adjust yourself, now sitting upright with your legs crossed. “It’d just be… Us.”

The room is plunged into a religious silence, broken solely by the low hum of the old fridge near the kitchenette and the faint sound of your labored breaths. It makes Bucky want to bury himself alive.

Your fingers keep fidgeting with the blanket.

“It’s been a long time.” You admit suddenly.

He stops abruptly in his quest of digging his own grave by walking up and down your room.

“What?”

You stubbornly stare at your hands, chin tucked down.

“Since... The last time I had sex.”

His stomach drops.

“How long?” Bucky croaks out, trying to sound nonchalant but he fails miserably as he almost chokes on his own saliva.

You hesitate for half a second, then mumble. “Since Chris.”

The name lands awkwardly between you, like a relic from another lifetime. Those five letters drag up memories Bucky thought he’d pushed down beneath the careful armor he’d worn around you for all these years. You wailing against his chest in his bedroom, the smug grin on Chris’ face every time he crossed you in the school hallways, and Bucky pretending he didn’t want to hunt that asshole down.

His throat suddenly goes very dry. “High school Chris?”

You nod, still too embarrassed to look him in the eye.

Bucky lets out a disbelieving breath. “That was... Years ago.”

You swallow. “I know.”

“You haven’t–” He can’t finish the sentence, but you understand.

You shake your head once, biting your bottom lip.

His brain struggles to process that. Bucky had convinced himself there had to be someone. Some random fling at one of the frat parties he couldn’t attend because of some last-minute visit to his family, or an assignment started too late. He spent nights lying awake waiting for your text reassuring him that you were home, safe and sound, telling himself he was being ridiculous, that of course you had allowed someone to touch you the way he wanted to.

But now this revelation feels like being shoved off a cliff, blindfolded in darkness.

“So,” you start softly, like you’re testing the word. “You believe… Sex would help.”

He swallows, nodding once. “It might.”

You glance at your best friend, then away again. “You’ve thought about it.”

It’s not a question.

Bucky huffs nervously. “I mean, I’m not blind.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

His right hand reaches up to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah. I’ve thought about it.”

There’s a moment of silence that makes Bucky wonder if being completely honest was the right choice.

“Recently?” You perk up.

He almost laughs at that. “Define recently.”

You try not to smile, and Bucky steps closer again, slower this time, like approaching a skittish wild animal.

“I’m not trying to make this weird.” He clarifies quickly. “I can go away, or– or we can pretend I never said anything and I’ll go back to being your emotional support distraction machine.”

Your head snaps up at that, a spark of hurt flashing in your eyes. “It’s not weird, and you’re not my emotional support distraction machine.” A frown settles on your features, and Bucky’s heart thuds at the adorable sight.

“I was joking, sweetheart.” He reassures you gently.

“I know, but I don’t like you calling yourself that. You know you are everything to me.”

“Yeah?” He strangles out, and you nod, chewing on your bottom lip.

“You are everything to me too.” 

The air feels different now. Thicker. You glance at his mouth, just for a fleeting moment, yet his blue eyes– too bright, too earnest, like they’d strip you bare if you let yourself crack the slightest bit– catch that instantly.

“Are you suggesting we try?” You ask, almost daring him.

Bucky hesitates— not because he doesn’t want to, but because he wants it so much he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if you were to accept his absurd offer.

“Only if you want to.” His voice cracks. “I don’t– I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you, or something. We’re just–” He gestures between you helplessly. “We’re us.”

Your silence stretches just long enough for his chest to start caving in. Bucky examines your face carefully, searching for any sign of discomfort, annoyance… Anything he can work with. But you give him nothing.

Just a clean slate of neutrality.

The shift inside himself is dreadful, hope morphing into humiliation. Of course he pushed too far. You’re stressed, allowing yourself to be vulnerable around him and what does he decide to do? He suggests to have fucking sex with you.

Bucky takes a step back without meaning to, already bracing for the fallout. What would you do if he confessed right now? Telling you he’s loved you since scraped knees and shared headphones and walking you home because “it’s on my way anyway”. That every girl who approached him felt like a placeholder. That he’s swallowed the ache years ago, and locked the longing somewhere unreachable, so it would never hurt you.

“Forget I said anything,” he mutters, already stepping back from your bed. “That was out of line. You’re overwhelmed and I just made it worse. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

Even the pet name that has been lightning your eyes up since high school tastes bitter now. 

She’s trying to figure out how to let you down gently. She’s figuring out if this will change things between you two. She’s wondering if she’s been leading you on without realizing it. She’s suspecting you’ve been trying to get in her pants all along.

Bucky moves another step back, running a hand over his face. “I–”

“James.”

He looks up immediately, and you’re suddenly watching him like you’re going to cry.

“I haven’t done this in years.” You repeat softly. “So if I’m bad at it–”

His stomach drops. “You won’t be.” He rushes out.

You observe him with a rueful smile, shoulders dropping as if suddenly freed from an unbearable weight. “You don’t know that.”

“I do.” He frowns, blushing violently at how certain he sounds.

Your sigh sounds like it's been living in your chest for years, and after you clear your throat, attempting to pull yourself together. “What happens now?”

His heart is pounding so hard it almost drowns out the show still playing in the background.

“Now,” he says carefully, stepping closer. “I ask if I can kiss you.”

You hold his gaze. “And then?”

“And then, if you say yes,” he continues, fighting to keep his voice steady. “I’m going to do it. Just once. And if you hate it, we pretend it never happened.”

You don’t hesitate, your body unconsciously leaning forward as he kneels in front of you.

“I won’t hate it.”

That confidence nearly unravels him.

“So… Can I?” Bucky’s voice is barely above a whisper, rough around the edges, his hunger leaking out after holding it back for years.

At your tiny, shy nod, that carries more weight than anything he’s ever felt, his chest tightens, almost forgetting how to breathe. His hand lifts slowly, almost reverently, and cups the side of your face, his gaze focusing on the action. His thumb brushes along your jaw, gentle, before his eyes flutter close for a fraction of a second, enough to carve this moment in his soul. When he opens them, his breath hitches at what he sees: your pretty, trusting eyes fixed on him, openly giving him permission.

You don’t pull back. Instead, you tilt your head just slightly, leaning into the touch, and that tiny motion nearly stops his heart.

Bucky exhales softly and bravely leans in, lips brushing yours in a featherlike, tentative contact– a question posed in motion. It's the gentlest of kisses that is meant to taste the waters, to ask if you want this as much as he does. You respond immediately, pressing against him, and in that moment, a spark ignites in his chest.

Every sensation is magnified. The softness of your lips against his, your eyelashes brushing his cheek as you close your eyes, your quiet, pleased sigh… Each one sends shockwaves through him.

His other hand reaches your waist, tentative at first, just enough to anchor you against him. He doesn’t pull, allowing your body to find his to its own volition. The pressure is grounding, careful, and each subtle shift of your weight beneath his palm leaves him more certain, more addicted to the feeling of you.

Your hands slide to his chest, light at first, then press more firmly as if to claim the space that’s always been yours to take. His fingers twitch instinctively, tracing lines along your sides, feeling the curve of your ribcage, memorizing the rhythm of you in his arms. That’s when he deepens the kiss, careful not to overwhelm. Your lips part just a bit, yielding, allowing him to savor the sweetness, the trust, the closeness. And your hair is caught under his fingers as he tilts your head slightly to explore without breaking the fragile balance. The clean, floral scent of the body lotion you recently bought mixes with something inherently yours, filling his senses, grounding him while simultaneously setting his nerves ablaze. You make a high, almost imperceptible mewl that sends heat straight to his crotch, prompting Buck to lean into you just a little more, confirming that this– this closeness, this softness, this moment– is real.

Time stretches, the show hums unnoticed, the bed creaks faintly beneath the weight of you both, and your breathing mingles with his, shallow and intoxicating. Every tremor of yours is loaded with anticipation, your heart racing in tandem with his.

Finally, Bucky pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses brushing.

“You’re incredible.” He whispers, voice raw and breathy, as if saying it louder would shatter this dream he never wants to wake up from. “Just… Gorgeous.”

Your smile is just short of shy as you press once more into him. He tilts his head, capturing the soft warmth of your lips again. Your sternums touch, and one of your hands grasps the hair on his nape, eliciting a low groan out of him. This time, Bucky kisses you as if he wants it to bruise, his mouth heavy against yours like he is trying so desperately to burn himself into you. You’re trembling in his tight hold, yes, but Bucky is barely holding together the pieces of a lifetime spent loving you in secret. His teeth graze your bottom lip in the middle of it all, leaving behind a surprisingly nice sting that makes you shiver. He wants to kiss you forever, even against the merciless ache in his lungs.

His hands finally gather the courage to move, like you belong to each other. His fingers dig into the meat of your hips, slipping under the cotton of your oversized sweater to graze your bare skin, a moan shamelessly falling into your mouth.

“Bucky.” You whimper as his lips trace an unmapped path along your jaw. 

“Yeah, sweetheart?” He gently nibbles a sensitive spot just under your ear that you didn’t even know existed. You shiver again, feeling the curve of his grin against your bare throat. “What is it, doll? Talk to me.” He presses an open-mouthed, heated kiss on the crook of your collarbone, suckling until you squeak.

“I’m–” You gasp. “It’s hard.” You blurt out. “To... To come these days.” Your voice fades into a whisper. “Too much stress. I can’t focus.”

Bucky stills at your timid confession. He presses your foreheads together to quietly stare at you, all blown pupils and this dazed, adoring expression that makes your heartbeat jump. “That’s okay, angel.” He stops your anxious blabbering. “What do you usually do?”

“What?” You gape at him, not expecting that question. 

“What do you do when you’re alone, baby girl?”

“I have… Toys.” Your cheeks feel so hot you start sweating.

“Show me.” 

“You–You want to watch me while I… ?” You squeak, eyebrows shooting up.

His jaw clenches at the thought, cock already half-hard since your lips touched for the first time, before he nods. “Will you let me, darling?”

“But–”

Bucky calls your name, steady and serious. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course!” The way those words fall from your lips, offended that he would even hint you don’t trust him, elicits a boyish laugh out of him.

“Then let me help you.”

There’s a beat. A long, awful, charged beat.

“Okay.” You whisper.

“Yeah?” He perks up a little too enthusiastically.

“Yes, yes Bucky.” You bite your bottom lip, trying to hide your amusement.

“Where are they?”

“Uhm, second drawer of the nightstand.”

Once the box is opened, Bucky's mouth goes completely dry, so much that it almost hurts to swallow.

His brain stops. Just… Fully refuses to work.

It’s ridiculous how fast heat climbs up his neck, spreads across his chest and then drops straight into his stomach. 

A shockingly realistic dildo, a bullet vibrator, a suction vibrator connected to the curled end of a dildo, another dildo, and it vibrates too... 

Pull yourself together, it’s just silicone for fuck’s sake.

But it’s yours.

And suddenly his mind, traitorous and vivid, supplies images he has spent years trying not to picture too clearly. You, laughing. You, stretching in one of his large hoodies. You, soft and sleepy in his arms. You, riding one of these fucking toys. You, spread on his bed with that thing stretching your pussy just enough to burn deliciously. You, moaning and whining and calling his name, begging to make it better with his–

And under the mortification, something else coils low in his crotch. Crude, shameful… Disrespectful.

“They’re just toys.” You mumble, promptly looking away. “Right?”

“Yes!” Bucky rushes out, hating the way you seem to make yourself a little smaller, as if ashamed. “Yes, sweetheart. I'm sorry. It’s just… I never knew you…” He trails off absentmindedly, exhaling harshly as his blue eyes trace your curves. His hands slide slowly to your waist, thumbs brushing small strokes over your hipbones as if he’s reacquainting himself with something he’s known forever but is allowed to touch differently now.

“Let me make you feel good. Can I?” Bucky murmurs, momentarily forgetting about the protagonists of his future dreams. He guides you back until he has you propped against your plush pillows by the headboard, their fuzziness and the soft plaid comforter under you easing your nerves.

You nod, certain but coyly.

Bucky then leans in carefully, planting a kiss on the corner of your mouth first, gently.

“Does this feel good? Here?” Half-lidded eyes burn into yours, your breath catching in your throat at the tenderness, and you nod again, quickly.

He smiles against your skin and shifts slightly, lips brushing along your jaw. Slower, lingering.

“What about here, hm?”

You bite down on your lower lip, the smallest sound trying to escape your throat before you swallow it back. Another nod.

His hand slides up to cradle the side of your neck, thumb warm beneath your ear as he presses a kiss just under it. He feels the way your pulse jumps, feels the way your shoulders tense before melting again.

“Oh,” Bucky hums quietly. “Definitely here.”

Your fingers curl into his shirt as a reflex, grounding yourself and him both.

Moving lower, his lips set over the spot where your neck meets your shoulder, charting your skin like an astronomer tracing a constellation he’s spent a lifetime hoping to find.

“Here?”

You nod too fast this time, and Bucky pulls back just enough to look at you, all twinkling eyes and clenched jaw.

“You don’t have to be so quiet,” he murmurs, thumb pressing against your lip to free it from your teeth. “I wanna hear you.”

That only makes it worse.

You shake your head slightly, embarrassed, and he chuckles under his breath, so terribly fond.

“No?” He whispers, leaning back in. “You don’t want to let me hear your sweet sounds?”

He kisses your mouth this time, taking your chin between his fingers and making sure your tongues touch in a slow dance. And you don’t disappoint, rewarding him with the most precious of moans.

“Good job, sweetheart.” Your next breath is shaky, gaze avoiding his as Bucky reaches lower to brush his mouth on the sliver of belly exposed by the raised hem of your sweater.

Another nod, and Bucky smiles against your skin, teasing.

“Hm, still nodding at me?” There’s no bite to it. “Cute, but I know you can give me more.” Your hand slides then into his hair as a response, tugging lightly, yet Bucky almost breaks his composure. He exhales sharply, forehead dropping briefly to your stomach like he is the one being unraveled.

“You like that, huh?” He sighs, voice low. “Making me lose my mind over you?” The corners of your mouth lift mischievously, and Bucky has to grit his teeth to not smile at the adorable sight.

“Careful, sweetheart.” His thumbs slide along your hips, adjusting himself so he can go even lower. “I might just return the favor… In a way you won’t forget.”

Your breath hitches, and his lips return patient, learning you like a sacred treasure.

“Here?” His mouth lands on your hipbone, and you nod, pressing your lips together.

“And here?”

A kiss on your thigh that again gives him a nod in return.

“And what about here, angel?”

Your breath stutters, and this time you can’t stop the high whimper that slips free.

His lips... Kissing your clothed pussy.

Bucky stills for half a second to make sure he heard right, before a smug grin brightens his features.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Thought so.”

Once he’s climbed back up, hands back at the curve of your waist, he squeezes the flesh, relishing in your startled squeak. “How often do you use them?” He glances between your cloudy eyes and your tantalizing lips as you cling to his broad shoulders.

“What?” You mumble dizzily, blinking as if waking up from a soft dream.

“The toys.”

“It–It depends if–” A gasp interrupts you as he starts mouthing down your jaw and neck. “If I’m in the mood– Bucky.” You sigh, tossing your head back when his fingers dig into your sides.

“Hm?” He barely acknowledges you.

“Tickles.” Your fingers tighten in the fabric of his shirt. His grip eases a little, stroking the skin as if to apologize. He goes back to your lips just in time to swallow your wanton whine. Meanwhile, his right hand grabs the box.

“What’s your favorite, sweetheart?” He asks, planting a kiss on your cheek that feels too pure compared to what you are about to do. Gulping, you sit more upright to examine your secret stash as he holds it between you two. Your lips purse in contemplation, and Bucky can’t resist leaning forward for another quick peck, his left hand gently splaying over your thigh to comfort you.

Your hand snatches the purple dildo that vibrates, your cheeks heating up as Bucky leans back over you with a satisfied smile lingering on his lips to kiss you with more love than hunger. His tongue runs along your lower lip, and when granted permission, he meets your tongue in an eager tangle.

“This okay?” He pants in your mouth, his fingers having traveled to the waistband of your sweats without you even noticing it. His lips have you so dizzy your brain has been turned to complete mush, so you can only nod, already tugging him back to you as he lowers your bottoms, tossing them somewhere on the floor. You whimper in protest when Bucky doesn’t move, taking a moment to examine your panties, something that you were entirely unprepared for. 

“You’ve been this wet the whole time, baby?”

Oh.

You feel your eyes widen, jaw going sack as you notice exactly what he was referring to. Glancing away in embarrassment, your hands shoot up to cover your face. You knew you were aroused, but hearing your best friend declaring it so crudely just makes you want to hide under your sheets. Your core throbs just a little, hot and aching under the uncomfortable fabric and his intense attention. Your fingers part shyly just in time to see Bucky reach for your centre, flinching as two fingers start a slow rubbing motion with just enough pressure, and an occasional pinch of your bundle of nerves. Your slick seeps through and turns the cotton to a darker color, and Bucky groans as his digits get sticky with your arousal, his other hand undoing the belt and then unbuttoning his jeans for some room for his erection.

Your stomach churns as you bravely tuck your palms under your chin, finding him still staring at that stain. It’s really happening, you realize at once, particularly vulnerable now that your best friend looms between your spread thighs. 

“Your shirt, can you…?” You croak out softly, and that’s when Bucky shoots his head up, clumsily going for the hem of his sweater. You wrap one hand around his neck to bring him back into a kiss as you let the other wrap around the dildo, slipping it between your legs. Still devouring your lips, his fingers focus now on your panties, holding them from both sides until an abrupt rip echoes in the silent bedroom.

You gasp, eyes snapping wide open just in time to see his hand carelessly toss your ruined underwear over his shoulders. Unbothered by the fact that he literally just tore the fabric in two, his whole body tenses at a faint click, followed by a low buzzing noise. The toy comes to life in your hand, tingling your palm, and you give the sensation a short moment of consideration before pressing the button again. 

“Fuck.” He exhales harshly, his forehead falling on your shoulder to brace himself as he feels your body tense beneath his, a soft whimper getting caught in your throat when you press the tip of the toy firmly against your clit. “Can I–” He clears his throat, voice so rough you can hear restrain bleed through. “Can I look, princess?” He could bust right now, completely untouched, but your comfort comes first. Always. 

“Ah– yes, yes please!” You shiver, eyes falling shut.

“So fucking pretty.” Swallowing back a growl, his hips shift impatiently. His palms land on your thighs, thumbs stroking the skin at a calming pace. “The prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.” He murmurs, dark eyes glancing up at your scrunched-up features.

“Open your eyes, baby. C’mon.”

The reminder is gentle but you obey instantly, eager to show Bucky just how good you can be for him. 

“That's it. Good girl.” That proud look takes over his face again, the praise eliciting a whimper out of you before you can stop it. Your urge to please him definitely goes beyond eating reminders and proper breaks between your study sessions.

It just feels so right.

Your hips jolt up unconsciously when you start grinding the toy against your clit after pressing the small button once to let it vibrate faster. Your free hand scrambles to grasp Bucky’s wrist to find some sort of comfort while you let yourself fall blindfolded into the pleasure. 

“Bet that feels so good, right?”

Your eyes drift over him, half-lidded, drinking in the stubble darkening his jaw, the line of his nose, the sweep of his shoulders, each contour and shadow marking him as impossibly real. Scorching heat hums between you, and you feel it not just in your skin but deep in your chest, pressing against your ribs like it could tear you open. The subtle tension in his hands as they hold you, claim you, memorize you, are a wordless testament of the raw intensity that runs through his veins, leaving your body taut and starving for more. Every brush of his lips, every press of his palm, every quiet sigh that slips from him drives you closer to breaking, like stepping through your front door after the world has worn you down, and the pull in your chest finally bursts, and you can only surrender to its force.

“Bucky.” You call out to him absently, panting at the sensations traveling from your core and spreading through your veins like electricity.

“Say it again. My name.” His voice is commanding though you can see his throat bobbing shakily.

“Bucky.” You moan, raw and clear this time, even if your face feels like it just bursted in flames. 

“Good girl. Good fucking girl.” He notices the exact moment you register the words, a shiver shaking your body as your eyes close again in pure bliss.

You want to be his good girl. You want him to be proud of you. You want him.

Your pussy clenches and aches for release, the vibrations are cruel, causing your mind to go rogue and indulging in fantasies of Bucky ordering you to come rather than just watch it happen passively. 

“Why don’t you take it off your clit for me and fuck that sweet pussy now?”

You twitch, aching desperately with the need to put the toy back, to force yourself over the edge against his order, yet your body complies without hesitation, sliding the dildo inside your soaking core.

This is what you need. To be full, to be fucked. The stretch feels perfect, almost as though it belongs inside you.

“Shit, look at you taking it so good.”

You draw the dildo back out again, relishing the drag, setting a slow and steady pace with your wrist as a wanton moan falls from your parted lips. “Oh Bucky.” 

“Love when you say my name like that.” He grits out almost to himself, exhaling harshly. “Faster, baby, c’mon.” 

You follow his order, thrusting harder, faster, your eyes rolling back as your pussy clenches tightly around the toy in its desperation. 

“Good girl.”

You are a good girl. His good girl.

Just as you’re in the midst of exploring and pleasuring your own body, you experience the added sensation of Bucky’s hands– vast, warm, so familiar yet new as they explore your sides. They glide under your sweater, up and up, until your chest is exposed to the chilly air of your bedroom.

“That’s it, baby. Keep that pretty hole stretched for me.” He encourages, his tongue licking his bottom lip as his gaze locks with your hazy eyes, before slowly leaning down. 

His breath is hot on your skin, that’s the first thing your brain registers. You close your eyes in anticipation as he tenderly kisses you, teasing his way down your body, leaving soft pecks that send shivers down your spine. His thumbs expertly brush your nipples, taking his time, indulging in every little moan and restrained gasp. Bucky plants two kisses on the swell of your breasts, then focuses on your already hard peaks. Both nipples receive the softest of nibbles and sweet suckles, the tip of his tongue playfully flicking them only to suck harder. 

“Such pretty tits. Why were you hiding them from me, doll hm?” His eyes glance up, slyly grinning when his teeth bite down a little harder and your back jerks up. 

“You’re drooling, baby. Can’t imagine what’ll happen when I split you on my fat cock.” The needy, desperate whine is out of your mouth the second the thought enters your mind. He licks his way up, from the side of your breast to your damp cheek, before firmly grabbing your jaw to spit on your tongue. “Swallow.”

Gasping, you quickly follow his instruction, a hint of humiliation swirling chaotically in your belly. “Beautiful.”

“Bucky please.”

His answers is instant, attentive. “Please what? Talk to me baby, what do you want?”

It takes you a few tries to let the words out, arousal and embarrassment making it difficult to string a proper sentence together. “I want– fuck– I want you.” You eventually stammer. 

The deep groan rumbling in his ribcage goes straight to your core. “Good girl, sweetheart. I’m proud of you. Fuck that pretty pussy nice and hard for me and you’ll have me.”

You nod eagerly, whimpering as you pick up the pace, pushing the dildo as deep as you can, and it’s not long before you’re floating again, light like a fuzzy cloud of pink cotton candy. This is the best torture you’ve ever experienced, bare to his whims and exposed to his adoring eyes, but you really need more. You need him to fuck you like an animal, to have his strong hands that until now have only handled you with care to ruin you to tears and hold you down as his cock carves its shape inside you. 

Bucky coos, observing your reaction meticulously, your legs spreading impossibly wider as you let your head hit the headboard. “That's it. Does it feel good to fill that pussy for me?”

For him. He has such a filthy mouth and it spurs you on even more. Covered in a sheen of sweat, you manage to answer him through the fog in your brain. “So good.” 

His grin is something dirtily mocking. “It's been a long time since anyone has fucked you like you deserve, and now my baby needs my cock to take care of her, isn’t that right sweet girl?”

Overwhelmed, something breaks inside of you and you’re unable to hold anything back. With a raw moan you almost sob in frustration. “Please. Bucky please fuck me, need it so bad!”

His shaky exhale gives his anticipation away. “I will, baby. I will.” His eyes lock on your trembling form, steady and safe, as you clench and ache and yearn. “Fucking hell, doll, you’re perfect.” His lips are again all over your face, your lust-glazed eyes unable to do anything but flutter shut with desire. “My pretty girl, all mine.”

It’s all too much and not enough at the same time.

“You ready to come for me, sweetheart?”

Yes, yes! That’s what you need!

Nodding enthusiastically, you chase the climax that you’ve been greedily anticipating, only to realize it’s not going to happen like this. You love being stuffed and pounded, but having an orgasm just from it? It’s not something that comes easy to you. All at once, the pleasurable torture feels more like a cruel punishment, and you can’t help the dejected whimper that escapes your throat. You need more, but pleasing Bucky is necessary, something stronger than the urge to rub your clit.

“Bucky.” You wail, his voice is not enough anymore.

He gently soothes his palms along your thighs and the effect is immediate. You melt into the mattress, the warmth of his skin on yours settling your rapidly unravelling nerves. “What is it? I’m right here, sweetheart. You’re doing so good for me”

“I need– can I touch it, please?”

Bucky sits back on his heels with a playful smirk. “You can’t come if you don’t touch your pretty little clit, can you?”

“No.” You shake your head, a thrill of excitement racing under your hot skin. “I–I hit it sometimes too.” You reveal quietly, the words spilling out before you can stop them.

His eyes widen, Adam's apple bobbing, and his whole body goes still, stripped of every shred of cockiness. “What?”

You quickly swat your hand against yourself, glancing up at him to find him frozen, staring at your bare pussy, wet and shiny. You repeat the action, squeaking. “Like this.” 

His nostrils flare, tongue licking his lips like a wolf ready to sink his fangs into his coveted prey. “Sweet girl, you like getting your little pussy slapped?”

At your eager nod, your best friend swears every ounce of oxygen has vanished from the room.

“Then slap it for me, princess.”

Fiercely determined to show him and thankful for finally getting some stimulation on your clit, you swiftly pull the toy out just enough to bring your hand down with a sharp slap. The shock of the impact makes your body lurch, the sensation recoiling through your core as the wet sound resounds lewdly in his ears.

“Fuck!” Your pussy is so hot and tender with the amount of attention it has been receiving from both you and Bucky, but the slap is a welcome change in sensation, spurring you closer to that final edge. Sliding the dildo back inside, you feel delirious with lust.

“Again.” 

You strike your flesh harder this time, gasping at the delicious sting. The friction on your clit brings you dangerously close to your climax as you keep alternating a few thrusts of the dildo to the little spanks. You’re not so sure you’d be able to wait for his permission to come if Bucky keeps ordering you to do it. 

Humming thoughtfully, his cock hot and throbbing, still trapped in the confines of his wet underwear, Bucky takes a deep breath, trying to regain at least a fraction of self-control before coming untouched just by witnessing the girl he yearned so long for losing herself to this debauchery. 

“Maybe one day I’ll make you come just by slapping your pretty pussy.” Your reaction is immediate, hips twitching up and mouth forming a lovely circle around a loud whine. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? My dirty, little girl.” His hand squish your cheeks together with a cocky smirk. “You want another one, doll?”

“Please.” Maybe if he let you, you could come from slapping your pussy now. The thought of orgasming from something so depraved renews that spark of embarrassment, only serving to drive you deeper into this maddening lust.

“So fucking polite.” He growls. “Again.”

Your body jerks violently as the pain ricochets through your whole being. It feels so overwhelmingly good, every nerve alive and sore, tortured by this endless, pulsing arousal.

Tears start running down your cheeks unprompted. “Bucky please! ’M so close.”

Nuzzling your jaw, he cups your face with such tenderness, appealing directly to that part of you that would do anything for him. “I know, princess. I know. One more thing and then I’ll let you come, okay?” You nod weakly, sniffling. “You’re doing so well for me, sweetheart.”

You sob then, so broken and sensitive you aren’t sure how much more you can take.

His velvety voice rumbles against your neck. “Take the dildo out and turn it off for me.”

“But–” Bucky wants to punch himself in the nose at the look of pure misery on your face.

“Do you trust me, darling?” Humming dejected, your hand trembles as you whine at the loss, your hole clenching around nothing. 

“Good girl. Breathe with me.”

You pull in some deep breaths, his hand flattening yours against his chest to follow his lead. Of course he wouldn’t leave you like this, and trying to fight off the fog clouding your brain, you wonder if he’s going to fuck you finally.

“Show me the toy.”

You balk at his request, somehow more self-conscious about this than the fact that you’ve been masturbating in front of your best friend for God knows how long.

Hesitant, you lift the damp dildo, and Bucky leans forward to inspect it.

“It’s soaked with your sweet pussy juice, doll.”

A surge of arousal boils in your veins at his words, prompting you to cover your face with your free hand, but Bucky promptly catches your wrist, gently bringing it back to its previous place.

“No need to be embarrassed, sweetheart. Take a look, you did so good for me.”

It’s not much of a surprise to you to find the dildo glistening, yet you bite your bottom lip out of mortification. The thing is, seeing the proof of your raging arousal standing proudly between you two shouldn’t make you leak so much. 

Bucky smiles, before guiding you into an open-mouth kiss with a hand on your nape. “Look at you. You're so fucking gone, aren’t you?” He blabbers against your lips. “Beautiful… So, so beautiful. Wanna come for me, baby?”

As you nod enthusiastically, still completely spaced out, he nods along with you. “Yeah, I know you do. C’mon then, put that stupid toy to use.”

Turning the dildo back on, you notice that your wrist is a little sore, but you’ll be damned if you’re going to stop now.

“Oh my God.” Your eyes roll in the back of your head as you start rubbing the toy around your nub, the sensation taking you higher and higher as the room is soon being filled with your lewd sounds. At this point you’re far too close to what you’ve been craving to care about your neighbors. 

Bucky diverts your attention before you can get carried away, still cupping your cheeks and hovering over your lips. “Don’t you dare come without my permission, baby girl. I want to know when you’re close, alright?”

While your initial thought is to complain about having to wait a little longer, you bite your tongue and decide to not challenge his patience. The thought of being so obedient for him is too tantalizing to resist, so you do your best to hold back as each vibration hurls you towards your imminent climax.

“Fuck! I’m so close– Bucky please make me come. I can't– fuck.”

“Let go, doll. C’mon, you have been such a good girl for me. Soak it for me, make me proud, and I’ll reward you by licking your pussy clean after, okay?”

The tight knot in your lower belly finally snaps, his words forcing you over the edge and into pure oblivion. Electricity courses through your veins and your poor, abused pussy throbs and clenches, your whole body shuddering uncontrollably. You are on your knees, at your pleasure’s mercy, from your trembling thighs to the noises shamelessly falling from your parted lips. You’re barely able to register Bucky talking you through it, with you every step of the way. 

“There you go. You’re so fucking perfect. Fuck, I want to keep you. Please let me keep you, angel. Love you so damn much.”

You have never had such an intense orgasm in your entire life, its power taking the breath from your lungs and leaving you floundering for some kind of stability.

“Deep breaths, honey, c’mon.”

Feeling entirely too sensitive now, you quickly yank the vibrator away, throwing it somewhere on the bed. You try to focus on your breathing as your head flops back to look at the ceiling, utterly exhausted and still quivering from the leftover pleasure.

“That’s it, good girl.”

Without wasting a minute, Bucky is already kissing his way down your body, gently and attentively, as if trying to leave little pieces of himself along your skin. Until he stops between your legs, resting his head against your inner thigh, two fingers run from your clit down to your entrance. You flinch, body lighting up.

“Bucky–”

He softly parts your glistening folds with his thumbs, inviting your pussy to his hungry gaze. 

“Haven’t finished with you yet, sweetheart. Look at this pretty mess.” He whispers directly into your pussy, his words sending shivers down your spine, his hot breath tickling your most intimate area. He lightly flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue, teasing you with delicate and precise touches that burn so deliciously.

You feel like your body is going to implode as his fingers slide back and forth between your lower lips, and without warning, he slips one inside, eliciting a strangled moan out of you. Almost immediately, he finds that spongy spot as he leans in to tease around your puffy lips with his teeth, grazing the meat until your hips twitch up with need. He thoroughly licks up the slickness from your inner thighs, savoring every drop of arousal from your previous release. Your body is slowly melting under his unhurried actions, until Bucky decides to attack your clit with his mouth and you flinch, feet digging into the bed as a yelp leaves your throat.

“Ah! Bucky!” You choke out, a hand coming to grasp his wrist while the other fists a handful of your bed sheets.

He knows you are especially sensitive, after all that relentless teasing and prolonged edging, but it only makes it better. “‘S okay, I've got you, sweet girl. Just let it happen.” With a mumble, he leaves a sweet kiss on your inner thigh, then slips another finger alongside the first one, making you cry out as he overstimulates your sweet spot.

“Fuck fuck fuck!” You almost scream, thighs snapping close around his head.

Bucky growls at the pressure, hungrily licking a long, slow strip from your clenching entrance all the way up to your pulsating clit, your natural scent making him dizzy as he literally buries his face in your core. His saliva drips down his chin when his lips eagerly suckle on your sensitive nub, coaxing out desperate moans from your quivering lips. His need to please you is insatiable, and you can feel its intensity from the way his starved tongue laps at you, every flick sending jolts of pleasure through your spine. You are completely lost in this wild lust, so feverishly intense, that you are left trembling with pleasure, on the verge of transcending into another state of being. His actions are an overwhelming assault on your senses, your mind and body both spiraling out of control, thoroughly consumed by the exquisite sensation of his fingers thrusting so precisely inside your poor walls. 

Bucky cannot escape the pleasure, his addiction to your unique flavor driving him to new heights of bliss. His eyes stay fixed on your crumpled features, his hand imprinting its shape on the soft flesh of your thigh to stop himself from humping your bed like an animal, so close to his own release that he could come right there with a single touch of his cock.

At some point, he pulls away with a wet pop, groaning in delight at the intoxicating taste. “C’mon, make a stupid mess on my face, beautiful.” He growls, voice husky with urgent arousal. His mouth latches back onto your clit, sucking on it with a steady rhythm, producing such humiliating, sloppy sounds as he eagerly consumes you, his soft groans adding to the melody of pleasure filling the bedroom.

His fingers curl up, massaging that sweet, sweet spot of yours, so lost in the euphoria of it all that his arms shake with pent-up desire, his actions leaving you both teetering on the edge of sublime release.

“I’m gonna– fuck , please don’t stop!” You cry out, fisting his hair and he grunts. He’s a fucking beast as he devours you whole.

“That’s it, doll, give it to me. Grind on my tongue, just use my mouth.” 

You obey, literally humping his face, convulsing under a thin layer of sweat. “‘M gonna come.” You sob. “Jamie– fuck!” His tongue abuses the poor bundle of nerves while quickly pumping his fingers even as your walls clamp, your slick pouring into his eager mouth and down his chin, soaking his stubble. He loves when you go limp in his hold, your whole body quivering under his palms.

“Shh-shh, you're okay, pretty.” He slowly retracts his fingers while keeping his eyes locked on your face, still dragging his lower face between your puffy folds, rubbing you raw with his facial hair to gather every bit of your orgasm. He brings his fingers to his mouth once he sits back on his heels, making a show of licking them clean before he crawls forward to hover over you again, his bulge now impatiently pressing against the fabric for your attention.

“Holy shit.” You huff, on the brink of passing out.

“One more.” Bucky kisses you, like an apology for being so needy.

“What?” You squeak, still dazed yet blinking at him, more awake than ever. 

“One more, baby.” He pleads, his hand soothing along your hips and waist as you faintly catch the rustling of fabric. “You were crying so prettily for my cock before, don’t you want it anymore?”

Before you can beg to give it to you, a weight settles on your soppy core, hot and solid, sliding between your folds. Your eyes shoot down as Bucky thrusts forward, the underside of his length grinding along your heat, coating him in your slick. 

“Shit.” He grits out.

Gaping, your hand slowly reaches down to grasp him. He’s so thick and heavy in your palm, throbbing with desire as precum dribbles from the bulbous tip and over your knuckles. 

“Yeah, touch me like that, baby.” He rasps out, panting. “You’re so sweet to me. Letting me play with your pussy until you’re dumb and drooling and all pretty and relaxed for me.” He wraps his fingers around yours on his girth, tightening and squeezing the base. “There we go.” He grunts, bending down until there isn’t a sliver of air between you both. 

You mewl pathetically, garbling nonsense. He’s deliciously mean as he lovingly bullies your clit with his cock. Your raw nerves burn with every thrust, your juices spilling down your ass. “Oh, you like that, don’t you, sweet girl? Wanna be my pretty slut, baby? Spend every day being stuffed full of my cock? You won’t have to think about anything, just be nice and wet for me. I’ll put it in your mouth, and then get you on your hands and knees just to spank your pretty ass until you’re begging for me to fuck you.” He chuckles darkly as your eyes glaze over and your breaths go thin and shaky, every cell in your body buzzing as you cling to his forearms.

“You feel me on your pretty button, baby?” He grinds again. “Poor little clit must feel so sensitive. Is that why you’re crying?”

Above you, Bucky curses, mouth watering at the sight of the creamy mess you made on his cock, soaking the bed and his thighs as well. 

“Are you going to let me inside, baby girl? Fill you up with my seed, and watch it leak out because it’s too much for you to keep inside?”

“Please, please, Bucky.” You beg, nails digging into his skin. “‘M ready, so ready for you.” A pulse of agony beats through you.

He shushes your blabbering softly, cupping your cheek. “Alright, pretty girl. I'm here, just a little more patience.” The reverence in his blue eyes pours into your heart, unraveling in a delicious storm. “Thank you for letting me have you like this. Thank you for giving me the honor.”

You’ve been yearning for his touch for what seemed like a never-ending lifetime. Every fiber of your being has ached for him, and now that you have him like this, warm and gentle and incredibly gorgeous, staring down at you with his blue eyes so full of fondness, you can’t ignore it anymore.

“I love you, Bucky.” You blurt out, tremblingly grabbing his face with both of your hands, bringing him down into another kiss– hard, and desperate, and filthy, your heart beating so fast you’re convinced it’s going to escape your chest anytime now.

With flushed cheeks, Bucky pants, tip of the nose brushing yours. “Sweetheart,” he soothes dotingly, an ache to his voice that creeps through the tenderness as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. He breathes you in reverently, brought to his knees by three simple words. “You don’t know how many times I’ve dreamed about this. Of you. And now I’ve got you in my arms, and you’re mine– you are mine, right?”

“Wanna be yours, always have.” You whine, and with a broken groan, he caresses your hips, mapping out every inch of your body with his strong hands, kissing any part he can reach like this. He trails from your neck to your collarbones and then your breasts, capturing a nipple between his lips. Your arms hook over his shoulders to keep him close, softly moaning as he switches between your tits, his warm tongue taking care of both nubs thoroughly. 

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” He murmurs, forcing himself to stay still as you adjust to his length teasing your entrance. “You’re gonna take it for me like a good girl, right?”

“Your good girl.”

That earns you a feral kiss that you break with a sharp cry when your hole starts stretching wide, welcoming the leaking tip with some resistance. Bucky initially distracts you with sweet pecks, but as he sinks into your warmth maintaining a clear head becomes tricky, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as a choked groan leaves his throat.

“So deep.” You squeal, thighs trembling around his hips as his base finally meets your core.

“I know.” Bucky kisses your cheek, shuddering. “I know, but you’re taking it so good. Jesus, look at you.” He swallows as his hips ease back slowly, until you can feel only the head inside. You squeak out a pathetic whimper, hands coming to cling onto his shoulders. Then he bottoms out again, quicker this time. You gasp, back arching.

“Fuck!” You almost scream, your insides feeling more sensitive than before.

Bucky finds a temporary steady pace, letting you melt beneath him, then shifts your legs back, until they almost touch your chest, and thrusts harder as soon as you respond with a sob of pleasure, the new angle sending your eyes back in your head.

“Oh shit! Bucky!” You reach around and dig your nails into his shoulders, toes curling.

He can’t take his eyes off you, drinking carefully in your little details as he fights the urge to squeeze his eyes shut every time your pussy pulses with a new sensation. At some point his wet mouth is on your breasts again, flicking your nipple some more just to listen to your pathetic whimpers and feel you arch back into him. His hips are picking up their pace, slamming against that deep spot at an almost desperate speed. When his fingers momentarily leave your hip to pinch and rub your sensitive clit, your lips open in a silent scream as you clamp involuntarily around him.

“That’s it, baby, there you go.” He coos, bullying your nub some more before he traps you completely under him on the rocking bed. His pecs press against your bouncing breasts, your sensitive nipples rubbed raw. 

“I love you so much, sweetheart.” His tongue drags up your cheek, your bitter tears fueling his primal side as he stifles your wanton noises with his tongue, your lips and teeth clashing in a filthy kiss. 

“Can feel you clench so hard, are you gonna squirt and make a stupid mess all over my cock?” His arms slide under your back, keeping you firmly against him with every rough thrust. “I’m gonna make a mess on your pussy and fill you up with all my love.”

The shameless sound of your flesh slapping against his is so loud but you can’t hear it, too dizzy and lost in the feeling of his dick hitting your sweet spot with a new kind of precision and his muscled arms keeping you safe and still for him to play with you.

“Fuck, wish you could see yourself right now.” He growls, pounding into you earnestly, panting like a feral beast. “This is my pussy now. Gotta keep you marked up, show everyone that you're my girl– shit.” His voice breaks when you clench, choking him. “Wanna be mine forever, sweetheart?”

It’s too much– his fierce, insistent thrusts, his pubic hair stimulating your clit, the way he talks to you as if he’s losing his mind, just blabbering whatever pops into his head.

And you? You just take it. You take it and you scream his name, eyes rolling back and mouth unable to close. You whine and your toes curl with each thrust, your hips trying to rock back onto his, unsuccessfully. Until your climax unravels violently and you ascend to heaven. Your body erupts in flames, and you squirt as Bucky marvels with gritted teeth at the broken fountain making a mess of his lower abdomen and cock, still fucking you through it to prolong your pleasure as much as he can. He needs to ruin you for anyone else, the only thought in your mind each time your fingers plunge into your pussy being him and only him.

You shake uncontrollably in his hold, but he keeps you firmly locked on his cock, balls deep against your quivering, gushing hole. 

He growls against your tear-stained cheek, every muscle contracting. “Gonna come, baby. Gonna come so fucking hard for you.” He repeats, his voice bordering on a snarl. “You are my girl now.” He pants, digging his fingers in the flesh of your ass. “Love fucking you, love watching you come, love you–”

Your vision is blurry, yet you don’t need it to know Bucky is completely surrounding you, from the heavy panting of his chest against yours to his damp skin sticking to your body. You decide to not acknowledge the creamy mess where you’re connected though, too embarrassed by what you have done. It’s intense, the way you’re so wet, warm and tight around him.

Bucky groans gutturally, harshly pressing his lips to yours, his face scrunched up tightly as he pins you down, not a sliver of space between you. “Fucking take it, fuck– take it, please–” His hot cum floods your ruined hole, spurting along your stretched walls to claim you fully. There’s so much that it spills out and down his pulsating length to his tense balls, joining your mess everywhere. 

Bucky ends up collapsing against you, forearms firmly planted on the mattress to keep himself from completely crushing you, mindful of your well-being even as he feels like he is going to pass out after this powerful release, fueled by having restrained himself for who knows how long.

You’re still shaking in his hold, exhausted and sated, but definitely more alert now that you have both freed yourselves of years of longing and pent-up sexual frustration. He’s reluctant to let you go just yet– and you couldn’t be more grateful for that, your body feeling like it’s going to crumble after your last climax– so he opts to pepper the slope of your neck in lazy kisses, indulging in your soft mewl when he finally reaches your mouth. Bucky shifts just enough to brush a thumb over your cheek, watching your eyes flutter close and then back open, as though checking if he’s still there.

“Hey,” He clears his throat, voice still hoarse. “Are you okay?”

Your lips part, words sticking somewhere between your throat and the tips of your tongue. You try, but only a breathless hum escapes, and it’s enough. Bucky leans closer, resting his nose against yours, inhaling, grounding himself in the reality of you.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he whispers more to himself, worry threading through his awe. “I just… I just want to know if you’re okay.”

You manage a weak nod, letting your fingers curl around his wrists. His eyes, wide and unguarded, observe you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted to understand.

“You’re perfect,” he says finally, the words spilling urgently, reverently. “Every damn bit of you. You’re—” He swallows, shaking his head slightly, as if even language feels too clumsy for this. “You’re everything I’ve ever needed.”

A small, exhausted laugh catches in your throat, and you bury your face into the crook of his neck, letting him feel your trembling, the last threads of overstimulated energy slowly unraveling. He holds you tighter, hums a low, almost inaudible note against your hair, and for a long while, neither of you speaks.

When he cradles your face in his hands, Bucky looks more lucid. “We can talk after. But you need to know, doll, you are my whole world.” His forehead presses to yours, like he needs the contact to stay upright, as if pulling away means the gravity of the moment would swallow him whole. 

“You have no idea,” he murmurs, voice breaking at the edges. “How long I tried to hold this in. But I can’t anymore, not after tonight, not after having a taste of what it feels like to be completely and utterly yours.” His thumb traces the curve of your jaw.

“I think I’ve loved you,” his breath hitches, because he can’t believe he’s finally saying it out loud for you to hear. No moans, no bed creaking to drown the words. Just the quiet stillness of the night, as if the moon itself is holding its breath with him. “Since I was too young to even understand what that meant.”

Your hand flattens against the rapid drum of his chest, perceiving every thrum, every irregular skip, every fierce, insistent beat that has somehow always belonged to you. For a moment it feels as if the rest of the world has fallen away, leaving only the two of you suspended in this fragile, trembling bubble. Your eyes glisten with tears you haven’t let fall, tiny, fragile sparks that catch the dim light like stars reflected in dark water, and your chest tightens with the ache of everything you’ve held in silence for so long. All the unspoken words between you, the years of stolen glances, quiet worry, and secret yearning suddenly all converge in this single moment. His shoulders shift, leaning ever so slightly toward you, and your fingers press more firmly, almost desperate, into the heat of his chest.

“Jamie,” your voice quivers. “It’s always been you.”

And when you glance up at him, so radiant and so inevitably his, Bucky finally looks at you without any restraint, staying like he always has, and always will.

ending notes: I don’t do taglists anymore, sorry. thank you for reading!

[planetbucky-deactivated20260321]

baby-girl-69 — 1/2

18+ | MDNI - baby-girl-69 mini series

next part

pairing: silverfox ceo!bucky barnes x camgirl!reader

summary: bucky is a lonely man who can afford anything, except the kind of connection he craves. one fateful night he takes his friend's advice and visits a live cam site where he meets you, a mischievous, sweet vixen who loves... big things.

warnings: second person (she/her pronouns for reader); age gap (I imagined bucky to be in his late 40s and reader in her mid/late 20s); strangers to lovers (they fall hard and fast for each other); yearning; slow burn? we don't know him; angst; swearing; misunderstandings; lonely!bucky; self-deprecation & insecurity; readers feels overwhelmed for (1) brief moment; bucky briefly drinks whiskey; camgirl!reader; reader wears lingerie & skirts; some viewers being disgusting and creepy; smut; slight d/s dynamic; soft dom!bucky; daddy kink; praise kink; masturbation (f & m); sex toys; bucky is hung (he has a complex over it, poor baby); size kink; nipple play; fingering; overstimulation, multiple orgasms; dirty talk; webcam sex.

word count: 13.8k

a/n: I guess it's only right to post this today, on bucky's birthday 💕 the series was posted a few months ago and then temporarily deleted because I wanted to change some things. I also decided to merge pt 1 and 2, so the next part is going to be the last. hope you’ll enjoy 🍓

Bucky has been staring at the glow of his desktop for far longer than necessary. The cursor blinks patiently on an empty screen, indifferent to the quiet war unfolding in front of it. At last, with the reluctant resolve of a man about to cross a bridge he can’t see the end of, he opens a private browser window. It is a ridiculous precaution, he knows. His penthouse crowns the top floor of one of the most exclusive buildings in New York. There are no roommates, no nosy neighbors, no assistants wandering in unannounced. No one would ever stumble upon his search history unless he invited them to. And yet this small ritual feels imperative, saturating the moment with a strange, illicit tension.

Tony had mentioned the name of the site flippantly. The genius billionaire assured him there are plenty of options online that can cater to his needs. Bucky had no choice but to listen to his friend rant about his sexual preferences the last time they met for poker night. He was sure he could have lived perfectly well without knowing about Tony's raging master kink. 

Now, alone in the quiet luxury of his apartment, Bucky finds himself typing that same name into the search bar.

Even before the page loads, a familiar warmth creeps up the back of his neck. It feels indecent, like being caught hovering over a magazine he wasn’t supposed to read at fourteen. Still, the silence of the penthouse stretches too wide some nights, the city that never truly sleeps offering spectacle but little comfort. Lately, this quiet surrounding him has begun to feel less like peace and more like damnation.

So he exhales slowly, squares his shoulders as if bracing for impact, and presses enter to indulge, at last, in the debauchery Tony had promised would do him good. When the page loads, he freezes as a legal consent notice pops up. Of course he is of age— pathetically so, to be lurking on this side of the internet. However, he cannot quite bring himself to agree to the terms just yet.

Bucky nervously leaves the room and heads to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of whiskey. He is in need of some liquid courage, if he's going to go through with this. 

A sigh echoes in the open space as the first amber drop touches his tongue. He’s infuriatingly horny, and yet the idea of masturbating to a stranger on the internet feels somewhat depressing. What he truly wants— though he rarely allows himself to dwell on it— is far simpler than the life he has built. Someone with whom connection comes easily, both emotional and physical; someone whose presence might soften the long evenings that have become dull routine. Someone to spoil, to cherish, to give his attention to without restraint.

A lover. 

But that is hardly something one expects to find on a live cam site.

Statistically speaking, Bucky is well past the age at which most people meet their lifelong partners. The thought surfaces more often than he would like to admit, usually late at night, when the city beyond glitters with other people’s lives. Sometimes he wonders if he simply missed his moment.

In his early twenties, he had not been particularly careful with his time, or his affections. A handful of brief relationships had come and gone, most of them with women who seemed more interested in the Barnes name than in the man behind it. Later there had been something more serious: a six–year relationship with a business partner that had, for a time, felt stable, even promising. When it ended, the fracture had been thorough enough to scar him. So Bucky did what seemed logical at the time: he turned away from the uncertain terrain of dating and buried himself in work instead.

He carried on his father’s legacy, expanding and renovating the family company with a focus that bordered on obsession. The years passed quietly beneath that discipline, measured in board meetings and acquisitions, in steady success and careful reputation. And now the company is stable. Thriving, even. The long hours are no longer strictly necessary, the emergencies fewer and farther between. For the first time in years, Bucky finds himself with something he had not planned for: too much time, too much money, and a deafening silence.

Which leaves him with a realization that presses in on him with uncomfortable clarity. Beneath the polished routines and professional composure, beneath the success that everyone else seems so certain should be enough, lies a simple and harsh truth.

He is lonely.

His closest friends have long since settled into comfortable relationships that appear, from the outside at least, effortless. They offer advice freely, encouragement, though his more recent attempts at dating have done little but confirm a tough suspicion. Perhaps this is simply how things are meant to be for him. Perhaps, despite everything he has managed to build, James Buchanan Barnes is destined to face the rest of his life alone.

It is a bleak conclusion, and not a particularly productive one. Tony and Sam would have something to say about it, undoubtedly— something loud and irreverent that would shatter the entire spiral of self-pity in a matter of seconds. Bucky can practically hear them already.

And maybe they would be right.

Maybe he is taking this far too seriously for what it really is: nothing more than a late-night indulgence. He is not searching for destiny tonight. He is not expecting connection, or anything nearly so complicated.

It is only a website.

A distraction.

And if he can just get past the faint agitation still coiled around his lungs, Bucky thinks he might be able to find some worthwhile entertainment at least.

The glass of Midleton Very Rare does its work slowly but effectively, the warmth of the whiskey settling his nerves enough to dull the edge of his lingering hesitation. By the time Bucky returns to his desk, the tightness in his shoulders has eased, replaced by a fragile sort of resolve.

He sits down with a quiet sigh, and turns his attention back to the glowing screen. The legal notice is barely acknowledged, the window disappearing almost instantly after he accepts, and the page refreshes.

What replaces it is… Considerably more than he anticipated.

A mosaic of live streams floods the screen, dozens of little squares competing for attention all at once. Some of the video thumbnails are tastefully done: hands concealing intimate body parts, legs shyly crossed, backs turned. But most are crude and explicit images that leave nothing to the imagination. Though he supposes that's the whole point.

Bucky stiffens in his chair, heat violently spreading over his cheeks. For a moment he simply stares, caught somewhere between fascination and the deeply ingrained instinct that screams at him that he should probably look away.

Frowning, he scrolls through the overwhelming grid of available streams. Really, he shouldn’t be this picky. The entire point of this exercise is simplicity: click on something, take the edge off, and go to bed. No expectations, no complications. It isn’t as though he is searching for a date— only a pleasant digression, a pretty face to help him let off a little steam.

His eyes move restlessly from one thumbnail to the next, rows upon rows of carefully posed bodies and inviting smiles. After a few minutes, a faint grimace pulls at his mouth. Perhaps his standards are too high. Or perhaps his tastes have simply grown too particular with age.

Either way, nothing quite holds his attention.

Bucky is already reaching for the mouse to close the tab, prepared to abandon the entire ill-advised experiment, when something— someone— catches his eye.

His hand stills.

A beautiful woman appears in one of the smaller thumbnails, languidly leaning forward with a clear toy glinting in the light. Bucky stares at the image for longer than he should, an unfamiliar stillness settling over him. It is not just the pose, nor even the suggestive promise of the scene. There is something else that draws him in.

Your eyes.

Even in a tiny square of pixels they are striking, bright with a kind of playful determination, perhaps even a touch of recklessness. The sort of look that suggests you know exactly what you’re doing… And that you’re enjoying it.

Bucky finds, somewhat to his surprise, that he cannot quite look away.

Almost absently, he glances toward the title of the stream, and oxygen leaves his body at once.

“Can Daddy fuck me better than my toy?”

Swallowing his apprehension, he clicks on the stream with an abrupt motion.

The sound connects first, a loud moan leaking from the speakers. “Fuck– ah need to come so bad.”

Bucky flushes in embarrassment, fumbling for the volume controls. He lowers it in a hurry, his ears burning as his eyes betray him, lingering on the screen despite himself.

Your naked form enthusiastically rides the clear dildo beneath you, your body shifting with an easy confidence that makes his breath catch. Your face is drawn tight with pleasure, features softened by the glow of the camera lights.

The sight sends a strange jolt of heat through him, quickly followed by a prickling sense of discomfort. Even knowing that the entire performance is deliberate, part of the exchange that keeps the site running, the moment still feels faintly intrusive and exploitative to Bucky.

And yet, he can’t look away.

You are simply gorgeous.

There is something captivating about the way you move, a rhythm that feels spontaneous, though guided by a cheeky familiarity. The sounds that slip past your lips are sweet and breathy, threaded with bliss in a way that sends an unexpected shiver down Bucky’s spine. They are not loud or exaggerated, but genuine enough to feel almost intimate, as though he has wandered into a moment not entirely meant for him.

There is a fluid grace to the way your body responds to sensation: the slow roll of your hips, the subtle tension that travels through you with each movement. When your back arches, it is instinctive, unguarded, pressing your breasts forward in a way that feels both vulnerable and mesmerizing. For a fleeting second, the pose seems almost sculptural, the soft light catching along the curve of your form before you relax again, breath uneven.

Bucky swallows loudly, suddenly aware of how intently he is watching.

It is not the obvious allure of the performance that holds his attention. There is a liveliness to you, a spark of boldness that reveals itself across your expression and in the way you move with the camera’s gaze rather than shrinking from it.

Beautiful, certainly. But more than that, impossible to ignore.

Your giggle at some message in the chat melts into a gasp as you work the toy all the way in to the base. Your hazy eyes roll back in ecstasy as heat coils violently in your lower belly, prompting you to start bouncing up and down like a hopping bunny. “Fuck, you’re so big. Never been so full before.”

Bucky hadn’t known he needed this. Each gesture, each subtle provocation draws out something unfamiliar in him— shame laced with undeniable arousal. His hand tightens briefly on the edge of the desk, and a low, unbidden hum escapes his throat before he can stop it. His pulse hammers in a way that feels almost worrying. It is disorienting, intoxicating, and entirely new.

And he’s only just begun.

“I'm so wet, can you hear it?” You whine, your filthy words eliciting a sharp exhale out of Bucky when his focus automatically latches onto the subtle wet noises complimenting your moans.

He can’t stop the memory from creeping in: his most recent, humiliating sexual experience. A woman he met at a bar had taken one look at his dick and blurted, in disbelief, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” before promptly walking out. The sting of that moment had lingered far longer than it should.

He imagines that you too might be horrified by his size, but for this fleeting moment, he allows himself to pretend otherwise. He can basks into the fantasy of your gaze lingering approvingly, your small, teasing smirk meant for him alone. It is absurd, perhaps slightly delusional, but it feeds a rare warmth in his chest: a sense of being seen, of appreciation for the part of himself he is most ashamed of.

Your chest heaves, glossy lips opening in a perfect round circle as you look up at the camera with an innocence that only heightens the intensity of the moment. “Are you close, Daddy?” 

Bucky’s slacks are unbearably tight, so he clumsily unhooks his belt, unfastening his pants to relieve the growing pressure on his cock. He wants to touch himself, to indulge in this perverted fantasy, even as the nagging thought at the back of his mind insists that you are probably half his age.

“That’s it, Daddy.” You cry out, circling your hips so you can rub the length against your walls. “Need your big load to fill me up, wanna leak for days.”

Your dirty mouth has him completely dizzy, and Bucky can no longer resist the burning urge to grant his cock some sort of relief. Quiet groans fill the space as he gives his hard and throbbing girth a few experimental strokes. Fully erect, Bucky’s cock is imposing, longer and thicker than the large dildo you are bouncing on. Maybe you could take him just fine with just a little more effort and careful preparation.

“See how good I'm taking it? I told you it'd fit!” He almost chokes on his own breath.

The tip alert has been pinging on and off this whole time, and the CEO thinks he understands now. He wants to shower you with attention, and with everything he has: his focus, his praise, his money, the small gestures that might make you notice him among the countless others.

It’s not just lust, or curiosity. The thought of being acknowledged, of leaving a trace of himself in your world, however fleeting, sends a thrill down his back. Anticipation churns violently in his stomach, urging him closer to the screen. To you.

The decision has been made: he will create an account, support you, show that he sees you, that he values this connection, however one-sided it may be.

“Fuck! Daddy come with me! I’m coming, oh God– please please!” You beg, your breasts bouncing so deliciously with every eager thrust of your hips.

“Shit.” Bucky’s orgasm takes him by surprise. His legs shamelessly part as his cock spurts messily over the hand he has wrapped around it, lost in the sad illusion that it’s your pussy gripping him this tight. He milks every last drop, soiling his pants as well. His mind is too focused on the blinding pleasure to acknowledge the disaster. 

Your moans grow louder and higher, and the sight of your pussy stretching so deliciously around the silicone stops Bucky from leaving his cock alone. He keeps the strokes going, squirming at the sweet twinge of overstimulation.

“Oh fuck!” Your hips jerk forward once, body sinking down on the whole length as you curl up on yourself, hips twitching and gasping while your climax hits you. Your eyes roll back and Bucky’s spent length jerks in interest. It has been far too long since he has felt this good after masturbating.

Perhaps he should be ashamed of jerking off while watching you, a young woman calling him daddy and begging to be filled with his big cock, yet he cannot find it in himself to regret it.

Your eyes squeeze shut at the way your sensitive walls clench around the toy, before you gently pull it out. “Look what you’ve done to me.” You sit back on the beige towel, your legs opening to allow your fingers to spread your folds for the camera. Then you reach for the dildo, parting your lips enough for your tongue to peek out and give the length a teasing lick. 

“You can’t be real.” Bucky mumbles out loud, then frowns down at his cock. He is too tired for another round.

“Hm, wish you were here to taste me.” Suckling on the tip, your eyes stare directly at the lens, as if to challenge him. Bucky rubs his salt-and-pepper stubble, tiredly sighing at the desperate need to wrap his hand back around his dick. You hollow your cheeks for the last time, letting the toy out of your mouth with a resounding pop.

You hollow your cheeks for the last time, letting the toy out of your mouth with a resounding pop. “I had so much fun tonight, guys.”

“Look what I got today.” You pick something up off camera, then proudly dangle a nipple chain in front of you. Your eyes flick to the side, presumably reading the chat, where texts quickly pour one right after the other. You giggle— a refreshing melody that makes Bucky lean back in his chair with a sigh. “Not tonight, you perverts. Your baby girl can only take so much.”

Your baby girl, his mind repeats unhelpfully.

It’s almost impossible to reconcile the two images in his mind: the woman who had just been eagerly riding a thick dildo, and the adorable, radiant sweetheart chatting half-naked with five hundred viewers as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It leaves Bucky hopelessly smitten.

“Have a good night!” You conclude, offering a casual wave. “See you on Thursday!” A playful blow of a kiss follows, and then the notice that the stream has ended covers the screen. For a moment, your lovely smile remains frozen behind it.

Silence engulfs the room, leaving Bucky staring motionless at the desktop, a few recommended videos of yours line the side. His attention is drawn immediately to your username, and he clicks through to your profile. Details about private shows and video requests are listed, along with your regular schedule, so Bucky promptly opens the calendar app, making a note with careful precision. He perks up once he notices the photo gallery: images of you posing in lingerie, teasingly aware of the camera; a few shots of you naked and on your knees before a full-length mirror, body angled sideways, one arm shielding your chest; and then a playful picture of you lounging in bed, lips wrapped around a heart-shaped red lollipop.

Without hesitation, Bucky sets up an account, links his payment information, and pauses for a moment, hands hovering over the keyboard before considering sending a tip. Money is something he has in abundance, but moments like this, that offer the chance to spend it on someone he is utterly taken with, are rare. His right palm rests on the desk, fidgeting nervously, when his eyes catch the small, optional box to leave a note alongside the tip.

It would be nothing. Just a sentence. But even that feels like a step too far. He could already see how it would unfold: he’d check back later, and then again, pretending not to care, measuring the hours by the absence of a reply. And if you do respond, even briefly, neutral, it would lodge somewhere deep and stubborn, another invisible weight he would carry alone. The thought makes his chest ache with a dull, familiar recognition. Wanting has always been the dangerous part; it turned fleeting moments into promises no one had made. 

Shaking his head, Bucky lets out a soft, humorless chortle. This is how it starts, isn’t it? Convincing yourself that a few words might change the shape of things, that you can step out of the quiet you built your life around just by being sincere enough.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he types a short respectful line, easy to ignore, and sends the money.

Thank you for the company.

The moment it’s gone, the truth settles in. Your inbox must already be crowded with names and small attempts at catching your attention, all blurring together. He is just another stranger passing through, another line you’d never have time to read.

The leather chair creaks softly as he leans back, wondering why the knowledge of all this hadn’t stopped him— that despite knowing how insignificant he might be in a sea of faceless users, he still had let himself be drawn in so completely.

While this site certainly isn’t going to score Bucky a life partner, finding you fills him with a tender ache of something he hadn’t fully realized how much he was missing.

Perhaps this week won’t be so lonely after all.

When Bucky logs in the site on Thursday night, there is a small, red number one sitting at the top of his inbox. His fingers pause over the mouse, the hum of his laptop suddenly too loud. He blinks once, twice, hardly believing it.

baby-girl-69

Hey SergeantB! Wow!! Thanks for the generous tip 💕 Were you interested in a private show?

A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. He is genuinely surprised you answered. Even from behind the screen, your acknowledgment feels like a rare connection that leaves him both elated and unnervingly aware of how much he wants to matter to you.

His eyes then flick to the amount he entered, briefly wondering if he added too many zeros by mistake. But no, the number is exactly as intended. One thousand dollars hardly seem like a generous tip; after all, your time is surely worth far more.

Bucky is admittedly intrigued about a private show, but his phone lights up with the notification that your stream has just begun, so he opts to message you later. The thought of finally seeing you again has his heart racing. 

It’s silly, he knows, but if it makes him happy, it can’t be that bad.

Right?

You’re dressed up in a snug top and a pair of shorts, knees folded under you demurely looking all pretty and sinful. There's a delicate warmth to your presence, that same playful energy he witnessed two days ago reflecting in the slight tilt of your head. The effortless grace makes it impossible for him to look away, a mixture of admiration and longing dancing in his own blue eyes.

“Thank you for joining me today.” The chat is already alive, and you greet a few viewers whose usernames are marked with colorful emblems. They must be regular donors, people subscribed to your profile.

Bucky wonders how much they must have spent to earn that kind of attention, and a flutter of longing stirs inside him. He considers typing a greeting himself, but the words feel heavy, still awkward. He’ll bask a little longer in the orbit of your presence.

“Thought we could try something different tonight.” You start, leaning back to rest against the edge of your bed. “A Q&A, if you are all up for it. I’m a little tired.” 

The chat is now moving slow enough for Bucky to follow along, and he watches you read for a moment, your bottom lip caught in your teeth. He can’t help but lean in, heart quickening with the thought of discovering just a little more about you, to understand the person behind the camera.

“Oh, how am I doing tonight? Thanks for asking, milf_fucker86. As I mentioned before, I’m feeling a little tired. But I’m looking forward to chatting with you all.”

You answer questions about your other job, careful not into too much detail, and your hobbies, and then share a few personal tidbits: a recent attempt at baking cookies for your best friend's birthday that ended with more smoke than dough, the plot of the new book you’re halfway through, and your latest weird dream. Though he must repeatedly remind himself that this is only your online persona, Bucky is hopelessly invested. You are so entirely captivating that the impossible thought of meeting someone like you in real life already presses against his chest, sharp and tender all at once.

“Ah! vibemike wants to know my favorite kind of role play. What do you think, chat? How well do you know me?” Your smile turns mischievous. “Professor and student? I’d say that's one of my favorites, yes.” You nod. “Master and maid? Hm, not really a fan of the whole ‘master’ thing but the maid part sounds interesting. What do you think? Me in an apron with some stockings and no panties?” You giggle. “Okay, so lately I’ve been leaning into the boss and secretary dynamic. I really need to get down on my knees under my boss’ desk and show him how good I can be. Maybe let him fuck my mouth while he’s on an important business call.”

You wet your lips, glancing down. “Guess I’ve got a little excited.”

Bucky swallows thickly. No doubt he will picture that scene next time he is at work. His gaze instinctively drops to the space under his desk, tiredly dragging a hand down his flushed face.

“No, I’m not wearing a bra, super_sp3rm.” Chuckling, you get up on your knees to give your viewers a nice close-up of your chest, your nipples pert and begging to be touched.

With a knowing grin, you keep chatting leisurely, both of your hands rubbing your breasts until your breath hitches faintly. 

“I wasn’t planning on doing anything dirty tonight.” You gasp as your nails lightly scratch your covered nipples. “But my panties are all wet now. What do you think? Should I take care of it?”

The tips have been quite slow until now, and Bucky has a feeling this was your plan all along.

You laugh. “God, you’re so filthy.” Your teeth chew on your bottom lip as your free hand moves under the fabric of your shorts, starting to move in circular motions. “This is all your fault. I just wanted to talk to you guys, so this is what you get for tonight.” 

Bucky is a little disappointed as your pussy stays hidden behind the fabric, but your breath stutters, and Bucky unconsciously leans in, pulled in by your unfairly tempting sounds.

“Feels good.” You moan softly, hand moving faster. “Fuck, I’m so sensitive.” Your eyes momentarily flit towards the chat. “Are you going to come with me, hm?” With your head falling back, your fingers twist your nipple hard enough for you cry out. “Coming!” You gasp, back arching and eyes rolling back. 

Bucky’s mouth has run dry at this point. 

Your hand languidly comes out from between your legs, and with a sultry gaze at the camera, you slowly clean your glistening fingers, quietly sucking on each digit. “Hm, so good.” Then, a smirk. “Were you hoping I’d share?”

The messages grow increasingly filthier, but exhaustion tugs at you, making it impossible to continue. A few viewers clearly expected more, so you assure them that next time you’ll be back with your usual content. Bucky watches silently, the promise hanging in the air, a faint bitter taste in his mouth at the thought of having to wait.

“Little reminder that this week I'll be available on both Saturday and Sunday for private shows. So hurry up and book your slot! What are you waiting for?” You wink. “Just send me an inbox if you’re interested.” 

After your stream ends, Bucky fumbles for his phone, opening your private chat with a flutter of anticipation. He sends a quick message confirming his interest in a private show, and, caught up in the thrill of what's to come, tips the same amount as he did on Tuesday.

Before he can even log out, your reply appears: another cheerful, “thank you!!” followed by a note letting him know your availability for Saturday night.

Your exchange is straightforward and short, and Bucky is oddly comforted by the contractual nature of the arrangement. He will be paying for your time and lovely company, so even if he is as dreadfully boring as his recent dates have told him, you will at least be compensated.

He spends all night tossing and turning, excitement buzzing under his skin.

On Saturday night, Bucky joins the session with embarrassingly sweaty palms and jittery legs. He feels overly warm and flushed, even as he sits in the privacy his bedroom with only his sweatpants on, no underwear and no shirt.

When the session starts, he finds you sitting on your bed with your legs crossed and a small smile on your lips. Your sheer night robe does nothing to hide the lace teddy underneath. The fabric spectacularly hugs the luscious curves of your hips and chest. 

“Hey Sergeant.” You purr. “How are you doing tonight?” Bucky’s breath hitches when you adjust the hem of your robe. “You really caught my attention throwing those big tips around. Though I don't think I've ever seen your name in the chat before.”

I am new.

I have only seen your two latest streams.

Bucky types out, concentrating on the movements of his fingers with big, deep breathes.

“Really?” Your eyebrows lift in surprise. “I’ve never got such generous tips in such short time.”

I believe things of great value are priceless. 

You freeze for a second, almost imperceptibly, then chew on your bottom lip. “Oh. Well, thank you!” Bucky doesn’t think he’s ever seen you act so bashful, neither in your streams, nor in those little videos you post on your profile. 

Clear your throat, you sit up straighter. “I’m all yours tonight, Sergeant.” You tilt your head. “Should I call you that? Or do you prefer another name?”

Bucky groans at that. He didn’t think much about it when signing in this site, yet hearing you use his ex-title in the military has heat pooling into his stomach like molten lava. Though, there is something else that has caught his attention, embarrassingly so, since your first stream.

When Bucky takes too long to reply, you intervene. “It’s just because I need a name to moan.” You chuckle. “If it can help you, many men like to be called daddy.”

His response is immediate.

Daddy is perfect.

“Awesome.” You grin. “So,” you run both of your hands down your sides, drawing attention to your delicious form. “What are you going to do with me?”

 

To be completely honest, I have never done this before. 

Bucky blushes slightly at that, but judgment doesn’t come. “I’m honored to be your first then, Daddy. I’m here to make your fantasies come true. So if there’s something you like…” You grin. “Anything, just tell me. Don’t be shy!”

All he really wants is to see you fuck yourself on that thick dildo from that fateful night. He wonders if that is appropriate to ask.

I would love to see you without the robe.

You nod, and languidly remove the piece of clothing, tossing it somewhere behind the camera. Your hand instantly grasp one of your breasts, capturing your nipple between two fingers. The lace fabric is very thin, and your erect nubs are already greeting Bucky without any sort of barrier obscuring them. “Wish they were your hands, Daddy.”

You are stunning.

Will you let me see your pretty little pussy, baby girl?”

You moan sweetly. “Thought you said this was your first time.” You utter breathlessly.

I am sorry if that was too forward. Please let me know if I make you uncomfortable.

“Oh don't worry, Daddy.” You spread your legs, toying with the little button keeping the piece of lingerie closed. “You ready? How badly do you want to see my pretty pussy?”

So badly, please baby.

“So polite.” You hum amused, before you let the button go. The two halves of the lace fabric jump away, and Bucky takes in your already glistening core.

So beautiful, baby girl. I wish I could put my mouth on you, I am sure you taste heavenly.

Your cheeks are on fire by the time you finish reading his text. “You’re typing pretty fast. Still using both hands?” Bucky frowns momentarily. 

Yes?

“You’re not touching yourself?” Your eyebrows furrow.

I want you to come first.

His cock is noticeably tenting and straining in his pants, but Bucky is too entranced by the sight of you fall apart.

“Oh.” A flicker of surprise crosses your face. “Whatever pleases you, Daddy. What do you want me to do next?”

Bucky swallows, fingers moving very slowly on the keyboard. Here goes nothing.

I would like to see you take your biggest toy.

Your eyes widen. “Oh!” A rush of breath leaves your nose. “My biggest toy is very... Big. I don't think I have enough time right now, Daddy, but I can show you my other toys!”

That’s perfect. Just pick out the largest one you are comfortable with tonight.

He gets a nice view of your ass as you bend down to retrieve a box. When you return into frame, he nearly chokes. You are holding up two dildos, both impressively thick and long, definitely larger than the toy you had used on Tuesday night. A low hum of disbelief escapes him as his fingers thread through his dark locks, eyes rapidly flicking between the two fake dicks.

“Are these okay?” You ask heartily.

I didn't realize you possessed larger toys, sweetheart.

“Oh. I’m… Well, I like big things.”

Bucky must be dead. Dead and gone to heaven. 

You are a gem, baby girl.

His message makes you grin. “So which one do you want, Daddy?”

Bucky chooses the pastel blue toy, the thicker of the two, textured with veins and a pair of wrinkled balls that Bucky would love to see pressed against your ass. The toy is very close to Bucky’s own size, and if you can effortlessly take that, he might just fall in love.

An delightful smile takes over your lips. “This is one of my favorites, though it might take me a little extra effort to get it all in.”

I will pay extra. Whatever you need.

“You’re too eager to spend money on me.” You contemplate, tilting your head slightly.

I am very eager to see that toy inside you.

You burst out laughing at the honest abruptness. “You have some kind of size kink?” There is no judgement in your tone, just amused curiosity.

Bucky hesitates a moment. If he is going to spill his darkest secrets, a stranger he will never meet seems like an appropriate choice. 

I have a rather large cock, but I have never been with a partner who could take me comfortably. Most of them run away scared.

Once the message is sent, he feels embarrassment dawn on him like a bucket of icy water. You're just a camgirl trying to do her job, not his therapist.

You look momentarily stunned, before beaming at the camera. “Well Daddy, I love big cocks. If I ever say you’re too big, it’s a compliment, okay?” Your teeth sink into your bottom lip. “How big are you, if you don’t mind telling me?”

Bucky slowly writes out his measurements, his face practically on fire.

“What?” You shriek, eyebrows knitting as you lean forward to take a better look at the screen. “I don’t mean it in a bad way, sorry. That's actually so hot.” The words tumble quickly from your lips, a soft urgency to keep him from overthinking.

From the way your squirm on your sheets, Bucky is convinced you are telling the truth.

Then, you lift your hands, putting them several inches away from each other. “Like, this big?” Your whimper is so quiet Bucky wouldn't have caught it if it weren't for his expensive laptop. “Fuck, you’d ruin me for anyone else, Daddy.”

The CEO doesn’t know how much of this is an act, but he is far too pleased to question it.

You nod resolutely, picking up the blue dildo. “I’ll show you how good I can take it.” You start kissing the length. “I'd rather have your big cock, Daddy, but this’ll have to do for now.” 

You mouth at the tip, the sloppy sounds lewdly echoing through his speakers. Your lips then part, stretching wide around it, and a shiver runs down Bucky's spine. If he concentrates hard enough, he can almost feel the wet warmth of your mouth on his cock. He has received exactly two blow jobs in his life, both comically unsuccessful, yet you look like you would be able to suck him off without hurting yourself. 

“Wish I could taste your big cock, Daddy. Think I could fit all of you in my mouth? Wanna try so bad.” You gasp, pulling the toy off with a wet pop, and Bucky mentally thanks your camera for perfectly catching the shine of your lips.

“Fucking hell.” Bucky groans. He adjusts his cock, fingers brushing over the growing wet spot on his sweatpants. It's humiliating how the mere sight of you sucking a silly toy has him copiously leaking. 

You're doing so good for me, baby girl. Just imagine it's me. Can you feel my hand cupping the back of your head? I'd fuck your mouth so painfully slow until you beg me to bruise your throat.

You whine, letting the toy by your side so you can ease two fingers inside yourself, scissoring them. “Hope you’re watching very closely, Daddy.” You moan. “Look how good my pussy is stretching for you.” 

You then turn, reaching off camera to pick up a smaller toy— a white vibrator. As you press the toy to your clit, your body flinches, a loud moan shamelessly clawing out of your throat, and Bucky manages to take a deep breath through the haze of his arousal.

You glance back at the camera with glassy eyes. “Are you touching yourself, Daddy?” 

Have you come yet?

A desperate whine falls from your parted lips. “Almost.”

Be a good girl and come all over yourself. Then, I'll touch myself.

“Feels so good, Daddy.” Your head helplessly falls back, the wet obscene noises coming from your fingers slamming into your hole have Bucky blushing. “Wish you were the one fingering me instead.”

I wish I was too baby girl.

“Gonna come.” You gasp, and Bucky leans back, his back stiff like a board as his eyes fix on your pussy. It clenches and unclenches desperately around your digits, your moans so beautifully sinful they make his cock twitch in drastic need of attention.

Spent and satisfied, you keep your slick-coated fingers inside. “How was it, Daddy?” You hum.

Gorgeous. You're such a good girl, sweetheart. The best.

Bucky observes how you've been preening under his praises, wishing he could be there to feel your body shyly squirm against his. That's when he realizes he is at his limit now. He massages his swelling cock with gentle movements through the grey fabric, finally tugging the hem down under his balls to stroke it until it stands at full mast against his stomach.

On screen, you are still lazily fingering yourself with one hand and lubing up the blue dildo with the other. The toy lays across your torso, hefty and long to the point your hand can barely encircle it fully.

“You’re still there, right?” Your voice is breathy, tired. “You’ll come with me now, Daddy? Together?”

Yes baby

He is typing with one hand now, and fuck if it is difficult.

You grin, before pressing your lips together, your expression sobering up. “Would you like to... Turn your mic on? So I can hear you.”

Bucky should say no— he really should— but he can’t bring himself to. His palms grow a little clammy, and a tight knot of anticipation lodges itself in his throat. Part of him wants to retreat, terrified of what exposing even a fraction of himself might mean to him. And yet, there is a part of him that’s been aching to feel closer, to cross a boundary he’s only dared imagine fleetingly. For a few seconds, he hesitates.

It’ll be easier for both of you, Bucky repeats to himself.

Sure, if you don't mind

“You're so silly, Daddy. Of course I don't mind!” Your genuine smile warms his chest. “You just need to press on the mic icon. You might get a notice to allow the site to use it.”

An unfamiliar notification sound echoes through your speakers. “Done?”

“Yes.” He utters, timidly clearing his throat. “Hi, baby.”

You chew on your bottom lip to prevent an embarrassing whimper from tearing out of your throat. “Hi.” You gulp. “Fuck, I love your voice. Keep talking, please.”

“All right, sweetheart.” He keeps stroking himself leisurely, grinning when he notices you shuddering. “How many fingers can you fit in your sweet hole right now?”

“Three.” You adjust yourself, until your shoulders rest on the pillows, propped up against the headboard, letting legs shamelessly fall open. Bucky's screen is now completely full of the image of your pussy getting teased.

“You are absolutely stunning.” His cock twitches in excitement, his hand roughly squeezing the base to fight off his approaching climax. “What do you think, darling? Are you ready to be stuffed full?”

You whine. “Yes, Daddy. Stuff me full with your big cock.”

Bucky moans involuntarily, the noise catching him by surprise. He’s been waiting so long for this, for his size to excite someone instead of intimidating them. “Come on. Put it in for me.”

You presses the toy against your folds, a delicious, broken moan bounces off your bedroom walls as the tip of the tip nudges your hole, splitting it open.

“Oh baby girl.” Bucky sighs, half-lidded eyes lasciviously tracing your features twisted in a mix of concentration and bliss.

“Daddy, it’s so big.” You cry out, breasts bouncing with each labored breath. Your free hand grabs the upper hem of your lingerie piece to pull it down, tugging a nipple.

“Fuck.” He groans, completely lost into the sensation of his hand sliding over his cock, while the other fondles his balls. You eases the dildo in to the base, your whole body shaking.

“So full...” You mumble deliriously, back arching into the thumb rubbing your nipple.

“That's it, look at you.” Bucky gasps out. “Taking my big cock so well, princess.”

Your hips buckle up. “Fuck, I can’t—” You pant. “So sensitive... I–I'm gonna come.”

“I'm close too, baby girl. So close.”

“Yes yes! Come with me, Daddy!” You keen, removing your hand from your chest to furiously rub your clit. The other moves the toy back and forth, until your hips jerk.

“Shit, baby.” Bucky grunts. “Come for me, baby girl– c'mon, make a mess on my cock.”

Bucky’s soul leaves his body. He digs his feet into the ground, his back arching from the chair as his warm release ends up all over his stomach, shooting all over his fingers while he pumps his length with abandon. His ears are literally ringing at the sheer intensity of his orgasm.

Dark specks crawl across his vision, forcing him to blink a few times as he glances down at himself. There are streaks of cum across his chest and dripping down his fingers; then he sees a few spots soiling his keyboard. Again.

He hasn't made this much of a mess in years.

On the screen, you are still shaking in the aftershocks of your own climax. When your legs finally collapse against the mattress, Bucky swallows as his eyes land on the wet patch your arousal left on your sheets.

“Fuck.” You exhale loudly. “That was so good, shit.” Your chest heaves as your arm splays over your eyes. “You okay there, Daddy?”

“Better than okay.” He answers tiredly, staring at your puffy folds. He wonders if he is supposed to leave now, yet the lingering heat in his chest, the trembling in his hands, tells him he isn’t ready to let this end.

“Did you come?”  

“I did.” The apples of his cheeks turn red. “A lot.” He adds quietly.

“Yeah?” You gently pull the toy out and toss it to the side, raising on shaky elbows. “I had a lot of fun tonight, Daddy.”

“Me too, sweetheart.” Bucky swallows, suddenly at loss of words. His heart is still trying to come out of his chest.

Your fingers teasingly spread your folds open. “Think I could take your big cock in one go now?”

Bucky sincerely guffaws at that, astonished by your mischievousness, even when your eyes are lazily blinking at the camera. He is smitten with the recklessly confident woman that you are, and perhaps this is just a character crafted to please your viewers, but to say he is pleased is an understatement.

“I am glad I found you.” He blurts out. There's a moment of silence between you, too long, too deafening. And Bucky immediately regrets saying that. He crossed a boundary, didn't he?

You curl up on your side, your smile small yet sincere. “Glad you found me too, Sergeant.” You wink, covering your small yawn with the back of your palm. Bucky's heart clenches painfully at the domesticity of the moment.

“I wish I was there to clean you up.” He does not know why he said it. Perhaps it’s his mind holding onto the fantasy where you are not a stranger he’s paying for sexual gratification.

For a moment, a soft look of vulnerability colors your features. “Wish you were here, too.” You whisper, then slowly sit up, biting your bottom lip. “Hope to see you again soon.”

The CEO swallows around nothing. “Yes, of course. I look forward to seeing you again as well.” He clears his throat. “Goodnight, baby girl.”

Later in bed, Bucky smooths a hand over the empty space beside him. He knows he is a damn old fool for desiring something that is not meant to be. But there's no harm in dreaming, where longing doesn’t cut as sharply.

As you turn your shower on and wait for the water to warm, SergeantB’s voice drifts back into your thoughts..

“I wish I was there to clean you up.” 

It’s ridiculous that you are still stuck on those words. By now he has probably forgotten he even said them— just another offhand line tossed into the endless stream of conversations that pass through that site. Other camgirls must hear the same things all the time. And the size of his dick... You shake your head at yourself. People lie on the Internet constantly, and he certainly wouldn’t be the first man to exaggerate something like that. You feel like an idiot for having believed it in the first place.

You let out a small hiss as the first spray of water hits your skin, far hotter than expected. For a moment you stand there, blinking through the steam, and curse that man and his low, gentle voice, and his stupid huge dick!

You know perfectly well you’re not going to meet the love of your life through camming, so there’s really no point in dissecting every little interaction you had with that man. And yet… There’s nothing stopping you from indulging the fantasy for a moment. Imagining him as some handsome, wealthy stranger with a body to match; someone eager to spoil you without hesitation. The problem arises when your mind insists on adding details you never meant to include, like eyes filled with longing, something soft twinkling in them, almost affectionate.

Your past boyfriends had never been the type to linger after sex. None of them stayed to help you clean up, or pulled you close just to hold you. But the way SergeantB had said it left a different impression entirely, as if he had been picturing something slower, more attentive. Something gentler. And fuck, of course you want that! Warm arms around your shoulders, soft praises against your ear, sweet kisses pressed to your skin with quiet devotion. But that kind of tenderness has never really been your reality. You don’t tend to attract men who want that. You never have.

For a fleeting moment, you catch yourself imagining a larger, reassuring presence beside you in bed with steady hands soothing the lingering tremor in your limbs.

You force yourself to shake it off. You’ve already slipped tonight, your composure cracking more than once. And no matter how genuine SergeantB’s words had sounded, you’re still supposed to be professional— especially after he’s sent you more money in two days than you normally make in a month.

Men like that don’t just appear out of nowhere.

Once you’re finally changed into your pajamas, you collapse onto the bed with an exaggerated groan, the mattress dipping beneath your weight as you stretch out and reach for your phone where it sits charging on the nightstand. The screen lights up in your hand, and you settle back against the pillows with the vague intention of scrolling through social media for a few minutes before sleep inevitably takes over.

Predictably, your thumb drifts to the cam site instead.

Several notifications greet you the moment the page loads— new followers, a few scattered likes, the usual background noise of the platform. But one name catches your eye almost immediately, and your heartbeat stutters before quickening just a little.

SergeantB liked one of your older pictures.

You tap the notification and glance at the timestamp, noticing that the like appeared almost immediately after your private show ended. The realization sends a faint flutter through your chest. Without really thinking about it, your finger drifts to your inbox and opens your conversation thread with him, a quiet flicker of anticipation building as the page loads. But the chat window remains stubbornly empty.

You refresh the page, frowning slightly as you wait for it to reload. Maybe your Wi-Fi is acting up again; it’s been unreliable all week, cutting out at the worst possible moments. The screen updates… And nothing changes. No new message, no little typing bubble, no sign that he had tried to reach out.

You stare at the chat for another moment before forcing yourself to close it, rolling onto your back as if physically putting distance between yourself and the temptation to check again. Holding the phone above your face, you stretch your arms out and switch to the front camera, deciding on a whim to take a quick selfie.

The smile that appears on your lips comes easily, softer than the teasing, practiced expressions you usually give your viewers during streams. It's less performative, perhaps a little too genuine for a picture you’re planning to send to just another client.

Right before snapping the photo, though, you pause long enough to tug the hem of your top slightly lower across your chest, adjusting the fabric until the neckline dips just enough.

After all, a little cleavage never hurt anyone.

Before you can overthink it, you turn yourself on your back and raise your arms to snap a quick selfie. Your smile is different from the lewd grins you give your viewers, maybe too genuine for a picture you want to send to one of your clients. Before you snap the picture, you adjust the hem of your top lower. A little cleavage never hurt anyone. 

You spend far too long fussing over the pose, tilting your head this way and that while studying the screen with increasing frustration. In some shots your eyes are half-closed in an awkward blink, in others your mouth twists into a strange, tight expression the longer you scrutinize it, until every new picture seems worse than the last. By the time you finally give up and settle on one of the first photos you took— ironically one of the most natural— you’ve added nearly forty unnecessary pictures to your gallery. After a brief hesitation, you send it with a simple pink heart. It feels like the safest option: cute, but not overly familiar. The blue heart would seem too friendly, almost casual, while the red one might come across as far more aggressive than you intend.

It’s already very late, and even though a thin thread of adrenaline still hums beneath your skin at the thought that he might reply, you know it’s unlikely you’ll hear back from him tonight.

Even so, you keep your phone in your hand, checking the screen every few minutes… And end up staying awake for nearly two more hours.

You don’t hear from SergeantB for three days.

You can’t help wondering if sending that selfie had been a mistake. Maybe it came across as clingy. Maybe he simply didn’t like it. In hindsight, the picture had been softer than the ones on your profile—less polished, less suggestive, lacking the carefully crafted allure you usually present to your viewers.

The uncertainty nags at you more than you’d like to admit.

Over the following days, you find yourself checking your notifications far too often, your heart performing a small, hopeful somersault every time your phone chimes. Unfortunately, the messages waiting for you are never the ones you’re hoping for.

Apart from the usual users who who greet you with unfailing dedication every morning and every night, as if maintaining a strange little ritual, the rest  the typical questions about your schedule and fees— information that is very clearly displayed in the pinned post at the top of your profile. Still, you make an effort to respond politely when it comes to potential clients.

Then there are the other kinds of messages.

One particularly long text from a stranger attempts to set up an actual date, despite the fact that you’ve been perfectly clear about your boundaries. You’ve said it before, more than once: the show ends the moment you go offline.

And let’s not start with the embarrassingly amount of unsolicited dick pictures.

Just because you masturbate online for money, it doesn’t mean you enjoy receiving random people’s cocks in your inbox.

Apparently, not everyone can be as polite and considerate as SergeantB.

You sigh irritated at that thought. It’s not like you to get so… Fixated over one particular viewer, especially one you know so little about, but he feels different.

You hate the way your mind keeps replaying that night over and over whenever you try to fall asleep, lingering on his words and the quiet way he said he wished he could take care of you in such a vulnerable moment. You hate how every notification makes you flinch with a spark of hope, only for it to turn out to be another useless Gmail alert. And you definitely hate the embarrassing habit you’ve developed of checking your chat with him every hour, refreshing the page as if a new message might magically appear if you look often enough.

For all you know, the man is already in a relationship.

The thought makes something inside you twist miserably, even though it shouldn’t matter at all. Still, it’s hard to imagine that he’s single. He’s charming, well-spoken, and throws around his wealth like it’s nothing— surely a man like that must have some stunning, impossibly polished partner waiting for him somewhere. Some gorgeous, rich supermodel who fits perfectly into his world.

And yet… Somehow he doesn’t strike you as the type to sneak around behind someone’s back.

But maybe that’s just the version of him you’ve built in your head, softening the edges and filling in the blanks until the fantasy starts to feel more convincing than the truth.

Though your thoughts keep circling back to him on their own, it’s Tuesday, which means the show has to go on tonight.

As good as weekend numbers usually are, the beginning of the week tends to be the most profitable. Your chat inevitably fills with grumpy men looking to blow off some steam after the harsh reality of Monday morning has smacked them in the face. By Tuesday night, most of them are more than willing to spend a little extra for a distraction.

And if Lady Luck has finally decided to look your way, maybe a certain sergeant will be among them too.

“Well, hello everyone!” You beam at the camera. “How was your weekend? Did you miss me?”

You bite your bottom lip as your eyes flit across the screen, scanning the flood of usernames popping up in rapid succession. A few familiar regulars appear, leaving friendly greetings, and you make sure to acknowledge them by name. Then, almost immediately, a text labeling you “their little slut” makes your stomach knot uncomfortably. You hesitate, finger hovering over the ban button, before deciding to give them another chance. This sort of thing isn’t new, but today you’re more sensitive than usual. And you categorically refuse to blame it on a certain man ghosting you.

Even as the rest of the comments stay polite and innocuous, that one leaves a lingering bitterness in your mouth.

And then you see it.

Your disappointment evaporates humiliatingly fast, the crease of frustration between your brows smoothing out, replaced by a bashful, almost shy smile.

SergeantB 

Hello, sweetheart. You look very lovely tonight.

Lovely.

“Thank you, SergeantB.” You bat your eyelashes, emboldened by the compliment. “I wanted to look good tonight.” Your fingers play with the hem of your short skirt, brushing lightly over your thighs as you give a teasing tilt of your hips. “Think I did a pretty good job, hm?”

One of your regulars mentions something about needing to taste you, and that makes you chuckle.

“Your mouth would feel so good right here. Or maybe…” Your fingers dance on your belly, reaching lower and lower. “Here?”

The thought of SergeantB saying the same exact thing on Saturday night briefly crosses your mind, before the sound of a tip pulls your attention back to the show.

“Oh, do I have something under this skirt?” You tilt your head, pretending to think about it. “Let’s see.” 

You rise to your feet and spin in a quick twirl, letting your back face the camera for a moment. Winking over your shoulder, you sway your hips just enough to tease, feeling the chat explode with excitement and donations in response. Then, leaning forward slightly, you smack your palms against your asscheeks, massaging them with deliberate, teasing motions until the viewers’ demands are satisfied. As your hands part your cheeks, there’s nothing left to conceal your tight entrance, leaving you completely exposed to their gaze.

You kneel back on your bed with a little giggle. “I want you in my mouth tonight, Daddy.” You sigh, smoothing your palms up and down your naked thighs. “Want you to mark with your cum all over my face, my tits… Everywhere.” Your hands then reach for the tight fabric stretched across your chest, where your nipples have already started to peek through. “Can I use my mouth to make you feel good?”

A quiet moan falls from your lips as you pinch and tug at them, your hips starting a humping movement of their own to find a little relief for your throbbing pussy against the sheets. 

The chat erupts with excitement at the promise of a blowjob. You turn around to retrieve the toy, making a big show of crawling toward the edge of your bed while stretching your back and spreading your knees to give the camera a good look at your holes. You crawl toward the other edge of the bed, stretching your back in a slow, deliberate arch, your knees intentionally spread enough to draw the camera’s gaze right on your holes.

“You’re even bigger than this, aren’t you, Daddy?” You give the dildo a little squeeze.

You know you’re playing a dangerous game for your own mental health by letting your thoughts wander to him, but you convince yourself that you can separate reality from… Whatever this is. Besides, the rest of your viewers won’t suspect a thing.

SergeantB would surely prefer a bigger toy, but you would rather save that for a private session. If you’re going to choke on a SergeantB-sized dildo, you want to have the man’s voice moaning in your ears.

You kneel in front of the camera, searching for the best angle to show off both your cleavage and your face. You plant a soft kiss on the toy’s tip, a demure smile already teasing your viewers as you peek up at the through your lashes. “I hope you’ve saved up a big load for me.” You give the tip a good lick. “You taste so, so good, Daddy.”

Your lips finally engulf the silicon length, a performative moan muffled by the toy as your eyes stay fixed on the camera, hoping SergeantB is watching, picturing his cock in your mouth.

SergeantB

You look so ravishing with a big cock stuffing you full.

A genuine whine rips out of your throat at his shameless comment. “You know I love big cocks, Daddy.” You give the toy a few loving strokes, treating it like the real thing.

SergeantB

Oh babygirl, I know you do.

A traitorous shiver runs down your back, but you need to focus! Taking the dildo into your mouth carefully, you slowly ease it forward, relaxing your throat as you fight through a gag as you keep going. You must look like a mess, with drool glistening along your stretched lips and hazy eyes pricking with tears, lifted toward the lens with an almost innocent vulnerability. 

His cock is even bigger than this, your mind unhelpfully supplies.

You pull back for a second, a string of saliva connecting your lips to the tip, and then you dive back in, taking the toy in to the hilt and bobbing your head a couple of times. You choke around it this time, but barely register it, lost in the dizzying, intoxicating fullness that spins through your senses.

You take a moment to regain your breath and read the comments, hand wrapping around the dildo to give it a few strokes. “You can come in my mouth, daddy.” You nod, sticking your tongue out to trace the toy’s length. “'M gonna take it all like a good girl.”

Though your jaw hurts, your lips wrap again around the tip, taking it fully inside your mouth once more.

No messages from SergeantB have come through, and the longing twists in your chest. You need him to type something, anything— a word, a compliment, anything to remind you that he’s still watching, that he sees how beautiful you are and how good you’re doing for him.

Your head feels incredibly light as you keep giving this stupid toy the best blowjob of your viewers' life, and for a moment you wonder if you could come like this: untouched, imagining a large hand gently pushing the back of your head and a warm, pulsing cock deep in your throat.

That's when he comes back.

SergeantB

You're doing so good, babygirl. Look at you, sweet girl. Taking me so well.

You moan humiliatingly loud at the message, body locking in at the praises as you withdraw slightly, focusing on the tip while your hand strokes the rest of the girth, desperately trying to wring out even a drop of cum. Maybe some day... For now your imagination will have to suffice. You picture warm, salty spurts sliding down your throat, and that's when you notice how embarrassingly fast you've been humping your bed, your hole clenching pathetically around nothing.

But you don't come. Not yet.

At last you slump forward, panting. “Taste good, daddy. Thank you.” Your hand maintains its slow strokes, half-lidded eyes hazily glancing at the chat. And that's when reality the truth strikes, crisp and jarring, pulling you fully back into the moment.

anonymous369

horny slut 💦

80081es_

throw that toy in the fucking trash and let me show you how good real men fuck whores' mouth 🔥

You know it comes with the job, but it’s a harsh reminder that this is how people here see you, the value they’ve assigned to you as a person, not as the camgirl.

This show isn’t for them anyway.

It hits you all at once, like a sharp punch rather than a thought, tight and electric in your chest. The chat scrolls too quickly, lines of text stacking and blurring together, some of them disgustingly crude, invasive, clinging to you like a second skin. The urge to end the stream feels urgent, necessary. You need air, a voice that can anchor you, even if it’s just the echo of someone who makes your lonely self ache for something more. You tell yourself this is risky, that letting thoughts of him take over will only burn you, reduced to ashes. And yet, as your fingers itch for the touchpad, your heart races like it might escape your ribcage entirely, drawn to the idea of a presence that screams safety— even without a real name or a face.

Right on cue, SergeantB sends an ostentatiously large tip, the alert pulling you back from the edge of panic.

You clear your throat softly, steadying yourself, and exhale slowly. “Thank you, Sergeant.” You murmur, your restrained smile softening into something almost real. “I can always count on you to take care of me.”

Your eyes flick across the chat one last time, chest heaving as you try to regain composure despite the flood of messages. “Thank you for keeping me company.” You add, voice steadier now. “It’s been fun, but I… I need to go.”

Bucky dreads the moment you abruptly log off, knowing that waiting until Thursday to see you again will be nothing short of torture. You didn't even get to come after putting on such a magnificent show for him and the rest of your viewers. His cock is still leaking in the confines of his underwear, painfully hard, yet he ignored it in favor of admiring your beauty. In truth, he hoped to come with you.

As if in answer to his prayers, his computer chimes with the request of a video call. It's you, sending him a private invitation, and Bucky accepts without hesitation, though astonished. His screen is once again filled with you in your very, very short skirt– he almost had a heart attack when you turned around to show your cute ass– and that sinfully snug top leaving nothing to the imagination while simultaneously hiding your perfect breasts.

As if in answer to his prayers, his computer chimes with a private video call request. It’s you, sending him an invitation, and Bucky accepts before his mind can catch up. His screen blossoms with your presence once more with you still in that shockingly short skirt. His poor heart almost stopped to function when you turned around to reveal your adorable, naked ass, along with that sinfully snug top sculpting your already perfect breasts.

“Sweetheart?” His brows furrow, the name rolling far too on his tongue.

Your smile is nothing short of adorable, your chest still heaving as you recover from the huge strain you put on both your throat and your lungs. “Mind if we keep each other a little more company?” You tilt your head, batting your eyelashes at your dark screen.

“Of course, baby.” His blue eyes rake over your body as you sit back on the bed, still kneeling. “That was...” He swallows. “Quite the show. Also, I love your outfit.” He rushes out.

You grin. “Oh? This old thing? Glad you enjoyed it.”

“Maybe next time…” Searches for the right words is hard with you here, in all your debauched glory. “You can wear something I bought for you.”

Your eyes widen at that, but you delude yourself to hide it quite, opting for a satisfied smile. “You want to take me shopping?”

Bucky’s chest constricts as he envisions you leaning against him while browsing the upscale boutiques downtown. He imagines turning the day into something more: a casual lunch at a quaint restaurant, wandering hand in hand through a nearby park, the sunlight filtering through the trees and falling across you like a halo, delicately kissing your features in a way that makes his breath catch.

Every detail plays out so vividly in his mind, each one more intoxicating than the last, and yet he knows it’s a dream that will never leave his imagination. You couldn’t possibly be serious about meeting him, could you?

“I want to spoil you.” Bucky admits timidly. “I’ll buy you anything you want.”

“Anything?” You hide your huge grin by chewing on your bottom lip. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. Pick out anything your heart desires. Actually, if you send me links, I can take care of the rest.”

“Hm, why don’t you pick something out for me?”

“Oh well, I–I would hardly know what to choose.”

“Do you like lace, Daddy? Or maybe you’d like me wrapped up in silk?” A mischievous grin tugs at your lips as your eyes dance with playful curiosity, daring him to answer. “Maybe something easy to access? So you can fuck me whenever and wherever you want.”

Bucky swallows again, loudly. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good.” You let your hands glide over your thighs, tracing the curves he longs to worship with both hands and lips.

“You didn't get to come before.” He blurts out. 

“You know I need to have something thick inside me.” You sigh dejected. “You're so generous with all your big tips. Should I squirt all over my panties and send them to you as a keepsake?” You muse casually, as if you just asked him the time.

“Fuck.” He curses under his breath, momentarily closing his eyes at the image.

“Hm Daddy, wish you were here to fill me up.”

“Babygirl.” Bucky groans, closing his eye and throwing his head back when his fingers reach down to squeeze his balls.

“You'd like that, right?” Your palms slide up and massage your tits. “Fuck me until I'm a trembling mess?”

“Yes, fuck yes please.”

You retrieve the large dildo you used before, kneeling on the floor to attach the suction cup on a hard surface. “I’ve been thinking about you since that night. Wanna show you how good I can be for you.” A gasp falls from your open mouth as your hole easily accepts the toy. “It's so thick... Bet it doesn't even compare to your fat cock, but—” Your eyebrows furrow in pleasure. “Just thinking about riding you has me all worked up.”

“Look at you,” Bucky hums mesmerized. “You’re perfect, sweetheart. Why don't you free your beautiful breasts for me?”

“Hm, only for you.” Your hands fumble with the hem of the top, tossing it somewhere on the floor while channel the last scraps of your energy to bounce on the toy.

“You ruined me for everyone else.”

Bucky nods dumbly, a trembling breath escaping his lips as he strokes himself. He’s already teetering on the edge after sitting through your stream without touching himself, yet he forces himself to endure a little longer. Just so you can come together.

“You’ll take care of me so good, right Daddy?” The words carelessly tumble out of your mouth as you toss your head back. “Fuck– please, Daddy need your hands on me. Please, please need you to fuck me.”

“Anything for you, doll.” Bucky grunts, squeezing the base of his dick as his eyes fix on your bouncing breasts. The phantom feeling of your tits pressed to his chest as he thrusts into you makes his other hand grasp for the edge of the desk.

Maybe he's not going to last.

Your next whimper is so sweet. “Let me be yours,” your chest heaves. “Your babygirl.”

You are not his. Not really, but Bucky can pretend. It’s easy when you are playing along, feeding into his desires.

“That’s right, baby. Mine, all mine.” He growls, his fist pumping rough strokes.

“My clit’s throbbing, Daddy.” Your thighs are begging for mercy, but his breathy groans encourage you to ride the dildo with abandon. He shudders when you give your nub a wet slap, flinching with you. “Can I have your cum, pretty please?”

For fuck's sake. Bucky secretly hopes he dies right now, so this moment can be the last thing his mind ever holds.

And that's how he gives in— unfortunately, he might add— because you are far too stunning, far too tempting a creature for him to resist, but he’ll be out of commission for the rest of the night. His cock spasms, soiling both his hands and belly, the pleasure so intense it’s almost painful.

“Oh, fuck!” Bucky groans through clenched teeth just as his cock spills all over his hand and belly, the orgasm so intense it almost borders on painful as his hand keeps sliding up and down the twitching length, until the very last drop. 

Too exhausted to move, he slumps back in his chair, enjoying the view of you working toward your own climax. He's determined to not miss a single moment.

There’s no way Bucky could keep up with such a young vixen like yourself— not that he’d mind using his hands and mouth. He can already picture it so clearly: sitting just as he is now, spent and satisfied, with you squirming in his lap, chasing after one last round of pleasure, because you're an insatiable pretty thing. He could run his hands over your shaky thighs, selfishly feel those sinful curves, whisper praises until you are a whining mess, until you cry out for him.

“Please.” You beg, to the point of tears. “Need to come, please let me come, Daddy.”

“Go ahead,” he chokes out. “Come for me, lovely.”

The noise you make is delicious. It’s much quieter and breathier than the ones your viewers are used to, yet it's so raw that Bucky's cock weakly gives a twitch of appreciation.

“Fuck!” You pant, your shaky body sagging forward, the whole length of the toy snug inside you. “Fuck, oh my God.”

“You okay, sweetheart?” Bucky promptly asks. He’s still recovering from his own mind-blowing climax, and he can barely form cohesive thoughts.

You hum absentmindedly, tiredly pushing yourself on the bed as your heart keeps beating so fast you are certain SergeantB might hear it if he focuses hard enough. “Yeah, jus'... Intense.”

Bucky hums softly, momentarily squeezing his eyes shut to shake the thought of your pussy tightly clenching around him out of his head.

As you both catch your breath, he allows his eyes to indulge for a moment on you. Utterly spent, beautiful in that soft, wrecked way, and Bucky feels a sharp pang in his chest— a sudden, aching urge to shower you with kisses and pull you into his arms.

“I wish I could kiss you, babygirl.” He admits finally, voice gentle and raw.

“Yeah?” Your finger drifts absentmindedly over your lips before you clear your throat, the knot forming there hard to ignore as his tender words threaten to undo you.

“And would you… Would hold me too?” Your voice breaks timidly.

“Of course.” Bucky frowns, as if the question shouldn’t even need asking. “I’m sure you’d fit perfectly in my arms.”

“Yes.” You huff out a small laugh. “We’ll have to test that out sometime.”

Bucky’s heart rate picks up, a dangerous little spark lighting in his chest where there’s been nothing but quiet for years. Everything feels suddenly too real, as if maybe— just maybe— you could actually want him.

“How are you so perfect, sweetheart?” He marvels, barely above a whisper.

“I love your pet names.” The corners of your mouth lift slightly, bashful. “You always give me so many compliments.” You yawn, eyelids momentarily fluttering close as you feel almost weightless, like you’re floating on a warm, cozy cloud.

“Of course I do.” He clears his throat. “You deserve them.”

A beat passes, and that's when you can't hold it in anymore. “Did you get my picture?” You throw out, trying to sound casual, eyes darting anywhere but the screen.

“The picture.” Bucky’s voice tightens, guiltily. “Thank you for that, baby. You looked gorgeous.”

“Really?” You perk up— far more eagerly than you meant to. “And here I was, worried you wouldn't recognize me with a shirt on.” You add with a light laugh, trying to play it off.

“Of course!” Bucky protests at once, eyes widening at the preposterous statement. “I didn’t see it until tonight, I'm sorry, lovely. Work has been rough lately. I was going to message you later.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You sober up in concern. “Is everything okay now?” Of course, you’re tucked safely in your bedroom, fretting over a fucking selfie, while he’s dealing with real life.

Stupid, stupid girl.

“There's no need to be sorry.” Bucky nods, though you can’t see him. You look so endearing, he wants to cup your cheeks and kiss you until his lungs burn. “It’s all good now. Don’t worry, baby.” He swallows, debating whether to say what’s really on his mind.

“You looked like an angel, by the way.”

You make a strangled noise as you almost choke on your own surprise. “What?”

“A lovely angel.”

“Oh.” Your pitiful chuckle makes his brows furrow. “Well, that's a first. People usually use more... Explicit names to address me.”

“They're beasts.” You can't help yourself as you burst out laughing at the indignation in his voice, while Bucky sits in reverent silence, utterly captivated by your easy, natural charm.

“Hey, Sergeant?”

His cheeks heat instantly. “You... You can call me Bucky.” He murmurs, voice dipping slightly at the end.

“Bucky?” Both your eyebrows shoot up with a mix of surprise and delight. “Is that your real name? What does it mean?”

“Oh.” He fidgets on his office chair, suddenly shy at the personal question. “It’s a diminutive of my middle name, but almost everybody calls me that.” For all he knows, you will forget it right after hanging up. But even for these last few minutes, it feels nice to be less anonymous.

“Bucky.” You repeat slowly, savoring it. “Bucky. I like it!”

A low chuckle comes from his side of the laptop. “It sounds good when you say it.”

“I can’t wait to moan it for you.” Your eyes sparkle mischievously. “I bet it’ll sound even when you’ll finally fuck me. Don’t you think?”

“Fuck you?” Bucky echoes in confusion. You had said something similar before, but the CEO assumed it was meaningless dirty talk.

You tilt your head, teasingly lifting an eyebrow. “Don’t you want to?”

You must be joking.

Bucky’s heart hammers dangerously fast against his ribcage. He hasn’t done anything worthy of your attention, you even hardly know each other.

“You... You don’t even know me.”

“Well, we can get to know each other, can’t we?” You push yourself up, now sitting on the bed with your legs crossed. “I want to get to know you, Bucky.”

It's frustratingly tempting to believe that you are genuinely interested in him. Except Bucky is older than you, much older. And his experience in dating is, to put it lightly, atrocious. He aches to let you see the real him, but he’s terrified of how you'll react when you realize the truth. It’s not hard to imagine disappointment flicker in your beautiful eyes when you understand that Bucky is just a lonely, middle-aged man yearning for a woman so far out of his league.

“Baby, you’re sweet but—”

“I mean,” you cut in with a nervous laugh. “We established that the size of your cock is definitely not a problem for me, and I thought—” The words die in your throat. You desperately hope the mic didn't catch the slight waver in your voice.

Bucky flushes. “That’s not the issue.”

“Then what is?” You blurt out, words rushing out before you can filter them. “Am I not good enough for you?”

Bucky inhales sharply, frozen in his chair. What's happening?

“What? No baby, it's not you—”

“Ah.” You laugh bitterly. “It’s not me, it’s you. Right.” Your hand moves instinctively out of frame, returning with a fluffy blanket. Your skin is burning as a sudden, deep shame courses through you. Standing bare before him, exposed, you’ve never felt this vulnerable, this... Dirty. Not even when some of your viewers sent you their vile fantasies.

“I thought... I just thought I could be...” The exhale you release is awkward, strained, and you hope it passes for a chuckle. “Never mind.”

Bucky’s heart aches uncomfortably, yet he doesn't know what to say, his tongue feeling dry and thick, pathetically still in his mouth like concrete.

The way your voice shook when you asked if he’d hold you, the way your eyes lit up at his praises... Wasn't that all part of your act?

“It’s getting pretty late, isn’t it?” You clear your throat. “Sorry for keeping you so long.”

No matter what he says now, it will only disappoint you. So he watches, powerless, as your glassy eyes burn a hole in your keyboard.

“Thanks for spending time with me.” Your voice is so uncharacteristically dull that Bucky wants to punch himself in the nose. “And for the tips, of course. Goodnight.”

The session ends, leaving Bucky staring dismayed at his screen, before burying his face in his hands. He should message you, reach out, say something... But he has no words that wouldn’t betray his fear.

I’m too old for you anyway.

It’s probably better that you don’t get invested in someone like me.

Silence has never felt so deafening. You wanted to meet him, and Bucky rejected you in his own words.

“You don’t even know me.”

When his head lifts, the image reflected in the black screen is pitiful. Tired eyes with lines etched at the corners, long locks falling unruly, and a stubble flecked with grey. He looks like the grumpy, single uncle perpetually annoyed at everything— the one nieces and nephews avoid, whispering complaints about his rude scowl, while their parents shrug and snicker, “Ah, leave him alone, he’s just that way. That’s why you should marry, or you’ll turn out like him.”

And even if that’s not far from the truth he came to accept a long time ago, it's still profoundly disheartening.

You deserve everything gentle and unwavering, someone who can cradle you when the world feels too heavy. And more than anything, honesty that never falters, never hides.

And that’s exactly what Bucky is going to give you.

I don’t do taglists anymore, thank you for reading 🩵

[writingdose]

Reblog if you do NOT want the new Tumblr update

Apparently, from what I hear people say, in the new Tumblr update, if someone reblogs your post and adds a comment of their own, that reblog is counted as a new post and it belongs to the reblogger. Not you. You, as the OP, do not get the notifications if someone else later reblogs from the person who reblogged your post with their own comment. You can’t see what comments people leave on the reblogs of the post you originally made unless they reblogged directly from you.

If this is actually true, it will just open doors for harassment. And also it takes the credits away from the OPs. Tumblr’s etiquette has always been “reblog don’t repost”. So this new update, if true, contradicts the whole core values of Tumblr as a community.

Respectfully, we don’t want this @staff @support @tumblr @changes please listen to your users.

I’d also like to clarify that this is what I hear from what a lot of people are saying, and it bothers me. But if I got anything wrong, I do apologize.

[writingstreetspirit]

Summer Of ’96

Summery: You and Steve enjoy a warm summer day together with your children.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Pregnancy, a whole bunch of fluff

Word count: 1.4k

A/N: Can you tell that I’m longing for summer and not -10 °C and 30cm deep snow? As usual, thank you for reading!

—

It was a hot summer day, the sun stood high and bright in the cloudless sky. The sweltering heat clung to you like a second layer of skin, the way it usually did in the middle of July in Indiana. It was the sort of day that made people want to be outside to enjoy summer break and vacation.

You’re sitting on the back porch overlooking the garden in a faded foldable chair that’s seen better days. The family dog, a pale coated Labrador Retriever named Hank, was lying down beside the chair by the shade, keeping a watchful eye on his surroundings. A paperback lay open in your lap, the pages fluttering lightly with the light breezes occasionally rolling in the air. But you’re not really reading anymore, you haven’t been for a while.

Out in the backyard, laughter cuts through the steady hiss of the sprinkler. Steve stood barefoot in the grass, jeans shorts rolled up and bare chested, hair flattened in a way that would’ve horrified him not so many years ago. Now he just laughs about it, throwing his head back as your two daughters run around him, shrieking as the cold water rains around them.

You and Steve, who had lived together in a cramped and rundown apartment since winter of ‘85, were finally able to purchase your first house in August of ’89, three months after you’d gotten married. It wasn’t a fancy one, three bedrooms and two bathrooms, sky blue exterior with a nice back garden, but it was big enough at the time for the two of you and your growing family.

In the middle of January the following year, you and Steve welcomed your first child. A daughter that you named Jamie, a nod to Jane Hopper. She was your pride and joy, loved and adored by you and Steve as well as all her aunts and uncles. For a while it was just the three of you, but then in early April of ‘92, you gave birth to your second child, once again a daughter that you called Hannah.

Steve took to the role as a husband and father of two girls with ease, the pride rolling off him in waves whenever he talked about his girls (which was a lot). Robin had once teased Steve after Hannah was born that ‘he was so meant to be just a girl dad’. Little did auntie Robin know that she was about to be right.

You shifted slightly in your chair, one hand instinctively drifting to your belly. It’s round and full, skin stretched beneath your loose blouse. The baby has been active all morning, like she can feel the sunshine and hear the laughter. Like she wants to be part of it already, even if her expected arrival is two months away.

As if on cue, one tiny foot delivered a firm kick right to one of your ribs. You suck in a sharp breath, wincing before you can stop yourself. Hank, sensing the sudden change in you, stood up and nudged his snout against your arm with a huff. You murmur softly under your breath, pressing the palm more firmly to your stomach, the other hand drifting down to gently scratch behind Hank’s ear. “Good boy, Hank. And you, baby girl, easy.”

Out in the garden, Steve noticed immediately the way he always does when it comes to you or the girls. His head snapped toward the porch, the concern cutting through his grin in an instant. He quickly jogged over, his feet slapping against the soaked grass.

“You okay?” he asked tenderly, crouching in front of you besides Hank. His hand creeps up to settle on your bare thigh, giving the skin a comforting squeeze. You laugh, despite the lingering ache. “Yeah. She just went for the ribs this time.”

His expression softened at that, relief melting into something tender and awed. His hand travels to your belly, thumb brushing slow circles on the firm bump. He leaned in and spoke soft and tender to the prominent bump, as if gently lecturing her. “Go easy on mommy, okay?”

You had once upon a time thought that Steve was insane for wanting six children, the image of that many kids running around causing chaos had felt very unappealing. But that changed after you had Jamie and then Hannah, and got to watch Steve be a dad. The love and affection with which he raised his daughters, and the pure joy radiating from him when you revealed your third pregnancy, the idea of having more than three kids with him didn't seem so insane anymore.

Behind him, the girls shrieked again, chasing each other through the sprinkler like it’s the funniest thing in the world. You glanced toward the small wooden table beside your chair where a sweating pitcher of lemonade catches the light. The ice inside has melted slightly, but you could still tell that it was cold.

You looked out to the garden at your playing children and called out, “Jamie, Hannah! Lemonade break!”

The reaction was immediate. Your oldest, Jamie, followed close by little sister Hannah, came sprinting toward the porch with delighted cheerings of ‘yay, lemonade!’, their small bare feet slapping against the soaked grass.

Steve stood up, laughing as they skidded to a stop in front of you. You and Steve poured the lemonade carefully, the smell of citrus sharp and sweet, and handed them their cups. Both Jamie and Hannah drank like they’ve crossed a desert, lemonade spilling down the youngest girl's chin.

“Slow down,” You laugh, smiling as you stroke a soothing hand along Hannah's wet hair. She smiled behind the cup, leaning a little into the touch subconsciously. “Don’t want you to choke.”

As soon as the cups are empty, they’re gone again with a loud ‘thank you, mommy!’, sprinting back toward the sprinkler. Hank followed close after the girls, tail wagging enthusiastically at their excitement. You followed Steve’s gaze back to the girls, watching how Jamie grabbed onto Hannah’s hand and pulled her through the water, guiding her little sister.

For a moment, you two just sat there on the porch, watching as your daughters and dog played together. The sight was anything but new, but the warm and fuzzy feeling in your chest whenever you watched them be happy was one you didn’t think you’d ever fully get used to.

“Can you imagine that this time next year, there will be three little girls playing in this garden instead of two?” You asked out loud, your eyes still watching closely as the girls ran through the sprinkler again, Hank barking gently at their high pitched laughter.

Steve, watching the scene playing out before him with love filled eyes, slowly shook his head. His voice was filled with a clear trace of disbelief as he spoke. “Three girls, I almost can’t imagine it. But I am so grateful. I wonder what I ever did to deserve all of this, what I did to get so lucky that you gave me them.”

At that last light, you tore your eyes away from your daughter to look at your husband. Your hand reached out, softly holding onto one of his. Your fingers absentmindedly smoothed across the wedding band on his ring finger. “You have always deserved this life, Steve Harrington. We are the lucky ones, you are an incredible husband and dad.”

Steve turned to look at you, softly shaking his head as if to say ‘this- you are too good to be true’, his eyes soft and gentle as he looked at you. His hand tenderly squeezed your own. He leaned forward and kissed you, slow and sure in his affection. Pulling away, Steve smiled at you, wide and happy. “And you are an incredible wife and mom, [Name] Harrington. I can’t wait to see you become a mom again to this little one.”

Steve’s free hand landed tenderly against your swollen stomach, softly stroking the bump underneath his palm. As if sensing her dad’s presence, the baby gave a small kick right under his hand. You smiled softly at the familiar sensation, thankful that she didn’t kick as hard this time.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss against your belly, his voice low and sweet as he spoke just to her. “Stay in there for a little while longer. We’ll be here when you're ready.”

[writingstreetspirit]

Blowing Your Mind

Summary: The curfew in Hawkins and the secret Crawls doesn’t allow for much alone time with Steve. So when the opportunity presents itself, you take it. (Takes place in the 18 months time-skip in the beginning of Season 5)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Blowjob (m receiving), swearing, smut, MINORS DNI. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Word count: 1.1k (just a teeny tiny baby)

A/N: We are all happy Steve survived the last episode, right? I sure was! And also, Happy New Year everyone! Thank you for reading!

—

“Are you sure about this? You know you don’t have to do this for me, right?“ Steve asked you, looking down at you kneeling in front of him.

The floor of the back seat of Steve’s BMW was cramped and your kneecaps already ached, but the sight of Steve’s hard on bulging his jeans was a sight too mouthwatering enough for you to ignore the slight discomfort.

Since the military enforced the curfew in Hawkins, and the group’s secret Crawls taking place ever so often, free time was oh so rare. So when you and Steve find a moment to just be alone with one another, whether it’s a couple of hours or just five minutes, you take it.

That’s how you both ended up in the back of Steve’s car. It was the perfect getaway point for the time being, when all you wanted was a break away from all the stress that was going on in Hawkins. A small break from everyone else that you were in close proximity with every single day for months now.

What had started out as kissing quickly turned steamier, which wasn’t uncommon when it comes to you and Steve. Before you knew it, you’d crawled down between Steve’s legs, your mouth wanting to taste another part of your hot boyfriend.

You huffed a laugh, teasing back. “Yeah, I’m sure. Usually when a girl goes down on her knees in front of a guy, she wants to, you know.“

Steve rolled his eyes, but the grin on his face told a different story. He shifted on the leather backseat, leaning further into your space. “Well, yeah. I know. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to do that for me.“

A tender smile curled on your lips, your hands creeping up Steve’s legs, softly stroking his thighs. You leaned forward and pressed a kiss against his kneecap. “I know. I truly appreciate that, Stevie.”

Pulling away from his lips, your hands creeped inward to the fly of his jeans. Toying with the fabric, you looked up at Steve with hooded eyes and asked with that sultry voice that made Steve putty in your hands every single time. “Can I suck your cock?”

Steve groaned softly at your sinfully arousing request. He nodded his head eagerly, moving forward with his hips into your hands, his cock visibly twitching against the jeans. “Fuck baby, yeah.”

With his permission you dragged down the zipper and opened the fly. His cock was tenting the white boxer briefs, the fabric already damp with precome where the head was placed. With practiced fingers you tugged down the cotton just enough to free him, exposing his hard cock and balls.

“So fucking big.” You murmured, your hand wrapping around the warm flesh. Despite the fact that you’d both seen and had Steve inside you countless times before, you’d never get over just how thick his cock was.

Leaning forward, you flicked the tip of your tongue teasingly at the head, lapping up the milky white drop at the slit. You chucked softly as you heard Steve groan under his breath, something that sounded a lot like ‘you’ll be the death of me, I swear.” His hand rose from the leather seat to settle in your hair, using it both as an anchor and to keep it away from your face.

Feeling bolder, you dragged your tongue firmly and slowly up the length of his cock. Steve’s thighs flexed around you, his fingers tightening slightly in your hair as his head tipped back. “Yeah, just like that. You know just how I like it.”

As much as you’d like to take it slow and build up the moment, you knew that time was a luxury. The walkie talkies could get incoming calls any second, or god forbid, Dustin could interrupt by seeking you both out and knocking on the windows himself. You decided that you had teased Steve enough, for now.

Wrapping your lips around the tip you slowly took him deeper into your mouth, keeping the suction just how you knew Steve liked it. Your lips stretched to take him fully, inch by big inch. Steve moaned, the sound sweet and broken. ”You’re so good to me. Don’t know what I ever, ah, did to deserve you.”

Bobbing your head up and down on him, you slowly sank down as deep as you could, tongue swirling across the vein on the underside. Steve was too big to handle, there were still two inches that you couldn’t fit into your mouth, your hand coming up to wrap around the length that was left, stroking the length.

There was once upon a time when you and Steve had just gotten into the relationship when you’d barely been able to take him halfway in your mouth. It had taken countless tries at a blowjob to get where you were now, when you could take almost all of him down to the base. It is like they say after all, practice makes perfect.

Steve’s cock throbs against your tongue at you, taking him as far as you could into your mouth. Swearing, Steve hips bucked up involuntarily into your touch, and you hummed around him in response. He shudders hard at the vibration, his free hand fisting into the seat underneath him.

“Oh shit, baby, I don’t think I’m gonna last much longer.” Steve stuttered, his whole body starting to tense, and you know he’s close. Keeping the same rhythm, you hollowed out your lips at the same time as you twisted your wrist. Steve hips jerked up into your mouth in a final, helpless stutter as he came, moaning out your name.

Keeping your mouth wrapped around him, Steve pulsed against your tongue, thick ropes of come filling up your mouth. Moaning with him, you enthusiastically swallowed what he gave you, milking him for all that he got. Once the orgasm ebbed off, you pulled away with a soft pop, lips slick and swollen.

“Holy shit, sweetheart.” Steve panted, still trying to catch his breath, his hand falling away from your hair. His cheeks were flushed all the way down his neck, his usually neatly styled hair sticking out wildly in several places. It was honestly a rather hot look on him.

You huffed out a small laugh in amusement, and a bit of pride, as your thumb wiping at your bottom lip. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Steve breathed out, nodding his head. His hands reached down to cup your cheeks, pulling you up gently as he met you halfway for a kiss. His lips opened up, tongue lapping at your bottom lip where he could distinctly taste himself.

With a huff, Steve broke away from your lips. His smile was wide and loose as he tugged you up with strong and eager hands from the floor into his lap. You could help but smile back, just as content as he was. “We still have some time before we have to head back. Now it’s your turn.”

[writingstreetspirit]

❃ fluff

✯ angst

ღ smut

♧ personal favs

✮ over 1k likes

One Shots:

Sleepless Nights ❃

Bucky and Alpine keeps you company during a sleepless night.

Want (Need) Your Taste ღ ♧

You and Bucky spend the morning in bed, doing some rather… pleasurable activities.

Updated 17/12/2025

All feedback is appreciated! Request are open :)

[writingstreetspirit]

❃ fluff

✯ angst

ღ smut

♧ personal favs

✮ over 1k likes

One Shots:

One Breath, One Touch (Will Be The End Of Me) ❃

A night out at Rita’s change everything for the better.

All I Want For Solstice (Is You) ❃ ♧

What could possibly be better than celebrating Winter Solstice with your family?

Updated 17/12/2025

All feedback is appreciated! Request are open :)

[writingstreetspirit]

❃ fluff

✯ angst

ღ smut

♧ personal favs

✮ over 1k likes

One Shots:

Addictive ღ ✮

What happens in the Drama room before D&D sessions stays in the Drama room.

One Shots:

Blowing Your Mind ღ

The curfew in Hawkins and the secret Crawls doesn’t allow for much alone time with Steve. So when the opportunity presents itself, you take it.

Summer Of ‘96 ❃

You and Steve enjoy a warm summer day together with your children.

Updated 21/02/2026

All feedback is appreciated! Request are open :)

[lustcannibalism]

fanfiction is getting less interaction, people barely reblog anymore, role players are getting pushed out of fandom, ai generated slop winning art contests

[lustcannibalism]

START ENGAGING IN THINGS YOU LOVE BEFORE IT DISAPPEARS!

[merricatte]

STOP. BEING. A. CONSUMER. START. ENGAGING. IN. THE. PLAY.

[lustcannibalism]

[writingstreetspirit]

Want (Need) Your Taste

Summary: You and Bucky spend the morning in bed, doing some rather… pleasurable activities.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, kissing, oral (f receiving), handjob, (P in V) smut, unprotected sex, MINORS DNI. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Word count: 1.8k

A/N: I’m rather inexperienced when it comes to writing smut, but I wanted to challenge myself. Who better to write smut about if not Bucky Barnes? Thank you for reading, I hope you’ll enjoy! <3

—

“Look at me, doll.”

You forced yourself to listen to the spoken command, to open your eyes and tip your head forward to look down. Thick brown locks lay spread across the pillow, intense blue eyes staring up at you from between your legs where you straddled Bucky’s face.

The morning light shining in through the window of your bedroom had been what had awakened you. It was Saturday morning, and you nor your partner had anywhere to be today, which was too rare these days, what with both of your job titles.

Bucky had also still been in bed, but awake. He’d been lying down on his side, gazing at you with that painfully tender and devoted look he only ever reserved for you. It was impossible not to be affected by those eyes when he looked at you like that, and before you knew it, you were being tugged on top of him to ride his face, because ‘fuck, I need to taste you, doll.’

His lips trailed idly across your thighs, the pillowy skin already swollen and slick with your arousal. Bucky hummed, looking pleased with your eyes back on him again. “That’s it, keep those pretty eyes open. Watch me make you feel good.”

He returned back to your pussy, his mouth immediately jumping back to work. Bucky’s tongue licked long and firm through your folds, tasting you from the source, and all the way back up to your clit. He closed his lips around the bundle of nerves and sucked.

A broken mewl fell from your lips, shuddering from the pleasure zapping from your core and all the way up through your body. Fingers slid into Bucky’s hair, gripping the strands as if it was your only anchor to stop you from trembling apart. Your hips rocked softly against his mouth, “Buck! Feels so good, fuck.”

Bucky groaned against your clit, the sound vibrating against the swollen nub. A whine slipped past your lips, your legs instinctively jerking as if trying to get away. His hands, both metal and flesh, held onto your hips firmer to keep you right where he wanted you. The unspoken words he was conveying were clear as day, ‘don’t pull away from me.’

His mouth was hot and wet as it sucked onto your clit firmer, flicking his tongue back and forth against the swollen nub. Your hand gripped tighter onto Bucky’s hair, keeping him close to where you needed him. The pleasurable sensation was steadily building, and you knew that it was not long before you were going to shatter. “I’m getting close, don’t stop!”

Bucky, ever the devoted lover that he was, did not disappoint. He didn’t speed up or change the rhythm, his mouth devouring you in the same way he had been doing. His hand, the metal one, let go of his firm grip on your waist. It instead creeped up your torso slowly, up to your chest. The firm hand cupped your breast, his thumb rolling the nipple for extra stimulation.

Moans were spilling out of your mouth with every breath you took, hovering over the release that was within reach. A pinch of your nipple and a delicious lick of Bucky’s tongue was what finally made you shatter. Your eyes slammed shut as the release tipped over the edge and washed over you.

Ears ringing, you couldn’t hear whether you were screaming or not, but you undoubtedly knew that sounds of pleasure fell from your wide open mouth. Wave after wave of bliss sweeped over you, warming you like a blanket. Bucky kept licking you through it, his tongue coaxing you through the aftershocks, working them out until your fingers loosen their hold of his hair.

Your chest rose and fell in fast, shallow breaths. Bucky stayed there a moment longer, kissing your inner thighs, his hands smoothing over your thighs and torso in tender movements. “You taste so fucking good, baby. Can never get enough of your sweet pussy.”

Once the aftershocks fully left you, you lifted up your hips and glided down his muscular body until you laid flat on top of him. Your hand reached up to cup his cheeks, your lips eagerly meeting Bucky’s in a hot and messy kiss. His hand cupped behind your head, his tongue teased against your bottom lip, asking for entrance, which you granted. You let out a small moan against Bucky’s lips when you realized you could taste yourself.

In a swift and steady movement, Bucky guided you to lay back on the duvet before he rolled on top of you, strong arms caging you in around your head. His cock pressed against your thigh, hard and hot on your skin. Your breath stuttered in your chest at his obvious arousal.

Still kissing, your hand that had been clinging to his back began to slide down his pectorals and between your thighs. With a slow and steady hand you grasped onto his hard cock and gave it a firm stroke once.

Bucky broke away from the kiss with a stuttering moan, his pupils blown wide. His breath was hot as it fanned your face. “Shit, [Name]. Your hand feels so fuckin’ good.”

“Yeah? You feel good in my hand.” You started to stroke him again, the firm flesh twitching in your hand. You bit your bottom lip as you gazed up at the man above you, making note of every single reaction you pulled out of him. “I want you inside me.”

Bucky groaned, the sound bouncing around the room. He nodded eagerly, leaning down to kiss you deep and filthy again, only pulling away to hoarsely agree. “Yeah, I want that to. Wanna be inside you so fuckin’ bad.”

Crashing back against your lips, his body pressed close against yours. Your thighs fell to your side, spreading your legs wide open in invitation. He groans against your mouth as he sinks his hips between them. You tilt your hips up as Bucky presses the tip of his cock against your wet, sensitive pussy.

He sunk into your tight heat slowly, his hips pressed forward slow and deep, and the air was pushed out from both of your lungs. Your hands grasped onto his shoulders, holding onto him as you were being filled, the sensation intense and oh so good. Bucky’s breath caught on a soft groan, pressing his face against your neck. “God, doll. Your pussy feels so tight and warm.”

The both of you remained still for a few moments, getting used to the feeling of filling and being filled by the other. Then Bucky slowly pulls out only to just as carefully and slowly push in again. The sensation pulled a gasp out from your lips, your walls instinctively pulsing around his cock as if to pull him in deeper.

His hips rolled in and out between yours, the thrusts steadily gaining strength and speed until you’d both found the perfect rhythm that felt the best. The faint sound of his skin meeting yours filled the bedroom, along with the moans and groans that poured out of your lips.

“Oh, Bucky, right there! Just like that.” You moaned as Bucky rolled his hips into your own at the perfect angle, hitting the spongy spot inside that made zaps of pleasure spread through your whole body, all the way to your fingertips.

Bucky groaned against your cheek. He tightened his hold on you, pulling your body closer against his like he doesn’t want even an inch of space between you. “Yeah? Right there, sweetheart?”

You could only nod soundlessly, clinging onto Bucky’s shoulders with your hands harder, thighs trembling at the pure pleasure that was being given. You could already feel the orgasm building up inside you, and Bucky was doing a damn good job of building it up.

Surging up, you captured Bucky’s lips in a needy kiss. He moaned against them as you took his bottom lip between yours and nibbled, his hips stuttering on his thrust for a second.

Bucky suddenly propped himself up and pulled his head away from you, his lips trailing down your neck and to your chest. His mouth kissed across the soft skin before closing around a nipple, circling his tongue around the nub, his hips never slowing the thrusts.

The building release was so close now that you could almost taste it. You tugged at Bucky’s hair, the other hand scrabbling across his shoulders and back as you felt the thin thread start to snap inside. “Oh god, Bucky! I’m- I’m gonna-“

Your orgasm tore through you, long and deep. Your whole body locked up, thighs clenching, arms holding tight to his shoulders as the pleasure crashed over you in wave after wave.

As you tightened with your release, pulsing around his cock, Bucky too fell apart. He moaned your name, his whole body shuddering as he came, face buried in your chest. His hips never stop thrusting through his and your orgasm. ”Shit, [Name]!”

As the waves of seemingly endless bliss that had been washing over you slowly started to ebb away, Bucky slowed his thrusting to a stop and instead grew limp, collapsing down onto your body, his weight pressing you down further into the mattress. You accept his weight immediately, soothing a hand down his damp back as you wait for your heartbeat to slow down.

Once both of your breaths calmed down, Bucky slowly and carefully pulled out of you, and you shift as his come starts to drip out. You would eventually have to get up to clean up the mess between your legs, but that could wait for a couple minutes.

With a sigh Bucky rolled onto his back, his arms still wrapped around you, bringing you with him. You curled up into his side, his arm wrapped protectively around you, your fingers drawing slow circles over the skin of his chest. “I think I died and went to heaven there for a bit.”

You huffed out a laugh, nuzzling into Bucky’s warm chest. You shared the same sentiment. “That good, huh?”

He looked at you for a long moment, something soft and unguarded in his gaze, then leaned forward to kiss your forehead, lingering there. “It always feels that good with you, doll. Everything does.”

You shifted slowly, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, your heart full with the love you had for the man beside you. He turned toward it and caught your lips with his in something achingly slow and full of promise, like he’s still memorizing what it feels like to be loved like this by you. ”I love you, Bucky.”

“I love you too, doll.” He pulled you tighter into his arms, tucking your head beneath his chin, nuzzling into your hair like he’s found his home. And you supposed that you both had, in each other.

[writingstreetspirit]

Sleepless Nights

Summary: Bucky and Alpine keeps you company during a sleepless night

Pairing: Fiancé!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Hinting of reader having insomnia but never actually stated

Word count: 1.3k

A/N: Hi everyone, I hope you’ll enjoy this piece that I started to write last night. I’ve had a rough couple of months, and now that I’m working I’ve not had as much time or energy to write, but I try anyways. Thanks for reading! 🫶🏻

—

The soft hissing of the boiling kettle was the only sound you could hear in the kitchen, the whole house dark and quiet with the night. Moonlight spilled in through the window above the sink, bathing the kitchen with a dim glow. You stood silently by the kettle, your favorite mug along with the teabag in hand, waiting on the water to boil.

Despite the peacefulness of the late hour, sleep would not find you. There wasn’t really any reason for your lack of restfulness, it just seemed like one of those nights where no matter how tired you were, you just couldn’t fall asleep. They come and go in periods, usually lasting for a few days with a couple of months apart each time.

After several hours of turning and tossing, staring blankly up at the bedroom ceiling, you had given up trying. You had gotten out of bed as silently as possible, managing to avoid waking up your asleep fiancé. You shrugged on your fluffy morning robe over Bucky’s t-shirt that you’d stolen to sleep in, since it was a little cold outside of the thick duvet.

Your socks clad feet had guided you to the kitchen on a mission for a warm cup of soothing tea. That trick usually worked whenever you’d had sleepless nights in the past, from when you became a teenager and nights absent rest became more regular.

A brush against your bare calf turned your eyes away from the kettle, looking down at the tiled floor. Alpine looked up at you from down by your legs, letting out a low meow. She butted her face against your skin, asking for you to pet her.

“Do you want some attention, sweet girl?” You gave her a tired smile, reaching down to pet her white fur. She purred at your touch, her eyes closing in enjoyment. You huffed a smile, scratching behind her ears gently, her purring intensified as you scratched her favorite spot.

“Hey.” A quiet voice tore your gaze away from Alpine, eyes landing on Bucky. He was standing by the doorway, leaning against the wooden frame. He had been bare chested when you’d left him in bed, but he wore one of his tight black t-shirts along with black boxers. Both of his arms were crossed across his chest, blue eyes soft with concern. “Why are you out of bed? Bad dreams?”

You stood back up, shaking your head while giving him a gentle smile. There was no use in trying to hide or deny the restlessness from Bucky, he was too observant when it came to you. ”No, just couldn’t sleep. I figured tea would help. Did I wake you?”

Bucky shook his head, his lips tugging up in a warm smile. He straightened up from the doorway, making his way over to stand beside you. Bucky bent down to strock Alpine’s back tenderly, his eyes still locked on you. “Woke up to your side of the bed being cold. I wondered where you’d gone.”

The kettle’s light flickered off right as Bucky finished speaking, signaling that the water was hot enough. You lifted up the kettle and poured the boiling hot water into your cup, setting the ceramic on the countertop. You turned to Bucky while reaching with your free hand toward the cabinet. “Want some?”

“Sure, doll.” Bucky gave a soft smile. Reaching into the cabinet, you grabbed hold of the cup he always drank his morning coffee or tea in. You put in the same flavored tea bag as you had in your cup into Bucky’s before pouring the hot water into the cup.

Bucky met you halfways as you handed over the ceramic, his calloused fingers lingering over your own for a moment. His finger brushed over the stone of the ring on your fourth finger absentmindedly, the one he had picked out and tenderly put on your finger three months earlier. Bucky leaned forward to press a long kiss against your temple, whispering against your skin. “Thank you.”

You huffed fondly in acknowledgement, pulling your hand away slowly to grab your own mug. Pinching the thread between two fingers, you moved the tea pouch up and down in the water, watching the clear liquid turn a soft golden colour. Once the water had turned the desired colour and a mild floral scent filled your nose, you pulled the pouch out and threw it away into the trash bin.

Taking a careful sip of the warm liquid, you hummed pleasantly as the soothing flavor hit your tongue. You turned around, leaning your lower back against the counter, letting the warmth from the cup warm up your hands for a few moments. Bucky copied your move after tossing away the pouch, leaning back against the kitchen island opposite you as he sipped from his tea.

“It’s one of those nights, huh?” Bucky spoke, his voice low and tender. His eyes held that same soft concern they always did the nights you couldn't find rest. Bucky had several times in the past asked you to wake him up to keep you company, so that ‘you wouldn't get lonely’ he had said. But you rarely did, you felt too guilty to do so since Bucky had trouble with sleep himself.

You gave a small nod, confirming Bucky's question. You took a long sip from the tea, sighing heavily. It was hard trying to downplay your exhaustion. It felt like your body and soul was screaming, ‘I’m so tired!’. “Yeah, it’s one of those nights.”

The long haired man before you gave you a sympathetic look, his trained observation skills immediately seeing what you were not saying. It was no use trying to go back to bed since you’d be up for several hours more at the least before sleep would claim you. Bucky reached out with his flesh arm, softly slipping it around your waist and guiding you out from the kitchen towards the living room. “Come on sweetheart, let's sit down somewhere more comfortable.”

Bucky guided you to the large sofa, carefully guiding you to sit down without spilling either of your or his tea in the process. He followed you down once you’d made yourself comfortable, his hands gentle guiding your legs to lay across his lap. His free hand soothed across your skin, his thumb massaging the flesh tenderly.

Alpine, who had followed behind the two of you, hopped up on the couch with a meow, laying down beside you. She was a smart cat like that, she was good at sensing whenever Bucky or you weren't your usual selfs and wanted to offer her comfort. You stroked your hand down her fluffy back in gratitude.

Your fiancé watched the scene silently for a moment, enjoying the view of his two favorite girls interacting. Bucky leaned forward and took the tv remote from the coffee table. He pressed the power button, turning the volume down to a low setting as the living room brightened with light from the screen. “What would you like to watch? How about 13 Going on 30?”

You light up at Bucky’s suggestion of one of your favorite movies, touched that Bucky would endure watching that movie again, even if the both of you had seen it enough times to know it completely from beginning to end. Bucky was always so good to you, even when he didn't believe it. You couldn’t wait to marry this man, to spend the rest of your life with him. You nodded, leaning back into the cushions. “Yes please, Bucky.”

Bucky chuckled fondly at your reaction. He searched up the title and pressed the title, turning on the movie. Putting down the remote, Bucky leaned back against the cushions. He stretched out his arm, offering space against his side. You scotched immediately into his warm side, leaning your head against his shoulder.

Sighing contentedly, you turned your attention towards the tv screen, letting the comfort of your small family sooth your tired soul. Sleepless nights weren’t that bad after all.

[writingstreetspirit]

All I Want For Solstice (Is You)

Summary: What could possibly be better than celebrating Winter Solstice with your family?

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Shit ton of fluff, sappy feelings, pregnancy

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: I hope this pieces was alright, I’d thought it be finished a lot earlier this December since I started writing it in November. But my cat unexpectedly became sick and had to be put down so I’ve been taking time to mourn his passing as well as getting back the energy to write again. Anyways, I hope you all will have a wonderful Winter Holiday however you’re celebrating!

—

“We’re going to be late!” You hurried down the stairs as fast as you could in your, although low but still, heels. Scanning eyes searched for your handbag while simultaneously putting on the earrings that Azriel gifted you for your last birthday.

Azriel came out from the kitchen, a gift bag with the presents for your friends in hand. “Maybe a little. The others can survive our absence for a few minutes. Remember last Winter Solstice? Cassian and Nesta didn’t arrive until more than half an hour after everyone else.”

You huffed a breathless chuckle, grabbing for one of the warmer formal coats on the clothing rack in the hallway. “Yeah, and they’ll never hear the end of it. I’d rather not have a repeat of last year.”

Azriel, who was already dressed and ready to go outside, took a gentle hold of your upper arms. You halted to a stop at the sudden touch. “[Name], slow down, take a deep breath. You know that stress isn’t good for you.”

Breathing in deep through your nose and slowly releasing it through your mouth, you could feel the tightness in your shoulders loosen. Azriel smiled, gently squeezing his hands around your flesh. “Good, that’s better.”

Nodding, you slumped your head forward, resting your temple against your mate’s firm shoulder. “Sorry.”

Warm hands cupped your cheeks softly, tilting your head up so that he could look at you. Azriel’s hazel eyes held that warm and tender look that he only reserved for you, for the love of his life.

“Sweetheart, you never have to apologize for that. I just want you to be healthy and happy, the both of you.”

His hands instinctively left your cheeks to wander down your dress, settling over your swollen stomach, one lone shadow joining their master’s hands. You were well into the third and last trimester, and with just a few more weeks worth of time, the growing baby within you was to be born.

With it being your and Azriel’s first child, every single aspect of the pregnancy was completely new, both beautiful beyond words, and downright scary at times. While the both of you were ready and eager to welcome a little boy or girl, it is frightening thinking that someone so small and precious was to be brought into the world.

You sighed, leaning into the familiar and comforting touch. Azriel was always touching your belly ever since the news of a little life growing inside you were revealed, you're almost surprised they hadn’t left marks on your skin yet. His shadows were not much better, if Azriel couldn’t be near you for any reason, several of them would remain beside you to watch over and protect.

”We’re both okay, how could we not be when we have such a doting male taking care of us?” As if in agreement with your words, a foot kicked your stomach, right under one of Azriel’s palm. A smile grew on your lips, and Azriel downright beamed at the feel. You cooed, gazing lovingly at your round stomach, ”Yeah, isn’t that right, little one?”

Another kick, this time firmer and the small laugh that escaped from Azriel sounded a little choked. He leaned down, pressing a long kiss against where his hands had been seconds before. With his lips still pressed against you, Azriel whispered words that you had a hard time hearing. But the way he spoke them, the affection dripping from his voice, you knew they were made of love.

After a few more moments, Azriel seemed to be able to tear himself away from your belly, the shadow retreating to their master. Once back up on his feet, he leaned down to press a slow kiss on your lips. You couldn’t help but melt against your mate, arms wrapping themself around his neck to keep him close. The need after breath was what finally made you have to pull back from those alluring lips.

”Are you ready to leave?” Azriel mumbled, aiding your limbs in to your coat and buttoned it up. He pressed a kiss against your temple, a strong forearm sneaking behind and round your waist. At your smile and nod, the two of you opened the door and stepped out into the snow.

The Townhouse was bustling with activity when Azriel and you arrived. Loud talking, laughter and the clinking of silverware in the kitchen greeted your ears immediately after the door closed behind the two of you. Shrugging off the small amount of snow that had collected on your coat and in your hair, Azriel helped you out of the coat as well as his own.

With his arm wrapped around your waist, Azriel and you stepped further into the warm house and into the kitchen. Feyre, who was leaning against the counter beside Rhysand, noticed your arrival first. She threw herself over to you, giving you a hug. “Azriel, [Name]! Welcome, the food’s almost ready!”

“We’re not late, are we?” You asked upon being released, immediately being enveloped in a hug by Rhys, then Cassian, followed by Nesta, Mor, and lastly Elain. Amren had unfortunately been busy elsewhere and unable to join your family for celebration.

“No, no, you’re fine. Cassian and Nesta just arrived minutes earlier.” Rhysand reassured you, pulling away from hugging his fellow Illyrian brother. Azriel gave you a pointed, but tender look, as if saying ‘told you so’. You rolled your eyes at him, a somewhat sheepish smile tugging on your lips.

Azriel huffed, pressing his lips against your temple. His arm creeped back around your side, his hand resting against your stomach as he so usually did the last couple months. You leaned back against his steady form with a content smile.

Cassian, having seen the whole scene, let out a snort and smirked at Azriel. “You’re so wiped, Az.”

Your mate’s eyes that had been locked on you hardened a bit in warning, directing his gaze at Cassian. Feyre and Azriel stifled a giggle when Nesta’s hand made contact with the back of her mate's head, a tsked ‘idiot’ escaping her mouth.

The smirk remained, but his eyes gave away to gentleness. ”On a serious note, we’re so happy for you two. How are you and the baby doing [Name]? Not long left till your little one is here.”

You smiled, your own hand settling on top of your husband’s on your stomach. “We’re doing great Cass. Just a couple more weeks before you get to meet your niece or nephew.”

“From what I’ve gathered, Azriel seems certain that it’s a girl.” Rhysand said, sharing a look with you. That was indeed true, whenever Azriel would speak with you about your unborn child, he would always call them a girl. Whether it was about the nursery or baby clothes or what color their eyes would have, the Shadowsinger thought you two would have a daughter.

You knew your mate would be ecstatic no matter if the baby would turn out to be a boy or girl, but it did secretly warm your heart imagining Azriel with a daughter. But you would have to wait for the birth to find out if your mate was right or not.

“I guess we’ll just have to wait to find out.” You said wistfully. Azriel hummed, a loving smile on his face. He leaned down, pressing a brief kiss on your lips, whispering low for only you to hear. “I can’t wait to meet her, or him.”

Feyre smiled at your comment, gazing at her own mate before looking at the stove. “Yes, indeed we will. Anyways, the food should be ready. Let’s eat!”

The following hour was spent at the dining table, surrounded by your closest friends and family eating a delicious meal and delightful drinks. Cheeks almost sore from smiling and belly full and content, everybody eventually migrated to the living room to land on the couches and armchairs.

After the gifts were given, received and opened, Azriel sat on an armchair that was appropriately sized for Illyrian wings with you sitting with your back pressed against his chest. The sun had already gone down and the snow fell heavy outside, the energy from the day had been all but spent. In your wonderful mate’s arms, you couldn’t help but to be dowsing.

“Did you have fun today, sweetheart?” Azriel asked low, just for you to hear. You nodded, tipping your head back to look at him, a slow and sleepy smile spreading across your face. “This was the best Solstice I’ve ever celebrated.”

A warm and tender hand caressed your flushed cheek. His other hand rested on your belly, thumb swiping back and forth against the stretched skin. A couple of his shadows flowed across the skin that was not covered by his hand, curious and delighted by their soon to be new friend.

The baby within was peacefully sleeping after having kicked the whole time that the gifts had been opened. “I’m glad that you feel the same. I take it that we should be heading home soon?”

You hummed, leaning back further in Azriel’s warm embrace, face nuzzling deeper into his shoulder blade. “Not just yet. Stay like this for a little while longer, you’re comfortable.”

Azriel chuckled but tightened his arms around you, leaning his cheek against the top of your head. “Whatever my mate wants, she gets.”

[glassfrogforest]

[sleepyowlwrites]

at this point I have to

[glassfrogforest]

[writingstreetspirit]

Current reality.