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barnesandashes · 17 days ago

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oh i love this sm :’) esp the last part!! 😭

Familiar Strangers

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/The Winter Soldier x Reader

Summary: You were absolutely positive that you'd found it - the way to break Bucky out of his HYDRA conditioning once and for all. However, when the experiment doesn't work, you're suddenly stuck with the Winter Soldier...and no idea how to get your husband back.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI: Swearing, Angst, Mentions of past torture, Mind control (the experiment was 100% consensual on both ends though), No smut but a pretty intense makeout session, Kind of dubcon? (Reader questions it), The Winter Soldier is kind of obsessed with you (and he does not know how to hide it), Please let me know if I forgot anything!

Author's Note: Clearing out the writing cobwebs again, so here's a one-shot! I might (definitely) write a part two to this one, so if you like it stay tuned! As always, any feedback is incredibly appreciated! Hope you guys enjoy!

It didn’t work.

It didn’t fucking work.

You said the words, and it killed you to do it. It killed you to repeat the phrases that had ripped away his humanity and soul every time they were spoken over the decades he was tortured by HYDRA. But you did it. Because you had to. Because it was the only way to know.

You watched him struggle to fight it, and it killed you even more.

It was working. He was fighting, gritting his teeth and riddled with an anxiety that was almost palpable, but it was working.

You reached the last word. You let that traitorous feeling of hope flutter in your chest, and…

And then he went still. He locked up. His eyes went blank. And you failed.

Now, you pace your lab, feeling blue eyes follow every one of your movements like a hawk. He watches you. Waiting. Observing. Not Bucky, but the Winter Soldier. The living breathing weapon. The deadly assassin.

You keep pacing.

“I was so sure.” You say, running a frustrated hand through your hair. “I was so sure. I thought it would work. I…I can’t even go back to find what we did wrong-“

“какие у меня заказы?” The Winter Soldier asks, what are my orders, and you nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of his voice.

“You don’t have any.” You snap the words, anger and frustration and just a little bit of heartbreak making you prickle.

He stops. Looks confused. Still quiet, still not Bucky, but confused.

That look makes you deflate.

“Sorry, sorry. I just…” you sigh, closing your eyes and exhaling through your nose. “I’m sorry.” For everything. For failing this experiment. For not wiping this programming from his mind like you thought you could. For not knowing how to get him back.

The sharp sting of frustrated tears prickles behind your eyes. You press the heels of your palms to them, trying to push the surge of emotion away. You don’t have time to cry. You have to think and figure out a way to-

Hands wrap around your wrists. Not deadly. Not incapacitating you or knocking you to the ground. The grip is firm, but gentle. Your hands are pulled down to your sides, away from your face.

You go still. Very still.

The Winter Soldier is looking down at you, like he isn’t quite sure what he’s doing, either. Like he couldn’t look away if he tried.

Your tears haven’t fallen, but they’re still pooling in your eyes. A metal thumb slides over your cheek, catching one as it escapes and wiping it away.

He murmurs something in Russian. You don’t understand it. He speaks again, in Romanian this time, and you still don’t know what he’s saying.

Finally, he speaks English, his thumb brushing your cheek once more in a way that’s so intimate that you have to search his eyes to see if Bucky hasn’t really come back.

“Don’t…do that.” His voice is surprisingly soft, and his thumb trails from beneath your eyes, tracing over your cheek and down to your lips. His eyes follow the movement like he’s mesmerized by the sight, and you’re frozen in place as he leans a little closer.

“Who are you?” He asks, and there’s no accusation in his tone. No anger. Just curiosity, and something like reverence.

“I…” the answer catches in your throat. Not with fear, but with surprise. “I’m your…”

He leans closer, and you pull back.

“Shit.” You mumble to yourself, and he looks confused again. It’s strange, really, that the expression can look so sweet. So genuine.

He reaches for you. Tugs you to him again. It’s not forceful, but it’s firm. Like you yourself are an answer to an important question, and he isn’t going to let you walk away until he finds the answer.

“Who are you?” He repeats, deadly hands cradling you in a way that makes it difficult to focus. Still, you frown. You pull back again, defeated and tired and too close to crying for your own comfort.

You’ll get Bucky back, and you’ll try again. But for now…

“I’m your wife.” You say, reaching down to pull his arms from where they’ve wrapped around you. To your relief, he allows it. “And it’s time I take you home now.”

He doesn’t leave your side. Not for a moment.

You’re too wrapped up in your own thoughts, your own guilt and fear and frustration, to even speak to him. He’s not Bucky. He’s not in his right mind. And you put him there. You said the code words, so sure that they wouldn’t work, and they did.

And now, it seems that your hubris has earned you a guard dog. One who glares at anyone who looks at you as you pass by. Who reaches for a knife that isn’t there when someone nearly bumps into you on the way to your apartment. Whose arm remains wrapped around you so firmly you think he might try to carry you up the stairs.

The moment you walk through the door, you break his hold and move towards the kitchen. Your notes are still lying on the counter, the ones you worked through with Bucky this morning over coffee. The ones you pored over for hours and hours as you convinced yourself that this time you had finally figured it out. You had finally worked through the problem and found the solution.

You lean over that counter now, watching through your peripheral as the Winter Soldier scans the apartment. It had been perfect. Your math, your calculations, had been drawn up to a fucking T and now-

Well, now an arm is wrapping around you, pulling you away from the counter so quickly that you drop a page of your own scribbled handwriting with a startled noise.

He spins you, presses you against the opposite counter. The granite digs into your back, not hard enough to be uncomfortable but enough that you register that you are being held very firmly in place.

You look up. He looks down. Familiar blue eyes lock onto your own.

You don’t know why you say it, but you do. The apartment suddenly feels so quiet that the question seems to echo through the air.

“Can I have Bucky back?”

Bucky will help you work through this. At the very least, he’ll help calm you as you stay awake all night trying to pore through your notes. He would probably make you go to sleep. Kiss your forehead and tell you that you’ll figure it out, that it will all be okay.

The Winter Soldier, still pressing you against the counter, furrows his brow at the question.

“Who’s Bucky?”

And that, those two simple words, make the tears break free.

He reaches up to wipe them away like he did in your lab, and your vision is blurry as you try to swat his hands away. His response is to pull you closer, and you push at his chest.

“Let me go.” You say, voice breaking. He doesn’t.

You could command him to. You know you could. You said the code words. You brought the Winter Soldier out. But despite your frustration there is no part of you that could ever make yourself do it.

“Please, just give me Bucky back.” You say instead, voice muffled by his shirt. His metal hand is cradling the back of your head, too gentle for a living weapon. Too familiar, but not the same.

His voice is low, and it sounds almost pained as he speaks into your hair. “I don’t know how.”

You try to push at him again, but he holds you tight. You know, somewhere deep down, that if you were really fighting to get him off of you that he would let you go. Maybe even walk away. You don’t want him to. You should, but you don’t.

He pulls back, just enough to look at you. To look at the tears in your eyes and the way your fingers are curling against his chest like you don’t know whether to shove him again or pull him closer.

He cradles your face, so strangely gentle.

“Stop that.”

You look up at him, and it takes you a moment to realize what he means. He’s still wiping your tears away. He wants you to stop crying.

“I don’t know how.” You say, finally, defeated. A pathetic mimicry of his own words.

He looks at you, and you can’t decipher what’s lying beneath his gaze. What it means. What he wants. But, despite it all, you do see something.

He’s not Bucky, but Bucky is there. You’ve been trying to get the Winter Soldier out of him for so long, trying to make him himself again. You never really thought of this side of him as…well, human.

But the way he’s looking at you now, confusion and concern and a strange sort of devotion in his eyes, makes you realize that, even brainwashed like he was, he was still a person. Still a version of Bucky, as fucked up as it may be. Now that he’s here, with no orders and very little knowledge of why, you see it.

“I’m sorry.” You say, tears still falling. And you don’t know what those two words mean, exactly. For making him into this again, even with his consent. For failing the experiment. For everything that’s happened to him over the decades.

He wipes your tears away again, like it’s instinct.

“Tell me how to make this stop.” His voice is a murmur. He’s so close that his nose brushes against yours. Something crackles in the air, an electric tension that you can feel beneath your skin. His hands tighten on you, just slightly. His voice is still pleading, but it’s not gentle anymore. There’s something there, now. Something new and barely restrained and you’re too upset by the events of tonight to notice that it’s about to break free.

You shake your head. “I don’t think you ca-“

His lips crash against yours with so much force it knocks you back against the counter.

His arms wrap more tightly around you, pulling you so close you swear you can feel his rapid heartbeat against your chest.

Bucky Barnes kisses you with devotion. With love and thinly veiled hunger. Bucky is gentle, and even when he isn’t you can always tell that he’s still being careful with you. Always trying to hold back. Always trying to keep himself from hurting you, somehow.

The Winter Soldier kisses you like he’s starving.

It’s almost clumsy in its urgency, like the kiss is something he would die before he ever pulled away from. Like he needs it so badly he doesn’t know what to do with himself. With you.

His hand moves from your cheek to tangle in your hair, and he lifts you effortlessly onto the counter as he uses his grip to angle your head and deepen the kiss. Your noise of surprise is swallowed by his mouth, firm and almost desperate against yours as he anchors you to him like he’s drowning.

It takes a moment for the shock to wear off, but you kiss him back. The second he feels your reciprocation, he makes a noise in the back of his throat that sends an electric jolt down your spine. His free hand moves to your thigh, yanking you closer and guiding your legs around his waist as his tongue slides between your lips like he’s tasting something more addicting than any drug ever created.

Your own hands fly up to his hair, unable to stop yourself or even think clearly as your nails scrape against his scalp. The sound he makes is so low, so hungry that it sounds almost feral, and you’re barely able to register that you’re moving again before he’s pulling you off the counter and you’re crashing down onto the kitchen floor. You think, vaguely, that the force of him catching you before your head bangs against the ground might leave a dent in the linoleum.

Despite the near-violence of the movement, he doesn’t stop kissing you, teeth dragging against your lips as his knee slides between yours and he presses you into the floor like he can’t get enough of the feeling of you against him. You feel his flesh hand slide up beneath your shirt, gripping your waist and tugging you impossibly closer. You gasp, and he growls as he chases the sound with another tug at your hair, forcing your head back as his lips break from yours to move down to your neck.

You can’t think. You can barely breathe. And it takes a moment for you to realize that he’s speaking in a language you don’t know. You’re pretty sure it’s Russian. You don’t understand it, can barely register anything other than his body atop yours and his calloused hands sliding over the skin beneath your shirt, but with the way he’s saying the words, between open-mouthed kisses and bites to your skin like he’s trying to tattoo them onto you with his lips and teeth, you think they might be words of devotion. Of claiming.

You reach up, unsure what your hand is seeking, whether it be his face or his hair or anything. His metal hand leaves the back of your head and catches yours, pressing it back down onto the floor as his fingers tangle in your own in a gesture so intimate that it snaps you back into reality.

“I-wait.” You blink, trying to drag yourself out of the haze of lust and back to the present. He doesn’t seem to hear you, pressing his body impossibly closer and biting down at the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder hard enough to make you gasp and nearly forget where you even are.

Your voice is shaky when you manage to speak again. “Wait, stop.”

He hears you this time, and he does. Not because it was an order. You can feel in the hesitation to release you, to pull his lips from your skin and look into your eyes, that he stopped because you asked.

Holy shit, his eyes are on fire. The blue is nearly blown out by his pupils, and they’re burning with so much intense want that it makes your head spin. Those eyes meet yours for only a second before they fall back to your lips, and he begins to lean down like a man hypnotized. Your free hand flies up, covering his mouth before it reaches your own and knocks all logic out of your mind again.

His eyes return to yours, confused and absolutely fucking starved.

“I…” words. Find words. “You’re not Bucky.”

You feel him frown beneath your palm, and he reaches up to move it away from his mouth. “So?”

You don’t…really have an answer. Your mind is still too fogged over and the weight of his body on top of yours is too distracting. You wiggle out from under him, and he makes a noise that sounds almost like loss as he releases you. You push yourself back against the cabinets, and he looks seconds away from crawling over to you and pulling you to him again. His eyes drop to your mouth once more, like he’s contemplating it.

“Stop looking at me like that.” You say, and he doesn’t. He seems to try, though, watching the rise and fall of your chest as you catch your breath like he’s watching something holy.

“You said you’re my wife.” His voice sounds rough. Low.

“I’m Bucky’s wife.” You clarify, leaning your head back against the cabinet behind you. “And I don’t know how much…you, is him. Or how much him is you. I don’t know how ethical this is.”

He looks confused again. You suppose that’s fair. It’s not like he’s used to being around people with stellar moral codes.

Frustration and pain pool in your stomach, and you exhale. Slowly. Trying to calm yourself.

“I don’t know how to get him back, and it scares me.” You let the statement hang there. An admission. Honest and raw.

He frowns again, and you swear you can see his eyes soften. It’s an odd sight, but then again, this entire night has been strange.

“I’ll try.” He says, and you can’t help the feeling of relief, the odd sense of something like gratitude, that washes through you.

“Thank you.” You whisper, the words spilling out on an exhale. You sigh, thunking your head lightly against the cupboard again. “I have to call Steve.”

His frown is back, but you sense a glimmer of recognition at the name. Also maybe a bit of something else. Something like jealousy that makes him prickle. “Whose Steve?”

“Your best friend. And kind of mine, too, I guess. He’s broken you out of this before.”

“Is he going to hurt you?”

The question surprises you, and you raise your head to look at him. He looks concerned. Protective. You shake your head quickly. “No. Never. He’s actually going to be super understanding and nice about this, which is probably going to piss me off.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t deserve it. I fucked up. I got the math wrong, and I lost Bucky.”

He just looks at you for a minute. You look back at him.

“You do the same staring thing he does.” You observe.

“I want you.” He says back, and the simpleness of the sentence nearly makes you laugh, even as lust curls in your stomach once again, the feeling of his lips against your skin still tingling.

“Yeah, I kind of got that.” You say, unable to keep the small smile from curling at the corner of your mouth. His eyes fall to the movement of your lips like he’s entranced. You pretend to ignore it.

“I want you like Bucky has you.”

“You’re blunt like him, too.”

He just stares at you again, and you furrow your brow. “Are you…jealous? Of your own alter-ego?”

“Yes.”

“You know you’re still Bucky, right?”

“You said I’m not.”

“I…” you sigh, dragging a tired hand through your hair. “You’re right, I did. I don’t know. I don’t…I didn’t account for all of this. Like I said, I got too cocky. I’m a scientist. The philosophical questions surrounding someone’s brainwashed assassin alter-ego aren’t exactly my specialty.”

More staring.

You give up, dragging yourself to your feet, and he stands with you like you’re a magnet guiding his movements.

“Look, can we just go to bed?”

His eyebrows raise, and you roll your eyes. “Not like that. To sleep.”

He looks disappointed, but he nods and follows you into the bedroom on almost disturbingly silent feet.

You grab pajamas for yourself, wordlessly gesture to the dresser where all of his clothes are held, and make your way to the bathroom to wash up.

When you return, he’s staring at you again, standing by your bed in a pair of his sweatpants. No shirt. Like that helps your recently established ‘no sex’ rule.

He looks down at your shirt - oversized and clearly his - and back up to your face.

God help you, he looks like he’s about to pounce again.

“Relax,” you grumble, trying to ignore the feeling of his gaze igniting your skin like a firework, “it’s not like it’s lingerie.”

“It’s mine.” There’s a weight behind the words that makes you nearly pause. He catches it, because of course he does, and his gaze darkens. You just move over to the bed, crawl beneath the covers like you have a thousand times, and try to throw your walls back up.

“It’s Bucky’s.” You grumble, dropping your head against the pillow.

“I’m Bucky.” He says it simply. Almost like he’s craving for it to be the truth. It makes your heart hurt. Desperation for that to be completely, entirely true nearly makes you curl in on yourself and cry.

But he’s trying, and that’s enough. You turn to him, eyes softening as you pat his side of the bed in silent invitation.

He moves like he was waiting for permission, climbing in beside you.

You don’t touch him. Just turn on your side, face him with your hand resting beneath your pillow, and try to observe.

He turns, faces you too. For a while, you just stare into each other’s eyes. Silent and studying. Like the weirdest, most oddly intimate staring contest that’s ever been held.

And then you break it. Try one last tactic. You reach your hand up, brush your fingers over his cheek.

“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.” You say, quietly. He leans into your touch, but doesn’t break your gaze. Like he’s listening. Like he’s trying. You tell him his age. His sister’s name. His mother’s. You even repeat facts about his time in the war. About the day you met him. About the day he proposed.

When you finish, his eyes are soft, but he’s still not Bucky.

You offer a humorless, heartbroken little smile. “Kind of thought that would work.” You admit, defeat lacing your voice. “Guess I’m oh for two tonight, huh?”

He doesn’t smile back, but he does seem to give in to something. His arm slides around you, and he pulls you into his chest.

You let him.

You sigh, letting your eyes drift shut, and inhale his familiar scent. He doesn’t hold you delicately. He holds you like he’s protecting you. Like he’s prepared to fight anyone and anything that might try to take you away from him.

And when you fall asleep, emotionally exhausted and still hurting in ways you can't even put a name to, he’s still holding you just as tightly.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #the winter soldier

2K notes · View notes

barnesandashes · 17 days ago

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thank you for 3k notes!! crazy 🤍

need a ride? | oneshot

pairing: congressman!bucky barnes x assistant!reader summary: save a horse, ride a congressman. after waiting for congressman james bucky barnes to finish his emergency meeting— which lasted the whole night, he offers you a ride home, at the back of his motorcycle. like, what could go wrong? warnings: 18+ content, MDNI. reader is female. swearing, dom!bucky, unprotected sex, piv, semi-public sex, his motorcycle plays a big part (ok they fuck in the motorcycle), creampie, reader is down bad but bucky is down badder, porn with plot, y/n and bucky are both horny, no use of y/n. wc: 8.6k author’s note: in honor of me graduating and thunderbolts hd, i present to you my first oneshot! i hope u like it <3

“I’m really sorry you had to wait that long.”

An apologetic sigh came from Congressman Bucky Barnes as he entered his personal office. He looked at you, seated at your desk, laptop still on and fingers clicking the keyboard. You were composing emails and scheduling them to be sent at exactly 8:00 AM sharp tomorrow.

The government’s forte was not making lives easier for its people— no, it’s making sure their underpaid employees work at least overtime every single day.

So, you weren’t exactly pleased.

You had been waiting for Bucky for at least 2 hours now, he was cornered into an emergency meeting that started around quarter to nine. You looked at the time on the bottom right of your device, 10:58 PM. To pass the time, you opted to just do the work for tomorrow earlier, so in the future, you can thank yourself in that matter.

Being stuck alone in the office with grey carpets that reeked of stress and greed with the fluorescent lights just above your head, flickering every now and then to make sure that you were still awake, and the shadow it gave exposed your face heating with annoyance.

Your hands paused for a brief moment, turning your gaze to the man who stood near the glass door, hand in waist. The other hand was loosening his tie from its tight grasp on his neck then running his hands through his hair. You looked away, you didn’t need to be attracted to him right now, you were annoyed.

But, what the hell. Is it even possible for a human to look even finer under stress? You compared him to diamonds— better under pressure.

For you, it wasn’t fine at all, he had destroyed all your usual habits of cooking dinner, watching your favorite series, and sleeping at exactly the time where you were at the office right now. You couldn’t leave here without ensuring that Bucky’s schedule had all gone out according to plan. One emergency conference, and your night was ruined.

“It’s okay, I was just wrapping up as well.” You managed to plaster a polite smile, you couldn’t exactly admit to your boss that you were kind of infuriated at him. Kind of, because you couldn’t fully get mad at Bucky, your infatuation always seemed to be stronger. Could you really even help it if he looked glorious every single day? Wearing a usual black or navy blue suit and tie, hair slicked back with gel, and a set of blue eyes just always piercing through your soul.

Suddenly, the room ran out of air for you to breathe on, you couldn’t pinpoint whether it was the strong perfume he wore— an oddly lavender aroma with a kick of spice thanks to its amber base. It was sleek, mature, and downright sexy. Or, if it was just his presence. It probably was just him all in all.

“I’m really sorry.” He looked utterly devastated in a manner that made him even hotter than he usually was, you couldn’t afford to stand up just yet and realize that there was a wet patch on your chair. “You can take a sick day tomorrow. I don’t have that much meetings—“

“It’s fine, Mr. Barnes. Really.” You cut him off, you didn’t even care anymore if your annoyance was obvious. You wanted to go home badly and melt down your bed, eyes shut, maybe dream of him when you have calmed down. “I’ll fix my things, then I’ll go.” You added, slowly standing up from your desk and picking up your bag to put your laptop in.

“I told you to just call me Bucky.” He looked at you, taking note of your particular habit of always calling him by his last name.

Well, he did give you the freedom to be casual. Too casual. Casual in a way that you might mistake for a flirty remark— like the one that you’d give a handsome man you’ll see on a bar then never again.

You couldn't call him that for your own personal sanity— and because you were too afraid to reveal anything about schoolgirl hopeless romantic feelings and imaginations straight out of a fanfiction written by people who had the same amount of thirst for the ex-assassin turned U.S. House Representative.

“That would be really unprofessional since you’re my boss.” You gave him a dry, sarcastic chuckle, trying to be humorous, but it came out rude instead due to your sour mood.

“Right, right. Well, people usually call me that. Just sayin’.” Bucky gave you a tight-lipped smile and lowered his head down.

“How are you getting home? You have a car?” He asked, trying to spark a conversation again.

“I just walk. My apartment’s not that far, like a 15-minute walk from here.” You sighed, finished packing up your stuff, ready to go. Your heels clacked on the waxed floor when you picked up your things and went to the direction of the door, where Bucky was, seemingly waiting for you.

Your attention was now focused on tidying up your clothes, fixing your pants as well as patting them free of dust, adjusting the sleeves of your blazers, and pulling up the neckline of the inner blouse you wore. You grew conscious when you realized that Bucky was watching, his jaw unusually tightened. He’d probably reprimand you for wearing clothing that slightly showed the top of your chest, but you didn’t care for that, not right now at least.

“It’s unsafe for you to walk at this time.” He stated the obvious as his eyebrow slightly raised, looking down on you.

You were slightly thankful that the usual pencil skirt you had always worn was in the washer today, or else you’d have a hard time battling off countless catcallers in the street around your area.

You pulled out your phone from one of the pockets in your pants. “I’m just gonna call an uber.” You shrugged, opening the app as Bucky watched your thumbs hovering the device.

“I doubt you’ll find someone who accepts that, they’re all probably snoring by now.” He retaliated.

You only gave a hum in response, too tired to think of a witty retort anymore, your soles were hurting from the inches your shoes had. Your eyes were heavy and you were seriously considering sleeping in this office right now, just slouched in your chair.

“I could give you a ride.”

You immediately looked up from your screen, eyes slightly widened in his offer. Bucky, giving you a ride, in the backseat of his motorcycle? It definitely seemed like a good way to end your life. You thought about it, he’d look insanely mouth watering maneuvering the bike that was as big as him. Your hands wrapped around his waist, feeling his abs and you pressed against Bucky’s back.

You couldn’t, you shook your head in a panicked manner.

“It’s fine, I can wait.“ You gave him a reassured smile. The universe was giving you the opportunity of a lifetime to finally bag Bucky Barnes, but you had no other choice but to reject the notion— you needed this job badly, enough pay to buy you a few guilty pleasures, and the privilege to fawn over your boss everyday.

“And if there are no available drivers nearby?” He questioned you. Bucky’s face was covered in the expression of sarcasm, he certainly thought it was unsafe for a woman to go home this late— and it was his fault, he felt accountable. The least he could do was to safely bring you home.

You, on the other hand, were completely against this. Even if it was in your wildest dreams, it was unprofessional. The scenario to ride with him (or ride him) was straight out of your dirty fantasies, but not under these circumstances where one of you could be put at risk— worst case scenario, the both of you will.

“I’ll just walk then.” You squint your eyes at the tone of sass in his remark, slightly amused. He scoffed at your reaction, not pleased by your response.

“Please,” He ultimately sighed in defeat. “Just accept my offer.” Bucky looked at you with determination swirling his iris.

“I’m sure someone’s gonna accept me.” But you did not budge, not even in the slightest. Maybe just a little, but you were still in the right mind to say no. “Please go ahead, don’t wait for me.” You gave Bucky a comforting grin once more, taking note of the fact that he had a meeting first thing in the morning, he couldn’t afford to be late.

The super soldier stared at you for a moment, his usual thing to do whenever debating something in his head— or when zoning out. His gaze pierced yours, thinking if it’s really okay, or if you were just too annoyed to even face him right now.

But he didn’t like to push people just to get what he wanted (sometimes), he tried to convince himself that you were capable of defending yourself outside, under the light of the moon. Albeit you were a skilled assistant, seemingly efficient in every task that Bucky can throw at you.

Organizing his schedule? Check.

Managing his appointments? Check.

Handle communicating with the press? Excellent.

And being absolutely hard headed right now? You were valedictorian, flying with all the colors in the rainbow.

But he couldn’t exactly say the same for your brilliance in the streets. The two of you weren’t that personally close yet for him to know— although sometimes, he wanted to. He can’t risk the life of his precious assistant, or his work will be very disastrous and chaotic, that’s all there really is to.

“Fine,” He raised his hands up, seemingly signifying that he surrenders. “I’ll go.”

You only gave him a grin in response, you weren’t even sure yourself if you’d be able to get an uber— but you didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of your boss when you'd decide to just sleep in his office instead. Meanwhile, Bucky only gave you a look of suspicion before walking to his desk, which was adjacent to yours, picking up his bag and a few paperworks in his arm, his footsteps led him to the door again, where you were.

“I will see you tomorrow, Mr. Barnes.” You politely greeted him goodbye; like you always would on any other day, the only difference this time was that it was nearing midnight— and the two of you were the only ones left in this building.

Bucky muttered something underneath his breath, you didn’t catch it, it was more of a grumble rather than a word that’s actually coherent. He gave you his usual, charming smile, before opening the door and closing it behind his back— footsteps getting fainter by the second.

It had been over an hour since you uttered that phrase to your boss, a literal hour of hoping someone would accept you.

You groaned in frustration, standing from Bucky’s comfortable swivel office chair, then sitting back down again in hopelessness. You were beginning to think that you should have just accepted his offer, not chicken out like you always did.

But no, you were left alone to deal with the consequences of your stupid decisions.

You were left with no other choice but to walk home, maybe ride in a cab if you’ll have the chance to find one. But it was almost midnight, you didn’t like to get your hopes up anymore. It felt foolish to even have a sliver of faith that you were going to get sleep tonight. You sighed, stood up from the seat, meticulously arranged Bucky’s desk before you left, and picked up your things that were sprawled in your own desk, after you had just organized them a few moments ago.

Closing the glass door on your way out, you prepared yourself for whatever obstacle there may be outside the streets, you hoped there were none— although that’s statistically impossible, you assumed. Your shoes hitting the ground was the only noise that echoed throughout the floor, your eyes darting from left and right to observe the closed lights, except for the one by the elevator.

It was eerily quiet, but you had that coming, leaving the office a few minutes after the clock hit midnight. You really didn’t have a choice— a curtain congressman with a vibranium arm left you with this predicament, then you made yourself suffer more. It was an unfortunate situation, but you’d accept any mode of transportation now, as long as you still have time to rest to prepare for tomorrow— which was actually just a few hours later.

You walked to the nearest elevator, which was fortunately just a slight left to where Bucky’s office was. Letting out a small yawn, you reached for the down button beside it, pressing it gently. Your mind started to wonder about him, like clockwork.

It was hard to not like him— Bucky was the perfect guy you could bring home to meet your parents because of his gentlemanly nature. But the contrast of that to his physical attributes always made you wonder… if he were also a gentleman in other places.

It wasn’t even just that, or the fact that he’s a decorated veteran— his upstanding morals made him even hotter.

The world had been familiar with the controversy of him in politics, his past, and if he was even worthy of being one. But come on now, Bucky’s probably more qualified than half of the people in the government right now— his virtues and principles alone.

His thought process on hiring you was even more baffling, you didn’t go on any interviews or even met him before you got hired for the job. You simply sent a resume, a short message explaining your interest to take the position, and sent it to his email— which you weren’t even sure was his. You found it through a shady hiring website in the last page.

It didn’t even have any information about the tasks you would need to do, the qualifications and requirements needed, or what you would be exactly assisting for. A few hours after you sent your application, he had replied; a short message expressing that you are hired, with the address of his office at the bottom of the email. Sent at 3:07 AM.

He really needed an assistant.

The first thing you had asked Bucky when you went to his office— which was coincidentally in Washington, DC as well, the House of Representatives, to be exact. The question that slipped from your tongue was— what was exactly your basis in hiring me?

“You were the only one who actually sent a resume— not a weird picture or a love letter.” He replied, curtly.

Since then, you practically took every interaction like he was head over heels for you as well. The brushing of fingers whenever you’d hand out a document, or when you would catch him looking at you through your peripheral vision in your desk. And the offer he made a while ago, to give you a ride in his motorcycle. This was bad, you needed to have an actual social life before you get fully delusional over your boss, as if you weren’t already.

You shook your head violently as the doors to the elevator opened with a ding, you entered the oddly spacious machine with utmost caution. Your left finger pressed the button that will lead you to the basement. The lobby was closed now, you could be actually stuck there the whole night.

“I need coffee.” You thought to yourself, before the elevator opened its doors to welcome you in the dark basement parking of the building. Even though it was dimly lit, you could still clearly see the rusty exit door. It was on the opposite end of the elevator, a bit far because of the massive size of the parking lots, which looked odd when it wasn’t full of vehicles in different sizes and colors.

You gripped your bag tighter, and started walking in a frigid manner away from the elevator, which quickly closed when it felt your presence leave its space. There was an aura of discomfort in the fact that you were the only person here left, in this creepy place— where no one could probably hear if you let out a scream. It was probably from the true crime shows you had been binge watching for you to grow paranoid.

The moment you’ll get out of this building, was the last moment of this happening ever again. You should’ve never waited for him, but it was your responsibility. Your pace started to grow quicker, heels getting louder by how fast you were walking. The last thing you needed was a serial killer suddenly running around all loose.

“I take it that you’re walking home.”

“Fuck!”

Your body jumped in surprise, mostly fear. Because you thought you were going to get killed— worse sliced alive or shot by someone who craved vengeance. You felt a presence looming beside you, as Bucky Barnes came out in the shadow, arms crossed, eyes immediately met yours. His usual suit and tie was replaced with a leather jacket now, which also did not help in the fact that he goes to the gym everyday, absolutely ripped inside. You tried your best not to imagine what’s under, tried.

“Why are you still here?” You exclaimed, a dread of annoyance coated every syllable of your question as you turned to him. If you were frustrated at him then, you were infuriated now. Bucky shrugged nonchalantly, walking towards you.

“Wanted to see how long you’d take up on my offer.” He gave you a teasing grin. “I was about to leave, but I heard the elevator.” Your eyebrows furrowed at his statement, probably his enhanced senses working their magic again, you didn’t question it.

“You waited for me?” Your eyes slightly softened, as you let out a breath of relief from the scare he unintentionally made a few seconds ago.

“It’s my fault you’re here at this hour.” Bucky was only a few inches away from you, the conversation echoing loud in the basement where only the two of you could hear.

“I told you, it’s fine.” You sighed. “Plus, you can’t scare people around like that! Lurking in the shadows like a madman.” Your hand went to your chest, signifying that Bucky scared the shit out of you. He gave a small chuckle in return, he definitely did not feel guilty— he was more amused.

“Let me take you home.” He said, casually. Like it was a normal occurrence for bosses and their assistants to drop them down at their apartments, maybe give them a kiss goodnight if the mood was right. He walked away again, but looked back, urging you to follow his direction. And you did, with hesitation that also dripped in nervousness. As you come into eye contact with his Harley Davidson.

You thought about it. There was no uber accepting your ride— it was a death sentence to hail a cab at this hour, and your eyes were far too tired to even walk now. Your only option was either crawl all the way home, or accept his offer.

Giving out a small sigh of defeat, you gave in.

“Just this once.” You let out a small gulp, hands consciously fixing the attire you wore again. Bucky smiled at you, in a rather boyish manner— you hadn’t seen it before, it was laidback and all the synonyms for cool. You wished he expressed that side more often, just out of working hours, you supposed.

Bucky was also tired, it was quite obvious. You noticed the way his vibranium arm dragged the way he walked and the small heaves of sigh he made. But something felt different about him, curiosity started to get the best of you. Despite the calm way of his hands patting where you’d sit on his black-on-black motorcycle, the coolness of his voice, his eyes looked like they were fighting with himself.

Like he was waiting for a trigger to break free from his spell, reliant on one single word that could make him think or take an action freely. You bit your lip unknowingly, affected by the sight of him.

“Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost.” Bucky looked at you, eyes blinking in confusion when he realized you were dazed out when he had asked which street you live in— all he knew was that you were from around here.

“Yeah, you scared me. I thought you were a serial killer.” You scoffed at his remark, crossing your arms in a defensive manner.

You immediately realized what you had just said, covering your mouth quickly. Bucky only raised his eyebrow at you, as his vibranium arm rested on the motorcycle seat, the other flesh on his waist. His eyes had a glint of mischief around them, looking you up and down as he gave out a dry chuckle.

Your cheeks immediately heated up in embarrassment. “I mean, I thought I was alone. Thinking that nobody could—“

“Hear you scream?” He tilted his head sideways, giving you a teasing grin. You nodded in return, somehow, you didn’t know what to say next. Besides the growing tension between you and Bucky as your legs tightened on instinct when he grew closer.

He stopped just when your bodies are only centimeters from touching, one small move and you’d immediately feel his chest.

“Wanna test it?” He added, in a voice lower than it usually was, drawing out every word for you to thoroughly comprehend. Your mouth opened slightly, you couldn’t tell whether a moan or a reply wanted to come out. But you were left speechless, the familiar sensation between your legs tingling once more.

“What— What do you mean?” Those were the only coherent words that managed to come out of your mouth.

“You know what I mean.” Bucky replied, almost immediately.

Bucky was playing a dangerous game, and you were scared to even gamble. You couldn’t risk losing your job— or him being heavily criticized by the public for being with his assistant. Too many factors that were all needed to be considered, but your self-control was running low, tempted by his offer.

“This is highly unprofessional, Mr. Barnes.” You whispered, voice even shaking in nervousness. You clutched your bag hard, knuckles almost turning white.

“There ‘ya go again, with that unprofessional shit.” He gave you a response filled with sarcasm, you would think it’s venomous.

“Like I don’t smell your arousal every single time we’re in that office together.” Your eyes widened once more at his sudden confession, you were embarrassed to the brim. He could smell that? His jaw was tightened, like it was back at his office when you were fixing your blouse haphazardly.

The tables were turned as the attention of the night was now on Bucky Barnes’ admission. He immediately sighed, like he did not mean to let the words slip from his tongue. But he had grown increasingly tired of his pretty little assistant being a tease every single day, even if you meant to be one or not. It affected him far worse than the way it took a toll on you— he was just more skilled at hiding it.

But today was his last straw, Bucky’s last defense of self-control was immediately shattered when you walked in the office in the morning. Opening the door with such confidence, immediately handing out to him his planned schedule for the day like you always did, in a methodical manner. He liked that about you, precision and keen attention to detail.

Bucky let out a small groan when you leaned down to explain his itinerary, who he will be meeting, what he needed to say in front of the press, and always asking him which food he wants for lunch, so you could buy it. He usually says nothing— it was weird, having you buy lunch for him, how ungentlemanly if it was normal even.

Your perfume was the only thing that filled his sense of smell, eyes gazing at the delectable view in front of him— the off-white blouse that you wore revealed a little too much of your cleavage that when your hands were rested in his table, body just inches away from him at the seat. His eyes savored in the top of your breasts peeking out, and you were blissfully unaware of such things, still ranting on something he couldn’t even comprehend now.

He tried to think of anything else, he turned his gaze to your face— which only made things worse. Your eyes focused on the second event of the morning, the hearing of Valentina Allegra De Fontaine and her organization. But fuck her and fuck everyone but you, he couldn’t care about anything right now. Your eyes were slightly furrowed in a manner that made you adorably tempting, and lips painted with a tinge of redness and shine from lip gloss.

All Bucky could think about was standing up, putting his hands against both sides of your waist, and removing the black pants you adorned. He thought about making the table shake violently that all his paperwork would be on the floor. Hips thrusting against your ass while balls deep inside your pretty pussy.

In the shitty dimmed light of the basement floor, a thick air of silence filled the space between the two of you. Your head was starting to get dizzy due to nervousness, you wanted to fight back. God knows how much you’ve spent the nights imagining him working you up like what he’s doing right now— but now that it was actually happening? You were scared. Terrified of the consequences that might happen after this.

“Sir Barnes—“

“Don’t call me that.” He cut you off quickly.

“I apologize for letting my feelings get in the way.” You muttered a shaky apology under your breath, looking down on the ground in shame and embarrassment when you realized you were not being sleek with your infatuation— Bucky had known along. And you should have known as well, he wasn’t exactly just a congressman, hundreds of notable things he had done were under his belt. Of course, he would’ve sensed your ogling from a mile away.

“Sweetheart, I get hard every time you call me Mr. fucking Barnes. The last thing you need to do is apologize.” He chuckled sarcastically, putting his vibranium arm against your waist. “I’ll stop if you say so— but don’t pretend like you’re not wanting this.” He added, putting his fleshed index finger to your chin, and pulled you closer to his body.

That action rendered you speechless— but you couldn’t even really think of anything to begin with, just him, his hair, his hands, everything that he ever was. His hands swayed dangerously lower, moving to your back and right above your tailbone, like he had to stop himself from grabbing your ass.

If the nonexistent space between the two of you wasn’t enough, Bucky persisted and pushed your hips to make you feel the clothed hardness that had formed in his pants. Your breath hitched, trying your best to stifle the moan that was threatening to roll out of your tongue when he grinded just enough for your clit to feel, despite the layers of fabric against it.

“This is dangerous, sir.” You managed to garner a reply. “You could lose your job— or mine, even both if this ends up in the headlines.” Your hands creeped up his chest, a last offer of defense, that’s what you convinced yourself.

“I’ll make sure nothing comes out.” He gave you a look of reassurance, and you swooned right into it. You knew you were in capable hands, a highly capable man that is as intelligent as he is hot. Bucky kept promises, never letting a word fall under his grasp. He could be trusted with it, and it was not making your case any easier.

“But you’ll have to fire me, this is against the code of conduct.”

“Keep being this uptight, baby. You’re gonna make me cum in seconds.” He let out an almost pained groan in response, hands still not leaving your hips as the other went their way from your chin to caress your cheeks. Fingers just softly rubbing against, as if he was scared to break you.

Bucky looked at you fervently, his eyes were desperate to meet yours, eyebrows slightly furrowing in anticipation of your words. He would’ve been fine with anything, you could say no— he would gladly pretend to forget that any of this has ever happened, even give you a raise for the inconvenience.

Or you could bite back, just give in. One nod, a hushed word of approval, any form of recognition that you wanted this too, and he’ll be the one to take care of the rest. Nevermind the bigger problem he had in between his legs, he was a gentleman— but only the heavens knew how much he had been controlling himself for the past eight hours or so. He couldn’t care to count the minutes anymore.

One word, just one.

He had been through hell and back his whole life, for a whole century even. He had repented his actions— mistakes and failures that he did not even do, but he still made up for it, for everything. But all Bucky had ever wanted right now, what he pleaded to the gods, was to be given a chance to savor a taste of your lips.

“You’re making this harder for me.” You gave out a small chuckle, the bag on your shoulder was suddenly a lot heavier than it was. You couldn’t pinpoint if it was excitement or nervousness in your veins, maybe both— you couldn’t think ahead anymore.

So fuck it, right?

You let out an inhale of courage in the form of air as your lips went straight crashing with his— in an impatient manner that even made Bucky’s knees slightly weak at the collision. He let out a whine of satisfaction when you pressed in deeper to the kiss, mouth slightly opening more when his tongue licked your lips— a beg to let him do more.

Now both of Bucky’s hands were on your waist when he gripped it harder, and pulled your back against the motorcycle, slightly wincing at the contact of cold metal. Your left arm rested on the cushion of the seat as your right fingers dangled in the strands of his hair, never once did you let the kiss separate. Not even for a brief moment, even if you needed to gasp for air.

Because you weren’t going to deny this moment when Bucky’s tongue was working wonders to explore every inch of your mouth, fingers that were once on your waist were now working their way up to your stomach, mere inches away from your breasts. He separated from your lips and locked eyes with you once more.

“Can I?” He asked for permission. “Please, baby.” Bucky added, and you weren’t sure to which part of your body he was pleading to, but you nodded hazily— you couldn’t wait any more longer. But you quickly realized what he meant to do when he started to remove the bag that was decorated on your arm and safely hung it on the windshield of his bike, you wondered if its strength could hold on the files that were in your bag.

The lust-ridden congressman then slowly took off the blazers that you perfectly wore, his hands worked their way on your shoulders. His eyes were shifting from your orbs to your chest— you gave him a small smile of amusement.

“You gonna wait ‘til sunrise just to get me off of my shirt, sir?” Your eyes crinkled playfully. On the other hand, your boss was not amused. He wanted— no, needed to ravish you already. He couldn’t wait as well.

So, in the poor ventilation of the basement, only the echoes of your moans were heard, and its light reflected the absolute want in your face, to which Bucky only had the privilege to drink in the view. You were a goddess to his eyes, and he was nothing but a measly worshipper.

“Great idea. Let’s fuck here until sunset.”

He gave you a coy smile, before his lips met contact with your neck, prompting little pecks of kisses as he went lower while simultaneously undoing the buttons of the blouse that had made his already struggling morning even worse. He looked up, lips still adorned to your collarbone with furrowed eyebrows, hair slightly covering the sides of his face, and the look of utter desperation.

You shuddered, what a sight to behold. You tried to etch this memory onto your mind before you could even forget the next second.

The soldier only finished half of the buttons before spreading apart the blouse to reveal the lace bra you wore underneath.

“Just for me?” He gave you a boyish smirk, fingers rubbing your nipples against the cloth as you let out a breath of his name like an earnest prayer. In return, your hands rested on his shoulders for support, left leg slightly hiking up to grind against his. You were desperate for friction, to the point of being pathetic, but you did not care.

“Maybe.”

“I’m gonna need a better answer than that, sweetheart.”

In a dazed manner, you recaptured Bucky’s lips, a little too rough and impatient, even for your own liking. You felt his touch caress the skin of your back, and in a smooth manner, he unclasped your bra easily. A shot of jealousy went down your throat, wondering how many bras he had removed just for him to undo yours with utmost ease. But they weren’t the one in your position right now, at least not anymore.

Your boss did not even bother to fully remove the articles of clothing, he just pulled the blouse down at your waist, and put your upper undergarment to hang beside your bag, careful not to let it fall down the ground. His darkened eyes reveled in the sight your bare chest, mouth agape, and you could feel the way his cock twitched between your legs.

“Fuck, you’re divine.” He let out a breathless moan, immediately cupping your left boob with his vibranium laced fingers, index fingers rubbing your nipples when his tongue lapped on the other, making sure it wasn’t left out. “God, you don’t know how many times I’ve imagined this.” He muttered in between breaths.

“Bucky,” You gave out a whine, knees slightly trembling and nails gripping for support in the sturdy bike pressed against your back as he lazily gave a long lick on your right nipple before rubbing it once more. The long nights if fantasizing about fucking your boss were now starting to become reality when his hands snaked their way to caress your thigh that was wrapped against his hips.

“More, I want more.” You confessed, in a soft whisper, afraid that everything would end in a second should your voice be higher than a decibel.

You gazed upon his face, wrecked with nothing but the need to be further, to know your skin more— to unravel your body completely. Bucky quickly obliged, like the good man he was, he couldn’t restrict you from your needs when he was also under the same predicament of losing control.

He only gave you a smirk, before dropping dead to his knees in the cemented and uneven floor of the basement, with white marking lines decorating where he knelt. His black pants were starting to look the color of ash, but he did not seem to mind, not at all. How could he? You were the only thing to ever cross his mind at this very moment. His eyes dead set on yours, still with the same lust adorned dust hovering, but with intensity a depth lower.

Your heart skipped two or three beats in recognition.

“My pretty assistant wants more?” Bucky’s fingers were on a mission, he did not waste time to remove the button in your pants, revealing a matching set of underwear as your bra. You couldn’t quite figure out if this was your lucky day or his, either way, you thanked the laundry gods that your clothes managed to dry on time.

“I’ll give you more.” He added, voice deeper than it usually was. He started to unravel what was beneath the last piece of clothing you had, and the black trousers you once wore were pooled down your feet, to where he was— in full devotion and worship.

“Oh, matching sets. Did you plan all these, baby? Get me to lose control so I can fuck you on my motorcycle?” He taunted, snapping the waistband of your panties.

“Coincidence.” You feigned innocence, terribly. Like Bucky wasn’t smirking in front of your clothed, sopping cunt. He was caressing your thighs, dangerously going higher, as if to test you. “But if you like it that much, I’ll let you live on your little fantasy.”

“Coincidence, huh?” He tilted his head, eyebrows slightly raised at your sarcastic comment. Bucky slightly spread your legs apart, hiking up your left thigh to his shoulders, to which you immediately shuddered in excitement when he brushed against your clit. The counter of your black heels drilled against his back, he didn’t seem to mind.

“You’re soaking for me, sweetheart. Is that a coincidence too?” The congressman did not even give you time to reply nor react when he strided a long, slow lick to your pussy, never breaking eye contact with you. He sure did love to stare— a little too much sometimes. But you were unphased, turned on was more of an accurate term. You moaned, embarrassingly loud for it to echo the white walls of the basement.

“Fuck,” You exclaimed, lost in the pleasure when he rubbed your clit with his cold fingers. The warm ones were pushing aside your panties like it had a personal vendetta against him, not even bothering to remove them as he stuffed your entrance with his long and thick digits.

“I’m getting there.” He sarcastically responded, growing closer between your legs because his fingers weren’t enough, he needed to taste you as well. Starved was an understatement— how could he have gone on decades of famine and not having the luxury of eating you out? He sucked hard, tongue memorizing the feast bestowed upon him, lapping on your wetness with an unquenchable thirst.

In response, you let out a dragged and broken moan. “Bucky,” You muttered his name like a perfectly tuned melody, he grunted in response.

Congressman James Bucky Barnes on his knees, eating out his young assistant in the parking lot of the House of Representatives. It would be an eye-catching headline to see on the news articles, TikTok for you pages, and newspaper stands.

Your boss added one more finger, and quickened the pace— the rubbing of your clit, fingers in and out, and his fucking skilled tongue circling around it all.

If you weren’t too deep in pleasure, lost in ecstasy you were sure no drug was going to compare to the feeling of high. Then, you would have noticed him spelling his own name with it— like a cast of spell to guard what was his.

You were done for, and you did not even mind.

“So fucking sweet. I—I need you so bad, shiiit.”

You were also certain that Bucky was done for, he groaned when your legs started to shake lightly, pre-cum decorated his tip that leaked from his pants as the consequence of punishing himself by not stuffing you full of his dick earlier.

“I’m gonna…” With eyes closed and lower lip bitten, you couldn’t even finish your words without making lewd noises of satisfaction because of the soldier’s relentless pace.

You felt like exploding, in the best way possible. Just a tinge closer to coming undone, you were already in the route going there.

“That’s right.” His mouth was agape when he looked up, seeing you in the same level of need that he was in. “Be a good girl and come on my tongue, baby.”

That’s all it took for you to release on his fingers, tongue, and everywhere that he was— even spilling enough that it coated his salt and pepper stubble. His lips were glossed all over with your liquids. You looked away in embarrassment. But he looked like it was the most delicious meal he’d ever eaten in a hundred years. He slowly removed his digits that were once inside you. Agonizingly slow.

Blue eyes blown away and the sides of his mouth twitched to what seemed like a smile— or just a smirk. You thought it was done, that it’s goodbye now. And he’d be dropping you off your apartment for real this time.

In a rush, you pulled the blouse that was scrunched on your waist to wear it properly again trying to button up what you could button in this drunken state of mind, even forgetting about the bra that hung in front of Bucky’s bike.

But he did not budge there, just watched you with keen eyes as his grip firm on the side of your hiked up thigh, liking the way your heels felt against his back. He was full on smirking, amused by your actions— his flustered assistant that was once calling out his name in the dirtiest way possible. You tried to lean down to take your pair of pants when Bucky stopped your arms.

He wasn’t just going to let you go that easily.

“Nah, we ain’t fucking done, sweetheart.”

Your eyes unknowingly went down to the bulging view in his pants, his cock was rock hard— no amount of jerking off to interactions with you could suffice it, not when he already had the taste of it. Bucky stood up and faced you, eyes pleased at the sight of you in nothing but your off-white blouse and black heels.

He did not even care what time it was right now, how many hours left before a day filled with endless— pointless meetings will start. He needed to be balls deep inside of you.

“Sit in front.”

He gestured to the seat of his big, black bike, where you were leaning against, in the receiving end of his lust. You looked at him, confusion brimming your face to its highest setting. You weren’t even wearing any pants yet, and now he wants to leave? After he gave you quite possibly the best orgasm you ever had in your entire life.

“What?”

You looked at him like he was a madman. He probably was, you thought that you were too. Was this just the dizziness that stemmed from fatigue because you needed sleep, or was he actually commanding you to sit in the front seat of his motorcycle? He grew closer, you thought it was even impossible for him to be, both of his thumbs ran circles on the sides of your waist.

He squinted and tilted his head playfully— seductively, even.

“Thought you needed a ride?”

Oh.

And fuck, that got you worked up all over again.

You wasted no time, turned to the side and carefully went up his motorcycle as the congressman’s hands were on your back for support— albeit lower than it should have been. Your heels trembled to climb in the foot rest as your right leg separated to get on the other side, you quickly held onto the throttle for a sense of stability.

You could feel your wetness stain against the leather of the seat, in a desperate effort to feel his warmth again, you grinded slowly, mouth opening up to release a soft noise.

“Couldn’t wait for my cock, baby?” He gave a low chuckle, the one that vibrated off his chest in amusement. He followed, and in a swift motion, he hopped to sit close behind you, close enough to feel him practically radiating your back.

“Need you so bad, Bucky.” You turned your head back to him, where he was fumbling to take his dick out of the confinement of his pants. He frantically pulled down the zipper, and slightly pushed down the clothing to reveal the v-line of his lower abdomen, and slowly took out the tip just for you to see how red and hard it had been from eating you out.

“I need you just as bad, sweetheart.” He let out a small groan, pulling it out altogether, pumping up and down using his vibranium digits to relieve the pain he accumulated from months of holding back, pre-cum leaking as he swirled it all around the tip. The other arm was on the very end of the motorcycle seat, so he could have support. Bucky’s eyes were half-lidded, face contorted in pleasure.

You swore you moaned at the sight.

“Are you gonna help me out?” He had a smug grin on his face when he finally opened his eyes fully to see you watching the scene unfold.

“God, yes.”

Bucky grabbed you by the waist and pulled your hips closer to his, you could feel his length twitch against your back as he carefully pushed your stomach down lower, urging you to keep your hands on the throttle as he arched your back in the seat. His hands were on your ass now, drawing near to your glistening cunt.

“You want me this much, sweetheart? Want me to fill you up?” He muttered, breathing near your ear as you can only let out a weak whine in response, softly nodding. From the position alone, you were sure you could cum by then. Not only did you get the chance to be railed by the hottest member of the representative, he was going to rail you completely on his motorcycle. Like it was straight out of a porno, you never realized he had this kink— and you were starting to think that you had it too.

He teased the tip of his aching cock to your wet folds, he didn’t do anything yet, just rubbing it in between, using your wetness as a form of lube— you reckoned it was enough for him to easily push it in, but he wasn’t going to do that just yet. He wanted to savor the moment. You in front of his bike, ass hiked up and pussy just devastatingly ready to swallow him whole.

“Fuck.” He let out a sigh, tucking his strands back that stuck to his forehead from the sweat— because the parking lot had shitty ventilation, like all of them do. “I was so fucking close to bending you over my desk. But this— this is so much better.” He winked at you through the side-view mirror.

“Oh my god, Barnes. Just put it in.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He drew a low chuckle.

Like you had been waiting for an eternity for this to happen— your grandeur visions of delusion finally crawling out from the grave and coming to life to give you a kiss on the cheek and say that it wasn’t actually just your imagination— that Bucky felt the same way as you did about him.

You slightly raised your hips to take him in, wetness dripped down from the seat as he slowly pushed his cock inside. It was hurting— he was too big, too thick, but you took pleasure from the pain. Too eager to take him in, to be deep inside you. Reaching places where your fingers could not comprehend to even go. Meanwhile, the congressman’s eyes were focused on you from the mirror, groaning at how easy he slipped in, and how perfectly his cock fit— like a glove.

“So fucking— tight for me.” Bucky caressed your back, he noticed you struggled from the pain evident in your face as he paused for a brief moment. Waiting for your signal to move. “You’re taking me in so well. So good.”

“Bucky,” You breathed out his name like it was the only word you ever knew. Glancing at him as you slowly grind your hips in a circular motion to test it out. Testing out the ride that you needed to go home. And there, you started to bounce like your life depended on it, taking him in— inch by fucking inch.

You were riding Bucky’s dick on his motorcycle, a line straight out of the fantasies you once touched yourself to.

The sergeant— who was too preoccupied at watching you grind up and down, mouth agape at how his cock glistened by your wetness,

disappearing completely when you went down. His hands travelled to your stomach as he pushed your back against his chest, ripping off the buttons of your blouse to cup your breasts— caressing your nipples along the way.

“Look at you, like a fucking slut on my dick.” Just when you thought it could not get more pleasurable, his digits went to rub your clit in a fast-paced manner, your legs trembling in absolute pleasure.

“Fuck, oh.” You were too lost, drowning in the feel of Bucky’s length as he thrusted upward when you pushed down— the action hitting your g-spot, straight to the core, you swore you felt him through your stomach. “Bucky, oh my god.”

Bucky was close to cumming— embarrassingly close. But you were too good, too sweet for him, and pussy taking him in so well he was sure that it was made for him, just him. He gave out a guttural groan, squeezing your breast as he thrusted even faster, matching the timing of your hips. The motorcycle shaked, struggling to keep up with the momentum.

He did not care anymore whether or not this violates whatever rules there was— the code of conduct. All he needed right now was your pussy.

“B—Bucky, please come inside me.”

Who was he to deny your request?

“Shit.” He whispered, just loud enough for you to hear. He quickened his pace, arched your back once more so Bucky could see how it’ll look like to shoot his load inside yours, how his cum will drip down your pussy. You grew conscious of his view and he was smart enough to realize.

“Yeah, baby. I’m gonna cum inside your pretty pussy.” He licked his lips, nearing his release. “Gonna fill you up with my cum.” For a man whose age is a hundred-something, he sure did love to get down and talk filth. Not that you minded, it was hot— he was hot all over.

You were the first to come, thighs shaking and slowing down your motion at the release as it pooled down the ruined motorcycle seat and made a mess on Bucky’s dick. You saw the stars when you rolled your eyes back— hard enough to even see the sunrise preparing to get up a few hours later.

He groaned, shortly following after, thrusting even deeper inside of you, filling your cunt to the brim as he ejaculated. The spurts of cum dripped down the side when he separated from you, fingers entering your folds to put it back in. You hummed in response, body too weak to move. Bucky was pleased, and wasted no time to pick up the pants you left on the floor.

He dressed you up, quite gently, as opposed to railing you hard just a few minutes before. You loved the contrast, but he was— and always had been a gentleman. You stood up to switch places with him, you were getting your real ride home. Covering your blouse, which was missing a few buttons with your blazer.

You gave him a small smirk.

“So, does this mean I’m fired?” You chuckled.

Well, you definitely needed to call in sick for today, not because you were battling a life threatening fever. Calling in sick because your legs were wobbly and cunt fucked to the brim by your boss, who looked at you like you were the only precious thing in the world. It wasn’t fair that your chest tightened immediately.

Bucky gave a hearty laughter— one that was rare to see from him. You must have saved an entire village, or you could’ve been an avenger in your different life to witness it.

“Nah, baby. You’re getting a raise.”

#🩶 | thank you! ⊹ ࣪ ˖#bucky barnes

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