drabblesandsnippets

[drabblesandsnippets]

He really is! 🤭

Drabble #2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus-size female character (unnamed)

Background: Just something I wrote in a Target parking lot waiting for my pickup order lol

Summary: Bucky listens to his girlfriend pleasure herself in the backseat of his car.

Warnings: 18+ Only. Explicit sexual content. Masturbation. Dirty talk. Praise. Slight domination.

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She has no idea how she ended up in the backseat of his car, her skirt hiked up and her legs spread wide as she touches herself. She’s never done anything like this, but all reservations left her miles ago when Bucky pulled out of the airport parking lot, convincing her to trust him. They still have at least thirty minutes before he can get her home and he wants a show until then.

“That’s it,” he encourages her, his eyes briefly glancing at her in the rearview mirror, his hands gripping the steering wheel. “Let me hear you, doll… Fuck, I missed you.” It’s been weeks of phone sex and dirty texts and all Bucky wants to do is pull the car over so he bury himself inside of her. But she deserves more than a quick fuck on the side of the road after being apart for so long. 

Her hands keep moving, following his instructions, the teasing pace driving her crazy. She could easily speed things up - he can only see her face after all - but all she wants is to please him. She’s missed him, ached for him in every way, and she’s nothing but a willing participant. One hand cups her breast inside her bra, pinching her own nipple while her other hand stays between her thighs, her fingers rubbing her clit slowly. 

Her breath gets heavier, her moans and soft gasps filling the small space as Bucky talks her through it, his words fueling her desire. “God, you’re fucking incredible,” he tells her, his cock straining against jeans, desperate for some sort of relief. He shifts slightly, glancing back at her again before returning his eyes to the road, grateful for his enhanced senses. He needs to hear her, be responsible for her pleasure, but not at the expense of her safety.

When the slow pace becomes too much, she finally asks for more, her body trembling with need. “Bucky, please.” He knows exactly what she wants, and he wants to give it to her, but if she comes before they make it off the freeway, there’s no way he’s going to be able to make it home before he has to have his way with her. So, he continues to make her wait.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he promises, “just keep touching yourself like that. Nice and slow.” Her groan of frustration is laced with pleasure, his praise making her pussy pulse. As much as she wants to complain, or take control back, it’s nothing compared to how much she gets off on submitting to him. She’ll do anything he tells her to, especially like this.

When he finally takes the familiar exit, Bucky glances at her again, turning his head slightly to let her see the smirk on his face, making her breath catch. For just a second, her hands still, her body tense with anticipation, until his voice breaks through, finally giving her permission. “I want you to fuck yourself, can you do that for me, Princess?”

He barely finishes the question before she presses her fingers against her entrance, sliding deep in one smooth motion, making herself cry out in pleasure. Her noises send a jolt straight to his cock and he resists the urge to reach down to free himself, regripping the steering wheel instead, the metal groaning under his vibranium hand.

“There we go,” he breathes, his voice rough, his eyes briefly meeting hers in the mirror. “Just like that... show me how good it feels.” He doesn’t even have to see her hand to know exactly what she’s doing. Two fingers deep inside of her, curled to press against her g-spot while she grinds her palm against her clit. It’s the fastest way to make her come, and he licks his lips at the thought of how wet she is for him.

His ears pick up all the telltale signs of her getting closer to her orgasm, her breath quick and uneven, her head thrown back against the seat. She doesn’t even realize how close they are to home now, but Bucky’s been counting down the seconds, and the moment he reaches their street, he tells her, “Can’t wait to taste you, have you ride my face until you’re screaming my name.” That’s all it takes for her to fall.

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[drabblesandsnippets]

I missed YOU!!!

Thank you for always reading my stuff and listening to me vent and giving me ideas for new fics �� I love you and I couldn't do this without you!!!!

Making Waves

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus-size/curvy female reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: (3.8k) During a heat wave, you take advantage of one of your favorite perks of working for the Avengers - access to their private pool - and spend some quality time with Bucky.

Background: I haven't been able to see Thunderbolts* yet (it's been torture!), so not necessarily a tower fic, but this could become part of a series! I had a lot of fun writing these two. 🩶

Warnings: Established relationship (acquaintances). Confident reader. A little awkward/charming Bucky. Vague/brief alluding to Bucky's past. Fluff. Flirting. Sexual thoughts. Kissing/making out. Implied smut.

The heat dome suffocating the city has everyone on edge, tempers flaring over the slightest inconvenience.

Even with the high-tech building's fancy cooling system, the strain is palpable, portable fans handed out right along with the company's time-off policy.

Several people took the week off in advance, others called out sick, but you? You decided to suck it up and power through, saving your PTO for that long-awaited vacation you'll probably never take.

At least you have enough sense to make use one of your favorite perks of working for the Avengers - free access to their private, indoor, temperature-controlled pool.

You're one of the limited non-Avenger employees who have the privilege, and one of the few who actually take advantage of it.

Half-expecting to find the place occupied due to the lingering heat, you're pleasantly surprised to find the luxurious natatorium empty - the cool, placid saltwater inviting you in like always.

While most people are already well into their commutes home - no doubt on their way to fight with their a/c in a futile attempt to stave off the inevitable sweatiness - you get to blissfully float for the foreseeable future.

---

Bucky's restless. Has been for days.

He blames the relentless heat. The endless patrols. The incessant 'check-ins.'

Some days it feels like he's still following the same old song and dance. Minus the obvious mind control and innocent bloodshed.

And, at least now, he can live with himself in between the chaos.

Plus, there's better scenery.

The pool was supposed to be empty, according to his precursory check fifteen minutes ago, yet here you are, currently unaware of your newly rapt audience of one.

Hidden in the shadows like some creep, unable to tear his gaze away from your swimsuit digging into your soft, plush hips, Bucky watches you for longer than he'll ever admit.

It's far from the first time you've caught his attention. Even recently, he's managed to carry on a few more conversations with you, your infectious laughter haunting him for days after.

This, by far, has to be of his favorite moments though - right after that office party they held in celebration of your promotion. The confidence you radiated that day had the most filthiest thoughts swimming through his head.

Some of which are currently taking laps behind his eyes, even as he tracks a tiny droplet slipping over the swell of your belly before it's absorbed by the gentle waves lapping at your skin.

Bucky imagines tracing the path with his tongue and thanks the gods for his enhanced senses, blood rushing south when your tiny sighs of contentment reach his ears.

A new forbidden soundtrack to go along with the fantasy reels aching to come to life.

He should probably walk away.

Leave you in peace.

Allow you the privacy you're clearly seeking. You might even take one look at him and come up with an excuse to be elsewhere anyway.

Not that you ever have, it's just a lot people still do, even after all this time.

Except.

Except, he's supposed to be trying. Trying to exist like an actual human being, instead of a relic that no one knows quite how to handle.

Before Bucky can overthink it, his weirdly unsteady feet are carrying him forward, soles scuffing on the tiled limestone as he makes his way to you.

Your ever-vigilant mind clocks him before he even has a chance to interrupt the comfortable silence, your heart fluttering like it always does in his vicinity.

Ignoring your initial assumption that you're not supposed to be here right now - or that he came to swim strictly in solitude - you settle for treading water and offer a simple, smiling, "Hi."

One side of Bucky's mouth ticks upward, eyes crinkling with silent appreciation. "Hi." You're not retreating.

"Hi," you repeat with an undignified laugh, attempting to ground yourself in the cool water flowing around your fingers. And forcing your eyes to remain on his handsome features, instead of lingering on the tantalizing display of taut skin and defined muscle.

It should be a crime how delicious he looks in such simple attire - white tank top and black swim trunks. Almost as good as he looked in his latest uniform the other day. The unexpected sight when he passed you in the hall nearly had you choking on your own saliva.

And now you're wondering if Bucky's into choking-

Your possibly-most-definitely-inappropriate thoughts are interrupted by his deliberate repetition of, "Hi." And that butterfly-inducing smirk that should definitely be classified as a lethal weapon. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Yeah?" Your raised eyebrow has his grin widening and you dare to swim a little closer, using the opportunity to take another appreciative look at his previously unseen muscular legs, which you don't even try to hide this time.

"Mmm," Bucky acknowledges with a tilt of his head, his own fleeting glance at the teasing glimpse of your cleavage raising your temperature by at least ten degrees. So much for cooling off.

"Expected the place to be deserted," he continues. "Gotta say, this is much better."

Your responding laugh relieves the hint of tension trying to creep up his neck.

Apparently, flirting is like riding a bike.

"You waitin' for an invitation?" you tease after a moment of extended silence, another laugh bubbling up at the color blooming across his cheeks.

An ancient, rusty bike.

But, if there's one thing Bucky's excelled at, it's taking back control, no matter how daunting the challenge initially seems.

In one smooth motion, he's pulling the tank up and off his body with a suggestive move that'd have you dunking yourself if you weren't afraid of missing the rest of the show.

As it is, you let the heat creep up and unabashedly take him in.

The confidence. The blatant rippling of muscle. The obvious performance of stretching limbs in preparation for his swim. The metal whirring as he rotates his left arm once.

Twice.

Then a wink for good measure that finally sends you underwater before you can start giggling. There's no hiding his affect on you - and you don't really want to - you just can't give him the satisfaction of hearing that sound from you yet.

When you resurface, hands swiping away the drops clinging to your face, a knowing smirk greets you, Bucky exactly where you left him. Waiting for your attention to fully commit to the final act.

A perfect dive into the pool, your breath stalling as he effortlessly slices through the clear water towards your treading form. He emerges seconds later, almost within reach, his wet hair slicked back after barely lifting a hand to tame it.

"So much for challenging you to a swimming contest," you deadpan, feigning a sigh of disappointment. "Shoulda known you'd be good at that too."

The grin Bucky gives you is downright sinful.

And the way he breathes your name almost makes you forget that it belongs to you. "I'm sure there are plenty o' things you're better at."

Hands almost brush as he mimics your movements to keep himself afloat, the combined effort surrounding you both in a cocoon of small waves.

Playing along, you ask, "Oh yeah, like what?"

That familiar thrill rushes through Bucky, one he hadn't felt in so long before you - one he wasn't even sure he'd recognize if it happened again. Yet, here you are, your mischievous grin doing wonders for his ego.

"Bet you'd win at a staring contest." His answer is immediate. As is the flirtatious follow up, "I already seem to be having a hard time concentrating."

His lingering once over leaves nothing open for interpretation.

"Considering you just made an entire production of stripping and diving in, my eyes are definitely drifting too," you're quick to retort, much to Bucky's delight.

"Fair enough."

Wetting his lips, he takes a moment to respond, darting off to start swimming lazy circles around you, all in hopes of catching a glimpse of that coy smile you throw over your shoulder.

Basking in his own sudden burst of confidence, Bucky keeps the game going, enjoying the way you're unintentionally encouraging him to come out of his shell.

"How about this?" he asks, slowing to a stop to angle you between him and the nearby pool ladder, "The first one to touch that ladder gets to choose the restaurant."

He breathlessly counts the seconds between the 'o' shape of surprise and when understanding dawns, the excited smile gracing your gorgeous face making his heart skip several beats at once.

Then you shoot off like a light, Bucky effortlessly chasing after you as your sputtering laughter warms places he once thought would never thaw.

All goes according to plan - your fingers curling around the metal pole a split second before he's sliding in next to you, his steady hand brushing along your arm, leaving goose bumps in its wake.

It takes him a ridiculous amount of effort to resist the urge to lean in to see how you'd react to his lips on your skin instead.

Especially when you lean into his touch, your exhilarated laugh of triumph not even dampened by the obviously rigged game.

Bucky letting you win only makes it that much sweeter, your mind already conjuring up several options of where your first date could take place. And where you might end up.

"Does it have to be a restaurant?" you're asking, ignoring the clinging droplets of water on your lashes.

Having a front row seat to the mesmerizing vision leaves Bucky speechless, his vast vocabulary and the numerous languages embedded in his brain suddenly alluding him. All because you're looking at him like he's worth something.

Maybe he is.

"It can be wherever you want, sweetheart." There's no hint of jest or teasing in his tone this time, only the undeniable need to see where this could go. "I'll call in favors if I have to."

"Well that opens up all sorts of possibilities." Your impish reply comes with an exaggerated innocent smile and you push off the wall, leisure backstrokes coaxing him to come along.

"Like I said, absolutely anywhere you wanna go," he jovially promises, dutifully following in your wake, fingers itching to wrap around your ankle to pull you closer.

Bucky settles for increasing his speed, decades of honed skills now locked on every single microexpression as the distance shrinks. The twinkle in your eye, the deliberate slowing down to let him overtake you, the way your gaze keeps drifting to his mouth.

"I'll definitely take that into consideration," you say, the smoldering look you get in return not helping quiet the fantasy playing out in your head. Legs wrapped around his waist, your hands in those long, dark strands.

Heat sprawls across your chest when you imagine tugging a fistful, tilting his head back to watch his eyes darken. Bucky may not be a man of many words, but that doesn't necessarily mean he wouldn't make noises.

And oh, the noises you could elicit from this man.

"Should probably wait until it's not so hot out though," you continue, willing your heart to calm the fuck down the moment his knee gently, accidentally-on-purpose, knocks into yours. "I don't usually let a guy get me all sweaty until at least the second date."

This time his palm makes contact, the searing touch licking heat up your forearm, his accompanying laughter sending tingles of pleasure straight to your nipples.

And then, as if you're not already embarrassingly responsive enough, he has the nerve to ask, "What would it take for you to make an exception for me?"

Pink brightens his cheeks before he hastily adds, "'Cause I'd rather not have to wait for the weather to cooperate before I get to take you out."

Your foot weakly hooks around his ankle as you smother a laugh and pretend to consider his offer, then you're playfully darting away again, purposefully turning to glide past him.

You intentionally bump his thigh with your hip, fully expecting him to let you pass, continuing this impromptu game of cat and mouse.

A pleasant, exhilarated rush washes over you when he doesn't.

Bucky doesn't even think about it - one second he's enjoying the view of you swimming away, his eyes raking a glorious path down your back to the swell of your biteable ass, and the next he's tenderly pulling you back, metal fingers delicately wrapped around your calf.

There's no tension on your part, no hesitation, just a gleeful giggle that has him rethinking his entire, meticulously planned course of action.

Ask you out. Buy you flowers. Open doors. Tell you you're beautiful. And intelligent. And hilarious. And a million other praising adjectives.

Then he was going to ask to kiss you.

But you giggled when he touched you - with the same goddamn arm that people stare at like it's some uncontrolled, sentient weapon.

Not you though.

You take hold, metal warming under your touch, fingers encouraging him to explore more of you.

Far be it from him to ever deny a lady.

Slowly drifting his hand up along your forearm, thumb catching tiny droplets painting your skin, he marvels at how readily you accept him. Even the parts he usually hides.

He track the gentle rise of your chest, the miniscule movement of your body towards his touch, the steadily increasing heartrate - all telltale signs that this is right.

Wanted.

Bucky still has to ask. Needs to hear the words to silence the doubt creeping in at the edges.

"This okay?" he exhales, intense blues meeting your wide, hopeful eyes.

"More'n okay," you assure him on the next beath, your tongue peaking out to wet suddenly dry lips.

Holy shit, this man is going to be the death of you. All careful patience and obvious desire - a lethal combination that almost has you forgetting that you're technically in a public space.

Bucky watches you like you're his first sunrise after freedom, metal hand skimming over the inside of your elbow before dropping down, fingertips ghosting over the dip of your waist.

The sound that escapes your parted lips has him repeating the action, firmer this time, his attention laser focused on all the ways you're beautifully communicating for him to keep going.

Welcoming his hands as if they don't come with a long list of regrets.

"Thought about askin' you out at least a dozen times since Christmas," he confesses, his pinkie tracing the edge of your swimsuit snug against your hip.

"Got a hell of a lotta time to make up for then."

Your bold response has him leading you backwards before he can second guess himself, carefully guiding you to the closest wall in order to keep you both above water with minimal effort.

Because the things he wants to do to you are gonna take all of his focus.

The absence of Bucky's left hand is quickly overshadowed by his fingers curling around the low edge of the pool right next to your head, protectively caging you in.

He's barely touched you and warmth already pools low in your belly, thighs fighting the urge to press together in search of friction.

Instinct has you safely wrapping a leg around one of his instead, your opposite hand grabbing hold of his smooth bicep for stability, excitement thrumming through your veins.

Even as your consent sends ripples of arousal straight to Bucky's core, he doesn’t rush, needing to commit every little thing to memory.

Ensuring he'll be able to play this moment back when he's off god knows where, he takes note of the slow flutter of lashes against warm cheeks.

The inviting tease of tongue wetting lips he's dying to taste.

Your questing ankle inching up his calf to pull him millimeters closer.

That grin that makes him truly believe he gets to have this again.

And when he reaches up with his free hand, fingers dripping with saltwater, his brow slightly raised in question, he files away your answer like it's a benediction - the tiny slip of your bottom lip between teeth, a hint of smile playing at one corner of your tempting mouth.

Bucky almost forgets how to breathe at such a simple act until your enticing him with a slow nod and a full, devastating smile.

Metal whirs as he brings himself closer, his leg dangerously close to sliding home between yours. You'd greedily welcome it, your thighs instinctively parting even as you resist the urge to close the gap.

Let him decide. Let him set the pace and you'll gladly follow, throwing out encouraging signs, leaving no doubt that you want this as much as he does.

Eventually, when he's not struggling to form a coherent word, Bucky swears he'll figure out a way to thank you for it. For making him feel alive again, instead of letting him just go along for the ride.

Everything else fades away except you, open and waiting, pulling him in like a magnet until there's no choice left but to take the leap.

To let himself drown in the way your breath exhales in the scant space separating you. The steady cadence of your pulse when the back of his fingers map the apple of your cheek.

"Hope you like flowers, doll," he murmurs, legs intertwining under water, his knee innocently slotting right between your soft thighs. "'Cause you're gonna get 'em by the dozens."

You're sure you respond, freely gifting him the knowledge of your favorite kinds, it's just, Bucky's doing that thing. Warm palm cupping your jaw, long fingers splayed across your neck, his water-slicked thumb daring to be licked as he traces the edge of your bottom lip.

He's close enough that you could count the freckles dusting his cheekbones - a project you intend to cherish soon enough - but you're currently too preoccupied by how thoroughly enamored he is by you.

As if you're a purely figment of his wild imagination. Willingly allowing him to crowd you up against cold tile, knowing he'll treat you like you deserve. Despite all the rumors and whispers you've undoubtedly heard.

"Never seen anyone as beautiful as you," he vows, bringing you close enough to gently bump noses, silently imploring you to hear this isn't a line.

Bucky's usually impenetrable shield is lain at your feet, giving you access to his jagged pieces, praying they don't end up cutting you.

Because this right here is everything - the trusting tilt of your head, your shallow breaths mingling with his, the arch of your spine speaking words long foreign to him - and he'll be damned if he ever risks losing it.

"Gonna kiss you now."

Your free hand finally makes contact with his waist and his sharp exhale throws fuel on the flames of arousal already threatening to consume you.

Somehow, you still manage to fill the drawn out seconds he's giving you to change your mind with an emphatic, "I sure hope so."

You might fucking combust if he doesn't.

It begins tentative. Soft lips and gentle pressure, testing the palpable chemistry, the teasing hint of you lingering on Bucky's lips when he pauses briefly to check in.

The sight of you already enraptured - parted lips and heavy eyelids as you chase after him - has him diving back in, his thumb under your chin coaxing you to that perfect angle in order to deepen the next kiss.

Heat builds quickly, tongues dancing to a tune old as time, muscle memory carrying him along after all these years. A groan reverberates between you before Bucky can swallow it down, your answering moan hitching when his teeth nip at your bottom lip.

The apologetic caress of his tongue leaves you breathless, an exhale of a giggle getting lost when his mouth covers yours again, desperate to drink you in.

It's impossible to know who moves first, your body seeking more contact the instant he's pushing you flush against the chilled pool wall. All that matters is that he's here, warm and solid, kissing you as if his next breath depends on it.

It may as well be, because Bucky can't get enough of you.

The taste of you exploding on his tongue, decades of celibacy narrowing down to this single moment in time, rewiring his brain.

Synapses fire off in time with your racing pulse, the frightening realization settling in that the universe aligned to lead him straight to you.

All the shit he's endured won't ever be erased, and the anger may never completely fade, but it definitely feels lighter in your arms. Like maybe he gets a chance at a happily ever after.

"Already addicted to you, sweetheart," Bucky confesses, kissing a worshipful path along your jaw, his heavy breath exhaling across your heated skin, sending shivers down your spine.

The noises you planned to draw out of him pour out of you unbidden when his fingers grip your hair, encouraging you to bare more of yourself to him.

"Tell me if I cross a line," he murmurs against your neck, his words getting lost in the sensations suddenly flooding you, his thigh fitting perfectly between yours, providing you with just a hint of pressure.

His mouth explores every inch of exposed skin, your body already aching to grind against him, arousal building with every sure flick of tongue and bold nip of teeth.

Your hands cling to him, nails scraping the nape of his neck, fingers caressing metal, proving over and over you want this. Want him.

"Might get caught," you breathe, grip tightening to keep him right where he belongs.

"Door's locked," Bucky grunts, answering your raised brow with a sheepish smile. "Thought I'd be alone," he reminds you, lips hovering just out of reach.

"Oh, I'm not complaining."

His eyes track up to the ceiling, hidden security cameras no doubt steadily blinking away. "Good," he smirks, once again meeting your adoring gaze. "I'll also wipe the security tapes."

"Make you sure you send me a copy first."

"Jesus Christ, doll," he laughs, pulling you in for a passionate kiss before you can throw him for yet another thrilling loop.

Bucky's not sure he's gonna survive long at this rate, but damned if he's not ready to go on the ride of his fucking life with you.

My first fic after a very long, unexpected hiatus - I hope you enjoyed it 🩶

Please let me know if you'd like more of these two!

Banners by @cafekitsune

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About Me

[drabblesandsnippets]

Making Waves

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus-size/curvy female reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: (3.8k) During a heat wave, you take advantage of one of your favorite perks of working for the Avengers - access to their private pool - and spend some quality time with Bucky.

Background: I haven't been able to see Thunderbolts* yet (it's been torture!), so not necessarily a tower fic, but this could become part of a series! I had a lot of fun writing these two. 🩶

Warnings: Established relationship (acquaintances). Confident reader. A little awkward/charming Bucky. Vague/brief alluding to Bucky's past. Fluff. Flirting. Sexual thoughts. Kissing/making out. Implied smut.

The heat dome suffocating the city has everyone on edge, tempers flaring over the slightest inconvenience.

Even with the high-tech building's fancy cooling system, the strain is palpable, portable fans handed out right along with the company's time-off policy.

Several people took the week off in advance, others called out sick, but you? You decided to suck it up and power through, saving your PTO for that long-awaited vacation you'll probably never take.

At least you have enough sense to make use one of your favorite perks of working for the Avengers - free access to their private, indoor, temperature-controlled pool.

You're one of the limited non-Avenger employees who have the privilege, and one of the few who actually take advantage of it.

Half-expecting to find the place occupied due to the lingering heat, you're pleasantly surprised to find the luxurious natatorium empty - the cool, placid saltwater inviting you in like always.

While most people are already well into their commutes home - no doubt on their way to fight with their a/c in a futile attempt to stave off the inevitable sweatiness - you get to blissfully float for the foreseeable future.

---

Bucky's restless. Has been for days.

He blames the relentless heat. The endless patrols. The incessant 'check-ins.'

Some days it feels like he's still following the same old song and dance. Minus the obvious mind control and innocent bloodshed.

And, at least now, he can live with himself in between the chaos.

Plus, there's better scenery.

The pool was supposed to be empty, according to his precursory check fifteen minutes ago, yet here you are, currently unaware of your newly rapt audience of one.

Hidden in the shadows like some creep, unable to tear his gaze away from your swimsuit digging into your soft, plush hips, Bucky watches you for longer than he'll ever admit.

It's far from the first time you've caught his attention. Even recently, he's managed to carry on a few more conversations with you, your infectious laughter haunting him for days after.

This, by far, has to be of his favorite moments though - right after that office party they held in celebration of your promotion. The confidence you radiated that day had the most filthiest thoughts swimming through his head.

Some of which are currently taking laps behind his eyes, even as he tracks a tiny droplet slipping over the swell of your belly before it's absorbed by the gentle waves lapping at your skin.

Bucky imagines tracing the path with his tongue and thanks the gods for his enhanced senses, blood rushing south when your tiny sighs of contentment reach his ears.

A new forbidden soundtrack to go along with the fantasy reels aching to come to life.

He should probably walk away.

Leave you in peace.

Allow you the privacy you're clearly seeking. You might even take one look at him and come up with an excuse to be elsewhere anyway.

Not that you ever have, it's just a lot people still do, even after all this time.

Except.

Except, he's supposed to be trying. Trying to exist like an actual human being, instead of a relic that no one knows quite how to handle.

Before Bucky can overthink it, his weirdly unsteady feet are carrying him forward, soles scuffing on the tiled limestone as he makes his way to you.

Your ever-vigilant mind clocks him before he even has a chance to interrupt the comfortable silence, your heart fluttering like it always does in his vicinity.

Ignoring your initial assumption that you're not supposed to be here right now - or that he came to swim strictly in solitude - you settle for treading water and offer a simple, smiling, "Hi."

One side of Bucky's mouth ticks upward, eyes crinkling with silent appreciation. "Hi." You're not retreating.

"Hi," you repeat with an undignified laugh, attempting to ground yourself in the cool water flowing around your fingers. And forcing your eyes to remain on his handsome features, instead of lingering on the tantalizing display of taut skin and defined muscle.

It should be a crime how delicious he looks in such simple attire - white tank top and black swim trunks. Almost as good as he looked in his latest uniform the other day. The unexpected sight when he passed you in the hall nearly had you choking on your own saliva.

And now you're wondering if Bucky's into choking-

Your possibly-most-definitely-inappropriate thoughts are interrupted by his deliberate repetition of, "Hi." And that butterfly-inducing smirk that should definitely be classified as a lethal weapon. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Yeah?" Your raised eyebrow has his grin widening and you dare to swim a little closer, using the opportunity to take another appreciative look at his previously unseen muscular legs, which you don't even try to hide this time.

"Mmm," Bucky acknowledges with a tilt of his head, his own fleeting glance at the teasing glimpse of your cleavage raising your temperature by at least ten degrees. So much for cooling off.

"Expected the place to be deserted," he continues. "Gotta say, this is much better."

Your responding laugh relieves the hint of tension trying to creep up his neck.

Apparently, flirting is like riding a bike.

"You waitin' for an invitation?" you tease after a moment of extended silence, another laugh bubbling up at the color blooming across his cheeks.

An ancient, rusty bike.

But, if there's one thing Bucky's excelled at, it's taking back control, no matter how daunting the challenge initially seems.

In one smooth motion, he's pulling the tank up and off his body with a suggestive move that'd have you dunking yourself if you weren't afraid of missing the rest of the show.

As it is, you let the heat creep up and unabashedly take him in.

The confidence. The blatant rippling of muscle. The obvious performance of stretching limbs in preparation for his swim. The metal whirring as he rotates his left arm once.

Twice.

Then a wink for good measure that finally sends you underwater before you can start giggling. There's no hiding his affect on you - and you don't really want to - you just can't give him the satisfaction of hearing that sound from you yet.

When you resurface, hands swiping away the drops clinging to your face, a knowing smirk greets you, Bucky exactly where you left him. Waiting for your attention to fully commit to the final act.

A perfect dive into the pool, your breath stalling as he effortlessly slices through the clear water towards your treading form. He emerges seconds later, almost within reach, his wet hair slicked back after barely lifting a hand to tame it.

"So much for challenging you to a swimming contest," you deadpan, feigning a sigh of disappointment. "Shoulda known you'd be good at that too."

The grin Bucky gives you is downright sinful.

And the way he breathes your name almost makes you forget that it belongs to you. "I'm sure there are plenty o' things you're better at."

Hands almost brush as he mimics your movements to keep himself afloat, the combined effort surrounding you both in a cocoon of small waves.

Playing along, you ask, "Oh yeah, like what?"

That familiar thrill rushes through Bucky, one he hadn't felt in so long before you - one he wasn't even sure he'd recognize if it happened again. Yet, here you are, your mischievous grin doing wonders for his ego.

"Bet you'd win at a staring contest." His answer is immediate. As is the flirtatious follow up, "I already seem to be having a hard time concentrating."

His lingering once over leaves nothing open for interpretation.

"Considering you just made an entire production of stripping and diving in, my eyes are definitely drifting too," you're quick to retort, much to Bucky's delight.

"Fair enough."

Wetting his lips, he takes a moment to respond, darting off to start swimming lazy circles around you, all in hopes of catching a glimpse of that coy smile you throw over your shoulder.

Basking in his own sudden burst of confidence, Bucky keeps the game going, enjoying the way you're unintentionally encouraging him to come out of his shell.

"How about this?" he asks, slowing to a stop to angle you between him and the nearby pool ladder, "The first one to touch that ladder gets to choose the restaurant."

He breathlessly counts the seconds between the 'o' shape of surprise and when understanding dawns, the excited smile gracing your gorgeous face making his heart skip several beats at once.

Then you shoot off like a light, Bucky effortlessly chasing after you as your sputtering laughter warms places he once thought would never thaw.

All goes according to plan - your fingers curling around the metal pole a split second before he's sliding in next to you, his steady hand brushing along your arm, leaving goose bumps in its wake.

It takes him a ridiculous amount of effort to resist the urge to lean in to see how you'd react to his lips on your skin instead.

Especially when you lean into his touch, your exhilarated laugh of triumph not even dampened by the obviously rigged game.

Bucky letting you win only makes it that much sweeter, your mind already conjuring up several options of where your first date could take place. And where you might end up.

"Does it have to be a restaurant?" you're asking, ignoring the clinging droplets of water on your lashes.

Having a front row seat to the mesmerizing vision leaves Bucky speechless, his vast vocabulary and the numerous languages embedded in his brain suddenly alluding him. All because you're looking at him like he's worth something.

Maybe he is.

"It can be wherever you want, sweetheart." There's no hint of jest or teasing in his tone this time, only the undeniable need to see where this could go. "I'll call in favors if I have to."

"Well that opens up all sorts of possibilities." Your impish reply comes with an exaggerated innocent smile and you push off the wall, leisure backstrokes coaxing him to come along.

"Like I said, absolutely anywhere you wanna go," he jovially promises, dutifully following in your wake, fingers itching to wrap around your ankle to pull you closer.

Bucky settles for increasing his speed, decades of honed skills now locked on every single microexpression as the distance shrinks. The twinkle in your eye, the deliberate slowing down to let him overtake you, the way your gaze keeps drifting to his mouth.

"I'll definitely take that into consideration," you say, the smoldering look you get in return not helping quiet the fantasy playing out in your head. Legs wrapped around his waist, your hands in those long, dark strands.

Heat sprawls across your chest when you imagine tugging a fistful, tilting his head back to watch his eyes darken. Bucky may not be a man of many words, but that doesn't necessarily mean he wouldn't make noises.

And oh, the noises you could elicit from this man.

"Should probably wait until it's not so hot out though," you continue, willing your heart to calm the fuck down the moment his knee gently, accidentally-on-purpose, knocks into yours. "I don't usually let a guy get me all sweaty until at least the second date."

This time his palm makes contact, the searing touch licking heat up your forearm, his accompanying laughter sending tingles of pleasure straight to your nipples.

And then, as if you're not already embarrassingly responsive enough, he has the nerve to ask, "What would it take for you to make an exception for me?"

Pink brightens his cheeks before he hastily adds, "'Cause I'd rather not have to wait for the weather to cooperate before I get to take you out."

Your foot weakly hooks around his ankle as you smother a laugh and pretend to consider his offer, then you're playfully darting away again, purposefully turning to glide past him.

You intentionally bump his thigh with your hip, fully expecting him to let you pass, continuing this impromptu game of cat and mouse.

A pleasant, exhilarated rush washes over you when he doesn't.

Bucky doesn't even think about it - one second he's enjoying the view of you swimming away, his eyes raking a glorious path down your back to the swell of your biteable ass, and the next he's tenderly pulling you back, metal fingers delicately wrapped around your calf.

There's no tension on your part, no hesitation, just a gleeful giggle that has him rethinking his entire, meticulously planned course of action.

Ask you out. Buy you flowers. Open doors. Tell you you're beautiful. And intelligent. And hilarious. And a million other praising adjectives.

Then he was going to ask to kiss you.

But you giggled when he touched you - with the same goddamn arm that people stare at like it's some uncontrolled, sentient weapon.

Not you though.

You take hold, metal warming under your touch, fingers encouraging him to explore more of you.

Far be it from him to ever deny a lady.

Slowly drifting his hand up along your forearm, thumb catching tiny droplets painting your skin, he marvels at how readily you accept him. Even the parts he usually hides.

He track the gentle rise of your chest, the miniscule movement of your body towards his touch, the steadily increasing heartrate - all telltale signs that this is right.

Wanted.

Bucky still has to ask. Needs to hear the words to silence the doubt creeping in at the edges.

"This okay?" he exhales, intense blues meeting your wide, hopeful eyes.

"More'n okay," you assure him on the next beath, your tongue peaking out to wet suddenly dry lips.

Holy shit, this man is going to be the death of you. All careful patience and obvious desire - a lethal combination that almost has you forgetting that you're technically in a public space.

Bucky watches you like you're his first sunrise after freedom, metal hand skimming over the inside of your elbow before dropping down, fingertips ghosting over the dip of your waist.

The sound that escapes your parted lips has him repeating the action, firmer this time, his attention laser focused on all the ways you're beautifully communicating for him to keep going.

Welcoming his hands as if they don't come with a long list of regrets.

"Thought about askin' you out at least a dozen times since Christmas," he confesses, his pinkie tracing the edge of your swimsuit snug against your hip.

"Got a hell of a lotta time to make up for then."

Your bold response has him leading you backwards before he can second guess himself, carefully guiding you to the closest wall in order to keep you both above water with minimal effort.

Because the things he wants to do to you are gonna take all of his focus.

The absence of Bucky's left hand is quickly overshadowed by his fingers curling around the low edge of the pool right next to your head, protectively caging you in.

He's barely touched you and warmth already pools low in your belly, thighs fighting the urge to press together in search of friction.

Instinct has you safely wrapping a leg around one of his instead, your opposite hand grabbing hold of his smooth bicep for stability, excitement thrumming through your veins.

Even as your consent sends ripples of arousal straight to Bucky's core, he doesn’t rush, needing to commit every little thing to memory.

Ensuring he'll be able to play this moment back when he's off god knows where, he takes note of the slow flutter of lashes against warm cheeks.

The inviting tease of tongue wetting lips he's dying to taste.

Your questing ankle inching up his calf to pull him millimeters closer.

That grin that makes him truly believe he gets to have this again.

And when he reaches up with his free hand, fingers dripping with saltwater, his brow slightly raised in question, he files away your answer like it's a benediction - the tiny slip of your bottom lip between teeth, a hint of smile playing at one corner of your tempting mouth.

Bucky almost forgets how to breathe at such a simple act until your enticing him with a slow nod and a full, devastating smile.

Metal whirs as he brings himself closer, his leg dangerously close to sliding home between yours. You'd greedily welcome it, your thighs instinctively parting even as you resist the urge to close the gap.

Let him decide. Let him set the pace and you'll gladly follow, throwing out encouraging signs, leaving no doubt that you want this as much as he does.

Eventually, when he's not struggling to form a coherent word, Bucky swears he'll figure out a way to thank you for it. For making him feel alive again, instead of letting him just go along for the ride.

Everything else fades away except you, open and waiting, pulling him in like a magnet until there's no choice left but to take the leap.

To let himself drown in the way your breath exhales in the scant space separating you. The steady cadence of your pulse when the back of his fingers map the apple of your cheek.

"Hope you like flowers, doll," he murmurs, legs intertwining under water, his knee innocently slotting right between your soft thighs. "'Cause you're gonna get 'em by the dozens."

You're sure you respond, freely gifting him the knowledge of your favorite kinds, it's just, Bucky's doing that thing. Warm palm cupping your jaw, long fingers splayed across your neck, his water-slicked thumb daring to be licked as he traces the edge of your bottom lip.

He's close enough that you could count the freckles dusting his cheekbones - a project you intend to cherish soon enough - but you're currently too preoccupied by how thoroughly enamored he is by you.

As if you're a purely figment of his wild imagination. Willingly allowing him to crowd you up against cold tile, knowing he'll treat you like you deserve. Despite all the rumors and whispers you've undoubtedly heard.

"Never seen anyone as beautiful as you," he vows, bringing you close enough to gently bump noses, silently imploring you to hear this isn't a line.

Bucky's usually impenetrable shield is lain at your feet, giving you access to his jagged pieces, praying they don't end up cutting you.

Because this right here is everything - the trusting tilt of your head, your shallow breaths mingling with his, the arch of your spine speaking words long foreign to him - and he'll be damned if he ever risks losing it.

"Gonna kiss you now."

Your free hand finally makes contact with his waist and his sharp exhale throws fuel on the flames of arousal already threatening to consume you.

Somehow, you still manage to fill the drawn out seconds he's giving you to change your mind with an emphatic, "I sure hope so."

You might fucking combust if he doesn't.

It begins tentative. Soft lips and gentle pressure, testing the palpable chemistry, the teasing hint of you lingering on Bucky's lips when he pauses briefly to check in.

The sight of you already enraptured - parted lips and heavy eyelids as you chase after him - has him diving back in, his thumb under your chin coaxing you to that perfect angle in order to deepen the next kiss.

Heat builds quickly, tongues dancing to a tune old as time, muscle memory carrying him along after all these years. A groan reverberates between you before Bucky can swallow it down, your answering moan hitching when his teeth nip at your bottom lip.

The apologetic caress of his tongue leaves you breathless, an exhale of a giggle getting lost when his mouth covers yours again, desperate to drink you in.

It's impossible to know who moves first, your body seeking more contact the instant he's pushing you flush against the chilled pool wall. All that matters is that he's here, warm and solid, kissing you as if his next breath depends on it.

It may as well be, because Bucky can't get enough of you.

The taste of you exploding on his tongue, decades of celibacy narrowing down to this single moment in time, rewiring his brain.

Synapses fire off in time with your racing pulse, the frightening realization settling in that the universe aligned to lead him straight to you.

All the shit he's endured won't ever be erased, and the anger may never completely fade, but it definitely feels lighter in your arms. Like maybe he gets a chance at a happily ever after.

"Already addicted to you, sweetheart," Bucky confesses, kissing a worshipful path along your jaw, his heavy breath exhaling across your heated skin, sending shivers down your spine.

The noises you planned to draw out of him pour out of you unbidden when his fingers grip your hair, encouraging you to bare more of yourself to him.

"Tell me if I cross a line," he murmurs against your neck, his words getting lost in the sensations suddenly flooding you, his thigh fitting perfectly between yours, providing you with just a hint of pressure.

His mouth explores every inch of exposed skin, your body already aching to grind against him, arousal building with every sure flick of tongue and bold nip of teeth.

Your hands cling to him, nails scraping the nape of his neck, fingers caressing metal, proving over and over you want this. Want him.

"Might get caught," you breathe, grip tightening to keep him right where he belongs.

"Door's locked," Bucky grunts, answering your raised brow with a sheepish smile. "Thought I'd be alone," he reminds you, lips hovering just out of reach.

"Oh, I'm not complaining."

His eyes track up to the ceiling, hidden security cameras no doubt steadily blinking away. "Good," he smirks, once again meeting your adoring gaze. "I'll also wipe the security tapes."

"Make you sure you send me a copy first."

"Jesus Christ, doll," he laughs, pulling you in for a passionate kiss before you can throw him for yet another thrilling loop.

Bucky's not sure he's gonna survive long at this rate, but damned if he's not ready to go on the ride of his fucking life with you.

My first fic after a very long, unexpected hiatus - I hope you enjoyed it 🩶

Please let me know if you'd like more of these two!

Banners by @cafekitsune

Main Masterlist

About Me

[drabblesandsnippets]

I can already tell I'm gonna enjoy this one 😏

Tight Fit | Mutually Beneficial AU | Dom!Bucky Barnes x Sub!Reader| 2.5k

After an enlightening conversation, Bucky fulfils one of your secret desires.

Warnings:18+ adult content. Anal only, dirty talk, teasing, anal plugs/play/sex, cuffs/bondage/restraints, creampie, dom/sub, Dom!Bucky, Sub!Reader. Part 2 of My Aphrodisiac but can be read standalone.

Divider by @firefly-graphics

HBS Week 10: August 3rd - August 9th | “I can’t.” | [Big Cock | Anal Training | Forced Orgasm] @buckybarnesevents

Masterlist | Mutually Beneficial | Hot Bucky Summer | Bucky Barnes

Bucky had mentioned your request once or twice since that evening in the bath when your hazy mind and tired body had admitted your secret. Mostly he asked practical questions, mostly related to your ridiculous schedules and ability to be together for more than five minutes.

But he'd also asked you in bed who you wanted. Which persona would make you more comfortable, would a game help to take you out of your head? He'd been sure to go over every moment of the scene, asking questions and making sure you were happy with his plans.

He'd ended up on a mission a few days later, leaving his questions hanging in your messages, keeping your mind on one thing. Him. Your Bucky, and his beautiful cock buried deep inside in a way you'd never tried before.

And then a package came, wrapped discreetly in brown paper but with an 'open alone' note taped under the first layer of cardboard.

Inside you found another box, the lid came off easily when you tugged it and inside, nestled in more of the same midnight velvet the box was wrapped in, was a metal plug. It was a little bigger than the one you'd seen online, but with a shining blue jewel in the end. You flushed hot at the thought of Bucky strolling into a sex shop to buy it while he was supposed to be working.

Next to the box was a notecard —

Practice makes perfect, Babydoll, see you in a week x

"You look beautiful tonight, Babydoll." Bucky scooped his arm around your waist and span you into the bedroom. He'd wasted no time, running straight to your apartments as soon as the jet landed.

After a heated kiss against the doorway, he'd spent a little while getting things together and you'd taken the opportunity to change into something a little less comfortable but infinitely more sexy.

Bucky's hands roamed down and back your sides, his fingers moving carefully over the lace that made up the complicated straps of your lingerie. He circled a metal finger around each of your nipples, exposed and peaked by the cooler air in your bedroom. Returning one hand to your waist he trailed down over the top of your garter belt and lower to where the straps framed your ass in navy blue and gold.

"Thank you," you fluttered your eyelashes and he tightened his hold.

"There's a word missing there." Bucky whispered into your ear, the rough stubble of his beard a welcome burn against your soft skin.

"Thank you, Sarge."

"Good girl. Did you find your present, baby?"

You nodded and turned in his arm, pressing yourself against the growing bulge in his trousers and bending at the waist. Between your cheeks there was Bucky's gift.

You'd spent your evenings without Bucky playing with the toy and getting used to the heavy feel inside. It hurt at first, but with the right amount of prep you found it comforting, the solid weight was a constant reminder of his return and his love as well as a tantalising taste of what was to come when he returned.

"You did! And it looks so lovely. Does it feel good, Babydoll?" Bucky tapped the plug with the end of his finger and watched your back arch in response.

"Yes, Sarge, it feels really good." You said, trying to catch your breath as pleasure surged through you.

"Good girl, why don't you go and lie down on the bed —" he waited until you were on your back and then knelt on the mattress next to you, spreading your legs wide and pushing them back towards your body. " — look'it you, all wet already, practically dripping." Bucky slapped your pussy playfully and grinned when the jewel twitched between your cheeks.

"Sarge- "you whimpered.

"Oh, I know," Bucky cooed, almost mocking, "it's a lot isn't it, Babydoll, does it feel good inside?" Bucky pulled on the end of the plug gently as you nodded your head, biting your bottom lip to stop the embarrassing noise you wanted to make from escaping.

You yielded the plug, only to have Bucky hold it there for a moment, stretching you at the widest part. His eyes were already wide too, pupils almost black as he took you in.

"Oh god," you let your head drop back.

"Fuck — you look so hot like this —" he let the plug disappear back inside and rustled about on the floor beside the bed, returning with your favourite soft cuffs. Wrapping each around your wrists he kept your arms under your knees, forcing them back to your chest and displaying your pussy and ass. "Gorgeous."

Bucky kissed your calf and fell to his knees between your legs.

"Please, Sarge, please please." You begged and begged, hoping he'd touch you, kiss you, in some way that you could find release. The plug was a fantastic torture, keeping you on the brink without quite enough pressure to push you over the edge.

Bucky hummed against your leg, "got another present for you, my beautiful Babydoll, but you've gotta give me that plug back first okay?"

He held his hand out waiting and you struggled to move your hands enough to find the base, but your restraints were completely the wrong angle.

"I can't, Sarge, I —"

"You can, push it." He insisted.

"Bucky —" You whimpered again and he took pity on you, slipping a finger between your plug and the tight ring of your hole.

"Push."

You pushed, feeling the slide of the metal against your delicate walls, pressing against the ring of muscle until suddenly the plug was free and you were gasping for air, empty.

"That's my girl," Bucky praised and picked up another item from the small bag on the floor. He held it up by what you assumed was the top, as it looked just like a black rubber version of your plug. Attached below was a short tube and then a little ballon with tiny silver valves on the side. "Do you know what this is?" He asked, slicking lube onto the plug end.

"I think so." Your mouth was suddenly very, very, dry. You'd seen one or two in porn before, but they looked so big and scary then. He paused and you hummed in agreement, "I want to try it, please, Sarge. But —"

"I'll take good care of you, baby, don't you worry." He kissed your knee again while he pumped lube onto the end of the plug, his metal fingers shining.

The rubber was warmer against your skin than the metal had been, although the metal had at least felt somewhat familiar between your legs. Your body went hot when the plug slipped in easily, but Bucky couldn't hide the feral smile. "Such a good girl, so willing to take whatever I give you hmm?"

He sat back on the bed then, one arm over yours to keep your legs back and squeezed the pump. The plug inflated slightly and you felt your pussy gush, slick sliding down to where your hole was stretched even further.

"Good girl," Bucky praised, resting his metal hand on your lower stomach, fingers scant centimetres from your clit. "Let's give you another one."

The stretch bordered on burning this time, far larger than the other plug. "Oh my god." You whined, your release building, teetering on the edge.

"Do you need to come, Babydoll?" Bucky teased, releasing some of the air from the plug, only to squeeze it again.

"I want to — I wanna come — but I need — oh my god —" you writhed as best you could, stuck on your back, trying to get his fingers to move closer to where your clit pulsed painfully.

"If you want to come, do it." Bucky teased, his fingers ghosting between your legs, along your thighs, never quite close enough to where you really needed him. "Is she lonely," Bucky let the back of his finger touch your clit for the briefest moment.

You slammed your head back against the pillow and he chuckled, low and almost cruel.

"Well, if you really wanted to come, you would. I don't think you do." Bucky said, matter of fact."But I do, so I think it's time you gave me that present back too."

You were momentarily worried Bucky would make you give the plug back while it was inflated, but he took pity on you, allowing the air out slowly and then tugging on the end until you released it. He held it for a moment and then squeezed the pump three times.

"Look how well you did, Babydoll." Bucky held the inflated plug in front of you, it had felt as large as it looked, especially pressing against your walls. It was an entirely different sensation than being fucked deeply, the width of it was so shocking and yet so pleasurable.

Your response wasn't decipherable, a babble of moans and please and whines while your clit throbbed, untouched again, between your legs.

Bucky stood, unclipping your wrist cuffs and allowing your legs to fall heavily to the side. Between your spread thighs he stood proud, the plug dangling in his hand as he used his vibranium fingers to push his jeans to the floor.

"You look so fucking hot, Babydoll, all spread out and open waiting for me." Bucky's eyes were glazed as he let them wander up and down your body.

But your eyes were fixed on the plug, hanging next to his cock. If you'd been shocked by the plug, now you were dizzy. You'd seen it so many times before, but it felt like the first time again now it was time for him to actually fuck you.

The plug was nothing in comparison.

Bucky's eyes followed your line of sight and he smirked despite himself, he loved it when you were cockdrunk because he was drunk on you too, obsessed with your obsession in equal measures.

"Think it'll fit, beautiful?" He asked, dropping the plug in favour of fisting his cock roughly.

"I dunno, Sarge —" you bit your lip, but let your legs stay open as he settled between them. He hooked one over his shoulder, spreading you wide so he could kneel on the edge of the bed, the perfect angle.

"You can do it."

Bucky notched the head of his cock at your entrance, still slightly open from his teasing. You could feel the muscle relax around him, opening for him. The stretch was more than you'd expected, a pained pleasure that nevertheless made your neglected cunt throb.

"That's it, baby, you're doing so well for me." Bucky moaned, his jaw clenched against the urge to thrust his entire length into you at once.

"I can't — fuck —I can't, Sarge, you're too big — fuck fuck fuck — it's so big —"

"You can," Bucky bent down to kiss your cheek, your sweating brow, and cooed in your ear, "you're doing so good, baby, so good, just a little more."

The 'little more' felt like it never ended, his cock stretching you beyond pain and pleasure into a white hot sensation that burned across your skin. Every part of you could feel him and yet your clit begged desperately, begging for release.

"Fuck —" Bucky breathed, reverently, looking down between you to where his cock disappeared inside of you, he smiled and let out a breathy laugh. "You're so fucking sexy, Babydoll, just look at you, all stretched out for me, fucked out, desperate, god I'm so fucking lucky."

He kissed you passionately, his tongue immediately nudging against your lips. He was feral, demanding, grabbing at your thighs and rocking his hips mindlessly as you kissed.

His hips sped up, more insistent, each stroke taking longer as he pulled back, dragging the head of his cock against your walls. As he sank back into you he sat up, his cock changing angle and pushing up.

"Holy shit!" You shouted, eyes flying open, "how did you — oh god!"

With every stroke his cock angled up towards your pussy, the thrill of his movements shooting through your body. It was like he was everywhere, in your ass, in your pussy and god you wanted all of him everywhere. He was a god above you, hair a tangled mess of sweaty waves and fluffy strands, he was endearingly pink around the ears but his eyes were determined, jaw set as he held off his own orgasm.

"I love you, Bucky." You whispered, reaching up to run your hands through his hair and tugging him down for another kiss.

"Love you too, Babydoll, you gonna come for me, I can feel you squeezin' me —" Bucky's voice was increasingly choked and you bore down on him deliberately to watch sweat bead on his brow.

"So close, please — Sarge, please — I need —"

"You want me to touch you here?" His thumb stroked over your clit in a featherlight brush.

"Yes — YES!"

"You want me in your pussy too? Want me to fill you up completely." He mumbled against your lips, half incoherent himself. "Gonna make you come, Babydoll, gonna make you scream my name."

"Yes, Sarge, yes!"

"You gonna gush for me, Baby? Don't say you can't again, when we know you can."

Bucky slid two fingers into your wet pussy, feeling the slide of his own cock through your silken walls. He twitched, eager to stay inside of you, yet eager for release. His fingers matched his slow, torturous rhythm, searching for your g-spot. As soon as you gasped he smirked, holding the calloused pads of his fingers against you and making small rough circles.

"Oh god!" A tear slid down your cheek, the pleasure too much, the need to come overwhelming, "I'm gonna — fuck, fuck, fuck fuck —Bucky!"

You came with a scream, your entire body clamping down on him.

"That's it, that's it, my good girl, atta girl, come all over me baby, fuck." Bucky's face was dreamy, focussed on where you were still fluttering around his fingers, still digging mercilessly into your g-spot. "You can do it." He put the flat of his hand over your clit and rubbed hard, your body caved, your orgasm still rolling through you and now Bucky demanding you squirt.

You could deny him nothing, even as tired and wrung out as you were, your body complied, releasing over his arm and soaking his hand as he continued to rub.

"Bucky — Bucky —Buhhh—" You were a mess of mumbling as Bucky dropped his hands to the mattress on either side of your head, bending you backwards and driving his hips forward in a brutal rhythm.

"So fucking sexy my dirty girl," he growled, owning your body as he chased his release, hips hitting yours as he buried himself entirely in you. "Fuck I'm gonna come —" he made a move to pull back, but you wrapped your ankles around his hips, tugging him down with your body weight until you where all but crushed beneath him.

"Come in me, Sarge, I want your come, please, please," that was all it took to push him over the edge, crying out your name as he gave you exactly what you wanted.

[drabblesandsnippets]

Idiots in love, plus size, AND face sitting? 🫠 Can't wait to read this one!!

More to Love

notes: hii lovelies!! this is for my insecure lovelies, you are gorgeous (and bucky agrees). as always, reqs open & appreciated💘.

pairing: bucky barnes x plus sized!reader

genre: smut, porn w/ plot, idiots in love, comfort

summary: You’re boyfriend doesn’t do enough for you. One night, he stands you up and you come to find out he’s cheating on you. So, naturally, you go to Bucky. He’s make you feel much better about it.

tw’s: cheating, insecure ready, plus sized reader, idiots in love, mutual pining, bucky’s a yearner, pnv, unprotected sex, oral (f rec), face sitting, face riding, regular riding, dirty talk, minor fingering, pet names (doll, baby, sweetheart, gorgeous, sweets), bucky’s got a thick brooklyn accent, jealousy, sexual pictures, nudity, breast worship, pussy worship, nipple play (briefly), and an ‘i love you’.

pt 2

You weren’t insecure. Not typically. You understood you were on the ‘bigger’ side but you were always so confident. A tease. A flirt. Whatever you want to call it.

Bucky was obsessed with you. From your head to your toe. You showed so much hospitality. You didn’t treat him like a failed experiment, or a killer, or a broken object, or a frightened animal, nor did you walk on eggshells around him as if he could strike at any moment.

You treated him like a friend.

He wanted to be more than that, but he’d never say it.

Plus, you had a boyfriend.

And it infuriated him. You were under appreciated. In his mind, anyone who wasn’t him would under appreciate you.

But he also felt like he didn’t deserve you. He was a conflicted man. Constantly second guessing himself. Except when he was with you, he was decisive. He wanted you. That never changed. Never wavered.

Stark’s personal assistant. Therefore, all of the avengers personal assistant. You had grown really close with Bucky, but you appreciated all the avengers just the same.

Stark had complained that Bucky had been ‘non-descriptive’ in his report regarding his latest solo mission. Meaning, you had to go fetch Bucky and make him fix it. Only problem was Bucky was working out in the towers’ gym. And you questioned all loyalty to your boyfriend when you saw Bucky working out.

“James!” You called as you entered the gym. You were the only one allowed to call him that, and it made his cock twitch.

Your eyes canned over the weight room. Sam and Steve sparring, Natasha stretching before her workout, a few S.H.I.E.L.D. agents here and there lifting weights, then, there’s Bucky.

He’s marvelous. Sweat dripping down his body, biceps bulging as he benches, metal arm glistening in the light, face barely contorted as if he’s not struggling. He’s currently benching 3 plates (315 pounds). It’s just his warmup weight. And it does something to you. His warm up weight is more than you. He’s not even struggling. Your boyfriend can’t lift you up. Can’t throw you around like you weight nothing. But Bucky can.

He grins when he sees you, getting in one more rep before he racks the bar. He sits up on the bench, his head motioning you to come over.

He’s just as affected by you as you are by him. And you have no clue.

“Hey, doll. What’s goin’ on?” He drawls, his voice a bit ragged. You blush with a kind smile. Bucky was a charmer. And he was kind to you. Respectful. A gentlemen.

“Mr. Stark says your report was inconclusive. He wants you to add more detail to the battle and the outcome.” You remark professional. His eyes drop and he curses under his breath. Bucky in his gym clothes, working out, looking like a greek god, and all you wanted from him was a damn report?

“C’mon, sweetheart, you could at least add some sugar f’me.” He grinned as he looked back up at you, gently taking the paper into his hands as he read over it.

“Right. Let me rephrase.” You clear your throat, ridding of your ‘professional’ voice that Bucky acted like he hated, but secretly found so sexy. “Tony wants you to add more to your report, Buck. Can you do that f’me?” You repeated in a sweet, less professional tone. You let your words slur sloppily. Like a real person.

Bucky grinned and nodded as he tossed the page beside his water bottle. He stood abruptly, towering over you as he moved to go add more weight to the bar.

He added another plate on both sides (405 pounds), and you swore you were gonna lose it if you watched him. You found your mind slipping. Your boyfriend starting to drift into forgetfulness. You knew you had to get out of there before you were licking the sweat off of his arms.

“Yeah, doll, I’ll handle it.” He winked with a cheeky grin as he slid back onto the bench, getting himself back into position to bench press the weight. You watched for a moment before you realized you really needed to get out of there.

So you did, after one final look of Bucky tossing around twice as much as your weight with no struggle, you left the gym with an undeniably flutter in your heart that you desperately tried to ignore.

It was wrong, you thought. You had a boyfriend. Bucky could have anyone he wanted. This was just a silly, school-girl crush. Or at least, that’s what you thought.

—————————————————————

“You know Bucky likes you, right?” Natasha inquired. She truly didn’t know if you were that clueless or not. Turns out, you were.

“What? No he doesn’t, Nat.” You laughed, as if she was playing some cruel joke on you. People had tried to tell you before that he liked you, but you never listened.

Your mind played sick tricks on you. Bucky could have anyone girl he wanted, why would he want you?

“—Plus, even if it’s true. I have a boyfriend.” You reminded, earning a playful groan from Natasha. It seems no one really liked your boyfriend along the tower.

“I’m serious! I heard him and Steve talkin’ about it. I dunno, ‘doll’, seems like he could have the ‘hots’ for you.” Natasha implied. You rolled your eyes. Truly, she was persistent and relentless. That was nice. You still didn’t believe her, but the effort was there.

“You’re ridiculous.” You’d laugh. Though you didn’t know if you were talking to yourself, or Natasha.

—————————————————————

Weeks gone by since that little encounter with Natasha. You and Bucky remained normal, close friends, professional. Even if he would call you little names, and even if you would giggle and smack his shoulder when he said something too flirty.

Bucky was a charmer. You reminded yourself. Steve constantly teased him about the 40’s, how every woman left satisfied after a night with Bucky Barnes.

You figured, it was nice to let him flirt with you. Even if you didn’t reciprocate too much. It helped build his confidence. You thought. You’re being a good friend. You reminded.

Bucky wanted you so bad it hurt. At every turn, he was reminded he couldn’t have you. That so other asshole could. He would never get to hear you laugh intimately, or take you out, or have you writhing beneath him as he worships every—

“You got it bad, Buck.” Steve sighed as he sat down by his friend. Bucky didn’t deny it. Didn’t grow defensive. Didn’t push away his friend and fire back with his own remark. He just bowed his head into his hands with a groan.

“I know.” Was all he could say. Everyday you stayed on his mind. I bet she would like these flowers. Bucky would think as he passed by a local shop. I bet she would kiss every damn scar. Bucky would think as he looked over his ruined body in the mirror. His brain constantly taunted him with the thoughts of what you might be like.

“What are you gonna do?” Steve murmured. They had just gotten back from a mission, sitting together as they flew back to Stark’s Tower.

“I don’t know.” Bucky sighed, lifting his head to finally meet Steve’s gaze. Nothing but empathy. Steve had been there before. When he was scrawny, and no girl would even look his way.

But Bucky wasn’t scrawny. Girls looked his way all the time. Why couldn’t he just get over you? In all honesty, he didn’t want to. You were one of the best people he had ever met, and he didn’t want to let you go.

“James! You’re back.” You beamed as you saw him enter the tower. Snacks all in your hands. You were restocking the fridge for everyone again. So thoughtful. So kind.

“Hey, gorgeous, you need some help?” He asked, even as he was already grabbing all the grocery bags off your arms without responding. You laughed as he took them, a big lopsided grin as his face as you two walked together.

Steve sent him a look. Bucky ignored him.

“Yeah, thanks, Buck.” You smiled. Christ. Your smile. So bright, and genuine, and beautiful. It was his favorite thing to see on your face. He smiled back. Something soft, genuine, but gentle.

“No problem, sweets. Can’t believe no one came n’ helped ya sooner.” He grinned. Ever the tease. The charm. The flirt. His Brooklyn accent was enough to make your head spin. It was so effortlessly him. Nothing mechanic, or programmed.

“What do you got planned this week?” Bucky indulged in small talk. He hated small talk. Unless it was with you. He set the groceries down, handling it himself as you chatted his ear off.

“Oh! I gotta do the dry cleaning for the tower, arrange a few meetings for Tony, and…” You drawled out the word. You didn’t like telling Bucky about things between you and your boyfriend. You didn’t like to involve him in that.

“—got a big dinner planned on Saturday with my boyfriend.” You finished. Bucky stiffened but he didn’t miss a beat. He didn’t want you to know how much he hated the thought of you with someone else.

So he plastered a fake grin, not the soft one he held earlier. His teeth were gritted. His jaw clenched as he finished unloading the groceries.

“That’s nice, doll. Real nice.” He gritted out, maintaining every inch of composure he could muster. He didn’t wait for a response, he just turned and left. You quirked a brow. Bucky didn’t ever leave a room with you first. Really, never. You always initiated the ‘goodbye’.

“Uh, okay, bye!” You called after him, utterly confused on what his deal was. Steve glanced at him knowingly as he stormed by, beelining straight for his room within the tower.

————————————————————

Saturday was a nightmare.

Firstly, you had no clue what to wear. Everything you put on made you feel horrendous about yourself. Sometimes the fabric would grip your stomach pudge, sometimes your stretch marks were showing, sometimes your thighs looked gigantic and you felt simply terrible.

Finally, you find the perfect dress. It’s black and sparkly. It highlights your curves, not your flaws (what you think are flaws), and pairs perfectly with your matching strap heels and purse. Your body looks fantastic and you feel like you can finally breathe again. You take at least five spins in the mirror (yes, your butt looks good too), and when you finally decided you’ve twirled enough you head to the fancy restaurant.

You take a seat at your reserved table, excitement tumbling out of you. You can only picture your boyfriend’s reaction to how good you look. Maybe he’ll drop to his knees, maybe he’ll kiss you so hard your breath is stolen, maybe he’ll even pay the full bill. What a dream.

You’re a drop-dead, beautiful goddess. And your boyfriend is… late. Not even late. He doesn’t show.

You’ve been stood up. You call him, text him, and you get no response. You check his location. It’s off.

You’re not scared, you don’t think he’s ‘hurt’ or bleeding out in an alley. You think he’s cheating.

You don’t think, you know. It’s a gut-feeling. An instinct. You’re certain you’re right. That’s when you receive the picture.

You don’t recognize the number, it’s unsaved. It’s a photo of some girl sucking your boyfriend off. All she sends along with it is two winking emojis. You’re pissed.

You spent the better half of two hours doing your makeup, finding the perfect dress, choosing the right heals and bag… You’ve been waiting at the restaurant for an hour.

You storm out furiously. No waiters or servers try to stop you, you’re headed straight for Stark Tower with a clenched jaw and gritted teeth. You slam your car door shut and storm into the elevator. You hit the button for Bucky’s floor. Tears start brimming in the corner of your eyes before you’re brushing them back.

You’re angry. Pissed. A little relived. You get an excuse to go sleep with Bucky. You’re not insecure. You don’t fear he might not want you. You just want to teach that asshole a lesson. And you want it to be Bucky. Because your boyfriend hates Bucky.

You knock on the door once. Twice. He answers. “Sam, what the hel—“ He begins to chastise, then he sees you. You’re gorgeous. Your dress clings to every curve. Your ass, your breasts, your thick thighs… He could bust right now. He can even see the highlight of your stomach pudge poking out and it turns him on.

He liked his women bigger. He hated the 40’s. Everyone following the same beauty standards, trying to all be as thin as paper. He loved that you were womanly. With a womanly figure. It takes him a second to realize how mad you are and how you’re pushing past him into his apartment. Your eyes were glassy, he notices.

“Oh, fuck, sweetheart.” He sighs. He shuts the door and is pulling you into one of his—much needed—bear hugs. His large hands cradle the back of your head, pressing you against his hard chest. He’s beefy. You can feel his muscles pressing against you. “What happened, doll?” He murmurs. His voice so soft it could lull a baby to sleep.

You take a few deep breaths to collect yourself. The tears finally stop flooding and you lift your head off his chest.

“I-I got all dressed up, got to the restaurant and just sat there. Alone. For an hour.” You sniffled. Bucky nodded, his gentle blue eyes peering into yours, wordlessly coaxing more information out of you.

“He stood me up! I texted, I called, he didn’t answer. Then I get this!” You exclaim, your voice cracking as you showing Bucky the message the girl sent you. Bucky repulses. He’s… small. He wants to laugh, but he knows better right about now.

“—I even did a full body shave, Buck. Thinkin’ maybe, just maybe, he’d want to finally fuck me when he saw me lookin’ s’good.” You complained. Bucky nodded along, criticizing himself mentally for the way his cock twitched and his eyes darkened at your words.

“Listen to me, sweetheart. Any man that wouldn’t want to fuck you, at all. Is a fool. And an ass.” Bucky grunted. His large hands gripped your waist, pulling your curves flush against him. He tried to ignore how good your hips felt under his hands.

Just comfort her, Bucky. His brain would remind. Don’t be a horny asshole right now. He shamed himself.

“You are the most beautiful woman i’ve ever seen. Y’hear me? I’m sorry he did that, baby. Shoulda’ called me. Woulda’ came n’ ate with you. Showered you in compliments.” He murmured so sweetly your chest ached.

“I just want you to make me feel better, Buck.” Your voice dropped, suggesting at something much more than a friend comforting a friend.

Bucky stiffened. His eyes blown with lust. His hands gripping your hips tightly.

“Plus… I need a picture to send back.”

That’s how Bucky got you undressed and was trying to convince you to ride his face.

“C’mon, doll. What a better way to get back at ‘em than to sit on my face?” He teased playfully. He was still dress at the center of the bed, now propped up on two elbows as he saw your hesitation.

“Need help, baby?” He purred as he saw you begin to undo the straps to your heels. You nodded with a little pout. He grinned as patted his thigh, prompting you to put your foot there, in which you did.

He slowly began to undo the strap to your heels, gazing up at you lovingly as he planted little kisses along your ankles.

“Even painted ya’ toes, huh?” He teased playfully, watching as you erupted into a fit of laughter. He loved your laugh. It had to be one of the best sounds heaven could bring to him.

“Oh, shut up.” You giggled as he finally peeled off your heels, leaving you completely bare. He practically scrambled back to his position on the bed as he awaited you charmingly.

“Please, sweetheart? Just wanna live between those pretty thighs of yours.” He pleaded. You whimpered at his words. Slowly, hesitantly, you crawled onto the bed, up his body.

“Jus’ smother me in your pretty cunt, please?” He murmured. That did it. You stubbornly climb your way up his body till your dripping cunt was approaching his mouth and he groaned.

“Jesus Christ, baby.” He breathed at the sight of your soaked pussy. Gorgeous. Undeniably mouth-watering. He was so ready to drown in you.

“You’re gonna tell me if you can’t breathe, right? Don’t wanna crush you.” You murmur, whining as his breath ghosted over your cunt. You’re dripping over his chin, and you’re worried about suffocating him?

“No, i’m not, doll. Just gonna sit there and take it. Like I should.” He rasped. You can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not. You’re sure he’s serious. Because he is. He would gladly die between your legs.

You’re hesitant as you adjust on top of him. You don’t want to hurt Bucky, really.

“C’mon, baby, just sit on my fuckin’ face ‘fore I make you.” He huffs as your thighs shake on either side of his head, desperately trying not to clamp down on his head.

Before you can protest, he’s pushing you down onto his awaiting mouth.

“James, I—ahh!” You moan as his tongue connects with your dripping sex. He cut you off expertly, grinning against you smugly as he begins to suckle on your clit.

You’re a moaning, whimpering, mess.

Your hands fly to his hair, entangling in the brown locks.

When your thighs tighten around his head, he groans and his hips buck upward to meet nothing, only causing another groan to spill from his lips.

“Fuck me.” He gasps as he pulls off your cunt, his lips glistening and chin wet with your slick. He could bust right now, your cunt is that sweet. It’s enough to get him off. “Let’s get me picture-perfect first, sweetheart. Not sure i’m gonna last any longer like this.” He grins charmingly. You chew down on your bottom lip as you grab your phone, fingers trembling.

“Alright, c’mon Bucky, pose.” You tease playfully as Bucky laughs.

His large hands are on your thighs, prying you open for him, his mouth is enveloping your cunt hungrily, his nose bumping against your clit, his hair is a bit messy in all the best ways, and his eyes, that’s what makes the picture. His eyes are piercing, hooded, dark. Eyebrows stern and you shudder at the picture.

The picture is perfect. In every entity of the word. It captures everything about Bucky. His desire is easy to spot. You send it back to the number, then to your boyfriend for good measures.

He eagerly gets back to work when you’re satisfied with the photo. “Go ahead n’ send it to me too, doll.” He grins as he delves back in your cunt. His nose bumps your cunt and you moan whorishly. It’s wanton and It makes him groan against you.

When he redoubles his efforts, you’re practically bucking against his face. He’s grunting and gasping against your cunt, unable to contain himself as his cock is throbbing and thrusting against the confines of his pants.

He groans quietly, each delicious drag of his lips and tongue making you shudder. He holds you down on him, face buried in your pussy. He sucks gently on your clit, then circles it with his tongue, only to trail down and flutter it against your throbbing cunt.

You gasp as your back arches and you roll your hips. Your stomach coils and your thighs tense. Bucky groans softly as you ride his face, grinding and dragging your cunt over his tongue. He grips your hips tightly and guides your motion, controlling your pace.

“S’beautiful, baby, could die happily between these thighs.” He rasps. You’re so close to coming it’s intoxicating. You’re chasing your high with vigorous need. Your hips buck just right and hit his tongue and nose at the perfect spot.

“Fuck, James!” You cry as you squirm and convulse on his tongue. He doesn’t waste a single drop of your sweet cum. He’s lapping it up eagerly and filthy slurping at your cunt. You’re whining as he finally releases you from his iron-grip.

He pulls back and his cunt and mouth are dripping with your essence. He presses sweet little kisses to your thighs that surround his head. He adores how thick they are, lavishing your stretch marks in worshipping attention.

“Thought I was gonna cream my pants, sweetheart. That’s how good your cunt is.” He mumbles against your thighs as his own lips trail down your body. He nips at your skin hungrily. He needs more.

Your hands rest on his chest, holding yourself up with a whine as he teased you.

Bucky adores having your weight on top of him. He would flip you around, give you the fucking you deserve, but he wants you to ride him, first. He wants to feel your weight on top of him before he truly fucks you.

“Gonna give me another, doll? Jus’ want you to ride me, yeah? S’not hard. I’ll help you.” He murmurs pleadingly. You don’t have to time to protest before he’s gripping you by your hips and lifting you up and off his face to his own hips.

The breath is knocked out of your lungs. He’s not struggling. He’s not flaunting his strength or flexing. He just effortlessly lifted you, all arms, and sat you above the tent of his pants.

It makes a whole new wave of arousal wash over you, and it shows on his pants. He glances down at the wet patch with a predatory grin that says everything you need to know.

He’s figured you out.

You don’t give them the time to tease you because your grinding your wet cunt against the crotch of his pants, making him groan and glare at you.

“Doll.” He warns. You shush him playfully as you continue to shamelessly grind yourself against the dent in his pants.

His metal armed grips your hips, the cool metal clashing against your warm skin. It’s pleasant and welcomed. You whine, not sure if you’re teasing him or yourself at this point.

“How ‘bout you have the real thing, sweetheart?” He murmurs and before you know it, he’s lifting you off his crotch and unfastening his belt. He tugs down his pants as you pull off his shirt, revealing him to your eyes.

He’s magnificent, of course. There’s scars and gashes along his torso, only serving to make him more sexy in your opinion.

You lean down, pressing a kiss to one of his larger scars along his stomach. He suppresses a whine from under you. He knew you would kiss his scars.

“You’re so handsome.” You smile as you press another lingering kiss. Bucky could stay like this for hours, but he needs you.

“Stop teasin’.” He huffs, even with his dopey grin on full display. You laugh softly as you crawl down his body.

Your hands dip beneath his waistband, still a tease as you slowly, agonizingly, tug the material down his body. His cock eagerly slaps up against his stomach when it’s freed from his boxers.

Despite how his hands are twitching at his sides, Bucky lets you set the pace. He wants you too feel worshipped. Pretty, admired, adored, everything that asshole ex of yours couldn’t do. Wants to prove why he’s better.

Firstly, his cock is a lot bigger. It’s an undeniable fact. He’s thick and long, a vein running down the base to make you shiver.

Slowly, teasingly, you sink onto his cock. He hisses, head rolling back into the pillow. His hands fly to your hips, guiding you as you take his cock.

The stretch is immense. You whimper as you sink onto him, panting.

“Oh, fuck,” You breathed. Bucky cursed beneath you as you set a slow, torturous, pace. Every roll of your hips was euphoric. Bucky was fighting every single nerve inside of his body to just pick you up and slam you back down on his dick, setting a new pace.

“feels s’good.” You slur as you pick up the pace. It’s not enough for him. He’s filling you up. He can see himself in your tummy as he rests two hands under his head, propping him up slightly.

After a few more rolls of his hips, he really can’t take it anymore.

Honestly, you’re surprised he lasted this long.

“Jus’ sit there and take it, baby. Lemme help.” He murmurs as he picks you up and slams you back down on his dick. He sets a brutal pace, fucking up into you as you bounce on top of him.

You moan and whine as he finally slowly back down. His tempo is maddening. One second he’s manhandling you up and down him, the next he’s gazing up into you lovingly as you rock back and forth.

It’s amazing.

“B-buck, James, fuck.” You babble. One hand slides up you body, thumbing at your nipples and cupping your heavy chest. You moan softly for him. So sweetly, his own personal choir.

“Yeah, I know, doll.” He grins smugly as you roll your eyes. He sets his faster pace back into action, making your eyes roll in a different kind of way.

You whine as his hand leaves your chest to play with your clit. You’re positive you won’t last any longer, Bucky knows. He can feel you. He knows it’s just a matter of time.

His thumbs laps lazily at your clit as he bounces you on top of him. Your weight is so comforting to him. The constant ‘fight or flight’ in his mind subsides. His heart isn’t thumping, per usual. He’s not scared or anticipating the next strike.

“Gonna give me another, sweetheart? Wanna feel it. You’re grippin’ onto me like you don’t want to let go.” He rasps. You whine. You don’t last much longer with his cock dragging along your walls, his thumb teasing your clit, and his words making your whole body vibrate.

You clench around him one last time and with a deafening cry you collapse for him. It’s magical to watch you come undone, and he can feel his balls twitching, urging him to let go as well.

He doesn’t. He wants this night to last for you. Plus, his stamina is insane. He plans on taking you over and over till you physically can’t anymore.

“There ya’ go. Let it all out f’me.” He murmurs as he slowly stops your rocking on top of him. You whine as your cum gushes out of you, trialing down his cock and across his abdomen.

You’re not done.

He knows it.

He’s going to have you cum again on his cock.

Before you can process, he’s capturing your lips in a wind-stealing kiss as he swiftly switches your positions. Your beautiful hair splayed out across his pillow as he grins down at you.

“Just one more, m’promise.” He coo’s sweetly. You’re not sure if he’s mocking you or being sarcastic at this point. Your brain is a haze. The only thing you know is when his thrusts start again, so do your moans.

“I love you, doll.”

—————————————————————

thank you for reading lovelies!! i’ve been posting bucky a lotttt, so i’m gonna take a break for awhile and try to write for someone else. love you all💘.

[drabblesandsnippets]

TONY STARK IS ALIVE AND WELL

NATASHA ROMANOFF IS ALIVE AND WELL

STEVE ROGERS STAYED WITH BUCKY AND DIDN’T THINK WITH HIS DICK

PETER PARKER IS HAPPY

INFINITY WAR AND ENDGAME NEVER HAPPENEDDDDDDDD

i scream as they drag me to a room with padded walls

[drabblesandsnippets]

well…

[drabblesandsnippets]

He really is!! I love them too 😊

(thank you!!!)

Making Waves

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus-size/curvy female reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: (3.8k) During a heat wave, you take advantage of one of your favorite perks of working for the Avengers - access to their private pool - and spend some quality time with Bucky.

Background: I haven't been able to see Thunderbolts* yet (it's been torture!), so not necessarily a tower fic, but this could become part of a series! I had a lot of fun writing these two. 🩶

Warnings: Established relationship (acquaintances). Confident reader. A little awkward/charming Bucky. Vague/brief alluding to Bucky's past. Fluff. Flirting. Sexual thoughts. Kissing/making out. Implied smut.

The heat dome suffocating the city has everyone on edge, tempers flaring over the slightest inconvenience.

Even with the high-tech building's fancy cooling system, the strain is palpable, portable fans handed out right along with the company's time-off policy.

Several people took the week off in advance, others called out sick, but you? You decided to suck it up and power through, saving your PTO for that long-awaited vacation you'll probably never take.

At least you have enough sense to make use one of your favorite perks of working for the Avengers - free access to their private, indoor, temperature-controlled pool.

You're one of the limited non-Avenger employees who have the privilege, and one of the few who actually take advantage of it.

Half-expecting to find the place occupied due to the lingering heat, you're pleasantly surprised to find the luxurious natatorium empty - the cool, placid saltwater inviting you in like always.

While most people are already well into their commutes home - no doubt on their way to fight with their a/c in a futile attempt to stave off the inevitable sweatiness - you get to blissfully float for the foreseeable future.

---

Bucky's restless. Has been for days.

He blames the relentless heat. The endless patrols. The incessant 'check-ins.'

Some days it feels like he's still following the same old song and dance. Minus the obvious mind control and innocent bloodshed.

And, at least now, he can live with himself in between the chaos.

Plus, there's better scenery.

The pool was supposed to be empty, according to his precursory check fifteen minutes ago, yet here you are, currently unaware of your newly rapt audience of one.

Hidden in the shadows like some creep, unable to tear his gaze away from your swimsuit digging into your soft, plush hips, Bucky watches you for longer than he'll ever admit.

It's far from the first time you've caught his attention. Even recently, he's managed to carry on a few more conversations with you, your infectious laughter haunting him for days after.

This, by far, has to be of his favorite moments though - right after that office party they held in celebration of your promotion. The confidence you radiated that day had the most filthiest thoughts swimming through his head.

Some of which are currently taking laps behind his eyes, even as he tracks a tiny droplet slipping over the swell of your belly before it's absorbed by the gentle waves lapping at your skin.

Bucky imagines tracing the path with his tongue and thanks the gods for his enhanced senses, blood rushing south when your tiny sighs of contentment reach his ears.

A new forbidden soundtrack to go along with the fantasy reels aching to come to life.

He should probably walk away.

Leave you in peace.

Allow you the privacy you're clearly seeking. You might even take one look at him and come up with an excuse to be elsewhere anyway.

Not that you ever have, it's just a lot people still do, even after all this time.

Except.

Except, he's supposed to be trying. Trying to exist like an actual human being, instead of a relic that no one knows quite how to handle.

Before Bucky can overthink it, his weirdly unsteady feet are carrying him forward, soles scuffing on the tiled limestone as he makes his way to you.

Your ever-vigilant mind clocks him before he even has a chance to interrupt the comfortable silence, your heart fluttering like it always does in his vicinity.

Ignoring your initial assumption that you're not supposed to be here right now - or that he came to swim strictly in solitude - you settle for treading water and offer a simple, smiling, "Hi."

One side of Bucky's mouth ticks upward, eyes crinkling with silent appreciation. "Hi." You're not retreating.

"Hi," you repeat with an undignified laugh, attempting to ground yourself in the cool water flowing around your fingers. And forcing your eyes to remain on his handsome features, instead of lingering on the tantalizing display of taut skin and defined muscle.

It should be a crime how delicious he looks in such simple attire - white tank top and black swim trunks. Almost as good as he looked in his latest uniform the other day. The unexpected sight when he passed you in the hall nearly had you choking on your own saliva.

And now you're wondering if Bucky's into choking-

Your possibly-most-definitely-inappropriate thoughts are interrupted by his deliberate repetition of, "Hi." And that butterfly-inducing smirk that should definitely be classified as a lethal weapon. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Yeah?" Your raised eyebrow has his grin widening and you dare to swim a little closer, using the opportunity to take another appreciative look at his previously unseen muscular legs, which you don't even try to hide this time.

"Mmm," Bucky acknowledges with a tilt of his head, his own fleeting glance at the teasing glimpse of your cleavage raising your temperature by at least ten degrees. So much for cooling off.

"Expected the place to be deserted," he continues. "Gotta say, this is much better."

Your responding laugh relieves the hint of tension trying to creep up his neck.

Apparently, flirting is like riding a bike.

"You waitin' for an invitation?" you tease after a moment of extended silence, another laugh bubbling up at the color blooming across his cheeks.

An ancient, rusty bike.

But, if there's one thing Bucky's excelled at, it's taking back control, no matter how daunting the challenge initially seems.

In one smooth motion, he's pulling the tank up and off his body with a suggestive move that'd have you dunking yourself if you weren't afraid of missing the rest of the show.

As it is, you let the heat creep up and unabashedly take him in.

The confidence. The blatant rippling of muscle. The obvious performance of stretching limbs in preparation for his swim. The metal whirring as he rotates his left arm once.

Twice.

Then a wink for good measure that finally sends you underwater before you can start giggling. There's no hiding his affect on you - and you don't really want to - you just can't give him the satisfaction of hearing that sound from you yet.

When you resurface, hands swiping away the drops clinging to your face, a knowing smirk greets you, Bucky exactly where you left him. Waiting for your attention to fully commit to the final act.

A perfect dive into the pool, your breath stalling as he effortlessly slices through the clear water towards your treading form. He emerges seconds later, almost within reach, his wet hair slicked back after barely lifting a hand to tame it.

"So much for challenging you to a swimming contest," you deadpan, feigning a sigh of disappointment. "Shoulda known you'd be good at that too."

The grin Bucky gives you is downright sinful.

And the way he breathes your name almost makes you forget that it belongs to you. "I'm sure there are plenty o' things you're better at."

Hands almost brush as he mimics your movements to keep himself afloat, the combined effort surrounding you both in a cocoon of small waves.

Playing along, you ask, "Oh yeah, like what?"

That familiar thrill rushes through Bucky, one he hadn't felt in so long before you - one he wasn't even sure he'd recognize if it happened again. Yet, here you are, your mischievous grin doing wonders for his ego.

"Bet you'd win at a staring contest." His answer is immediate. As is the flirtatious follow up, "I already seem to be having a hard time concentrating."

His lingering once over leaves nothing open for interpretation.

"Considering you just made an entire production of stripping and diving in, my eyes are definitely drifting too," you're quick to retort, much to Bucky's delight.

"Fair enough."

Wetting his lips, he takes a moment to respond, darting off to start swimming lazy circles around you, all in hopes of catching a glimpse of that coy smile you throw over your shoulder.

Basking in his own sudden burst of confidence, Bucky keeps the game going, enjoying the way you're unintentionally encouraging him to come out of his shell.

"How about this?" he asks, slowing to a stop to angle you between him and the nearby pool ladder, "The first one to touch that ladder gets to choose the restaurant."

He breathlessly counts the seconds between the 'o' shape of surprise and when understanding dawns, the excited smile gracing your gorgeous face making his heart skip several beats at once.

Then you shoot off like a light, Bucky effortlessly chasing after you as your sputtering laughter warms places he once thought would never thaw.

All goes according to plan - your fingers curling around the metal pole a split second before he's sliding in next to you, his steady hand brushing along your arm, leaving goose bumps in its wake.

It takes him a ridiculous amount of effort to resist the urge to lean in to see how you'd react to his lips on your skin instead.

Especially when you lean into his touch, your exhilarated laugh of triumph not even dampened by the obviously rigged game.

Bucky letting you win only makes it that much sweeter, your mind already conjuring up several options of where your first date could take place. And where you might end up.

"Does it have to be a restaurant?" you're asking, ignoring the clinging droplets of water on your lashes.

Having a front row seat to the mesmerizing vision leaves Bucky speechless, his vast vocabulary and the numerous languages embedded in his brain suddenly alluding him. All because you're looking at him like he's worth something.

Maybe he is.

"It can be wherever you want, sweetheart." There's no hint of jest or teasing in his tone this time, only the undeniable need to see where this could go. "I'll call in favors if I have to."

"Well that opens up all sorts of possibilities." Your impish reply comes with an exaggerated innocent smile and you push off the wall, leisure backstrokes coaxing him to come along.

"Like I said, absolutely anywhere you wanna go," he jovially promises, dutifully following in your wake, fingers itching to wrap around your ankle to pull you closer.

Bucky settles for increasing his speed, decades of honed skills now locked on every single microexpression as the distance shrinks. The twinkle in your eye, the deliberate slowing down to let him overtake you, the way your gaze keeps drifting to his mouth.

"I'll definitely take that into consideration," you say, the smoldering look you get in return not helping quiet the fantasy playing out in your head. Legs wrapped around his waist, your hands in those long, dark strands.

Heat sprawls across your chest when you imagine tugging a fistful, tilting his head back to watch his eyes darken. Bucky may not be a man of many words, but that doesn't necessarily mean he wouldn't make noises.

And oh, the noises you could elicit from this man.

"Should probably wait until it's not so hot out though," you continue, willing your heart to calm the fuck down the moment his knee gently, accidentally-on-purpose, knocks into yours. "I don't usually let a guy get me all sweaty until at least the second date."

This time his palm makes contact, the searing touch licking heat up your forearm, his accompanying laughter sending tingles of pleasure straight to your nipples.

And then, as if you're not already embarrassingly responsive enough, he has the nerve to ask, "What would it take for you to make an exception for me?"

Pink brightens his cheeks before he hastily adds, "'Cause I'd rather not have to wait for the weather to cooperate before I get to take you out."

Your foot weakly hooks around his ankle as you smother a laugh and pretend to consider his offer, then you're playfully darting away again, purposefully turning to glide past him.

You intentionally bump his thigh with your hip, fully expecting him to let you pass, continuing this impromptu game of cat and mouse.

A pleasant, exhilarated rush washes over you when he doesn't.

Bucky doesn't even think about it - one second he's enjoying the view of you swimming away, his eyes raking a glorious path down your back to the swell of your biteable ass, and the next he's tenderly pulling you back, metal fingers delicately wrapped around your calf.

There's no tension on your part, no hesitation, just a gleeful giggle that has him rethinking his entire, meticulously planned course of action.

Ask you out. Buy you flowers. Open doors. Tell you you're beautiful. And intelligent. And hilarious. And a million other praising adjectives.

Then he was going to ask to kiss you.

But you giggled when he touched you - with the same goddamn arm that people stare at like it's some uncontrolled, sentient weapon.

Not you though.

You take hold, metal warming under your touch, fingers encouraging him to explore more of you.

Far be it from him to ever deny a lady.

Slowly drifting his hand up along your forearm, thumb catching tiny droplets painting your skin, he marvels at how readily you accept him. Even the parts he usually hides.

He track the gentle rise of your chest, the miniscule movement of your body towards his touch, the steadily increasing heartrate - all telltale signs that this is right.

Wanted.

Bucky still has to ask. Needs to hear the words to silence the doubt creeping in at the edges.

"This okay?" he exhales, intense blues meeting your wide, hopeful eyes.

"More'n okay," you assure him on the next beath, your tongue peaking out to wet suddenly dry lips.

Holy shit, this man is going to be the death of you. All careful patience and obvious desire - a lethal combination that almost has you forgetting that you're technically in a public space.

Bucky watches you like you're his first sunrise after freedom, metal hand skimming over the inside of your elbow before dropping down, fingertips ghosting over the dip of your waist.

The sound that escapes your parted lips has him repeating the action, firmer this time, his attention laser focused on all the ways you're beautifully communicating for him to keep going.

Welcoming his hands as if they don't come with a long list of regrets.

"Thought about askin' you out at least a dozen times since Christmas," he confesses, his pinkie tracing the edge of your swimsuit snug against your hip.

"Got a hell of a lotta time to make up for then."

Your bold response has him leading you backwards before he can second guess himself, carefully guiding you to the closest wall in order to keep you both above water with minimal effort.

Because the things he wants to do to you are gonna take all of his focus.

The absence of Bucky's left hand is quickly overshadowed by his fingers curling around the low edge of the pool right next to your head, protectively caging you in.

He's barely touched you and warmth already pools low in your belly, thighs fighting the urge to press together in search of friction.

Instinct has you safely wrapping a leg around one of his instead, your opposite hand grabbing hold of his smooth bicep for stability, excitement thrumming through your veins.

Even as your consent sends ripples of arousal straight to Bucky's core, he doesn’t rush, needing to commit every little thing to memory.

Ensuring he'll be able to play this moment back when he's off god knows where, he takes note of the slow flutter of lashes against warm cheeks.

The inviting tease of tongue wetting lips he's dying to taste.

Your questing ankle inching up his calf to pull him millimeters closer.

That grin that makes him truly believe he gets to have this again.

And when he reaches up with his free hand, fingers dripping with saltwater, his brow slightly raised in question, he files away your answer like it's a benediction - the tiny slip of your bottom lip between teeth, a hint of smile playing at one corner of your tempting mouth.

Bucky almost forgets how to breathe at such a simple act until your enticing him with a slow nod and a full, devastating smile.

Metal whirs as he brings himself closer, his leg dangerously close to sliding home between yours. You'd greedily welcome it, your thighs instinctively parting even as you resist the urge to close the gap.

Let him decide. Let him set the pace and you'll gladly follow, throwing out encouraging signs, leaving no doubt that you want this as much as he does.

Eventually, when he's not struggling to form a coherent word, Bucky swears he'll figure out a way to thank you for it. For making him feel alive again, instead of letting him just go along for the ride.

Everything else fades away except you, open and waiting, pulling him in like a magnet until there's no choice left but to take the leap.

To let himself drown in the way your breath exhales in the scant space separating you. The steady cadence of your pulse when the back of his fingers map the apple of your cheek.

"Hope you like flowers, doll," he murmurs, legs intertwining under water, his knee innocently slotting right between your soft thighs. "'Cause you're gonna get 'em by the dozens."

You're sure you respond, freely gifting him the knowledge of your favorite kinds, it's just, Bucky's doing that thing. Warm palm cupping your jaw, long fingers splayed across your neck, his water-slicked thumb daring to be licked as he traces the edge of your bottom lip.

He's close enough that you could count the freckles dusting his cheekbones - a project you intend to cherish soon enough - but you're currently too preoccupied by how thoroughly enamored he is by you.

As if you're a purely figment of his wild imagination. Willingly allowing him to crowd you up against cold tile, knowing he'll treat you like you deserve. Despite all the rumors and whispers you've undoubtedly heard.

"Never seen anyone as beautiful as you," he vows, bringing you close enough to gently bump noses, silently imploring you to hear this isn't a line.

Bucky's usually impenetrable shield is lain at your feet, giving you access to his jagged pieces, praying they don't end up cutting you.

Because this right here is everything - the trusting tilt of your head, your shallow breaths mingling with his, the arch of your spine speaking words long foreign to him - and he'll be damned if he ever risks losing it.

"Gonna kiss you now."

Your free hand finally makes contact with his waist and his sharp exhale throws fuel on the flames of arousal already threatening to consume you.

Somehow, you still manage to fill the drawn out seconds he's giving you to change your mind with an emphatic, "I sure hope so."

You might fucking combust if he doesn't.

It begins tentative. Soft lips and gentle pressure, testing the palpable chemistry, the teasing hint of you lingering on Bucky's lips when he pauses briefly to check in.

The sight of you already enraptured - parted lips and heavy eyelids as you chase after him - has him diving back in, his thumb under your chin coaxing you to that perfect angle in order to deepen the next kiss.

Heat builds quickly, tongues dancing to a tune old as time, muscle memory carrying him along after all these years. A groan reverberates between you before Bucky can swallow it down, your answering moan hitching when his teeth nip at your bottom lip.

The apologetic caress of his tongue leaves you breathless, an exhale of a giggle getting lost when his mouth covers yours again, desperate to drink you in.

It's impossible to know who moves first, your body seeking more contact the instant he's pushing you flush against the chilled pool wall. All that matters is that he's here, warm and solid, kissing you as if his next breath depends on it.

It may as well be, because Bucky can't get enough of you.

The taste of you exploding on his tongue, decades of celibacy narrowing down to this single moment in time, rewiring his brain.

Synapses fire off in time with your racing pulse, the frightening realization settling in that the universe aligned to lead him straight to you.

All the shit he's endured won't ever be erased, and the anger may never completely fade, but it definitely feels lighter in your arms. Like maybe he gets a chance at a happily ever after.

"Already addicted to you, sweetheart," Bucky confesses, kissing a worshipful path along your jaw, his heavy breath exhaling across your heated skin, sending shivers down your spine.

The noises you planned to draw out of him pour out of you unbidden when his fingers grip your hair, encouraging you to bare more of yourself to him.

"Tell me if I cross a line," he murmurs against your neck, his words getting lost in the sensations suddenly flooding you, his thigh fitting perfectly between yours, providing you with just a hint of pressure.

His mouth explores every inch of exposed skin, your body already aching to grind against him, arousal building with every sure flick of tongue and bold nip of teeth.

Your hands cling to him, nails scraping the nape of his neck, fingers caressing metal, proving over and over you want this. Want him.

"Might get caught," you breathe, grip tightening to keep him right where he belongs.

"Door's locked," Bucky grunts, answering your raised brow with a sheepish smile. "Thought I'd be alone," he reminds you, lips hovering just out of reach.

"Oh, I'm not complaining."

His eyes track up to the ceiling, hidden security cameras no doubt steadily blinking away. "Good," he smirks, once again meeting your adoring gaze. "I'll also wipe the security tapes."

"Make you sure you send me a copy first."

"Jesus Christ, doll," he laughs, pulling you in for a passionate kiss before you can throw him for yet another thrilling loop.

Bucky's not sure he's gonna survive long at this rate, but damned if he's not ready to go on the ride of his fucking life with you.

My first fic after a very long, unexpected hiatus - I hope you enjoyed it 🩶

Please let me know if you'd like more of these two!

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About Me

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This means so much, thank you for reading! 🩶

Whatever You Need

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus-size female reader

Summary: (3.3k) Bucky comforts you during a rough time. 

Background: Reworking of this snippet. It’s been a rough few weeks (for a lot of folks, I’m sure) and I couldn’t stop thinking about this one. To everyone who struggles with their mental health, please be kind to yourself. 

Warnings: 18+ Only. Mention of insomnia, depression, anxiety. Angst. Fluff. Attempt at a bit of humor? Soft and sweet Bucky. Established relationship. Pet names (sweetheart, doll). Non-sexual nudity & touching. Kissing. Cuddling. Brief mention of/alluding to past sexual intimacy.

---------------------------

You sit by the open window, breathing in the heavy scent of the steady rain, listening to the thunder getting closer. You should be in bed, with Bucky’s arms wrapped around you, snuggling you back to sleep. But, you can’t seem to make yourself go.

It’s been weeks of this. Insomnia. Depression. Anxiety. Every day, things feel just a bit more hopeless, like you’re barely treading water, surely to go under at any moment. Rationally, you know this will pass, as it always does, you just have to wait it out and hope you don’t drown in the meantime. 

The closer the storm gets, the more anxious you feel. As if the energy of the weather is triggering your fight or flight response. You push open the window a bit more and scoot closer to the screen, imagining yourself out in the storm, getting soaked to the bone. At least then you’d have a reason for the way your body is currently shaking.

“Sweetheart,” the tenderness of Bucky’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts and you glance over to find him watching you from the doorway. You have no idea how long he’s been standing there, wearing just his underwear and an obvious look of concern on his face.

You let out a heavy sigh and bite back the unnecessary apology, turning your attention back to the storm, a wave of guilt making your stomach flip. Bucky’s done everything he can to be patient with you, and never once has he made you feel like you’re a burden, but it’s taken an obvious toll on your relationship. The way you’ve kept him at arm’s length, scared to let him see how much you’re really struggling.

Your racing thoughts are interrupted again when Bucky comes closer, now barely a foot from the window nook where you sit. “I just wanna take care of you.” You turn your head to watch him slowly crouch down next to the seat, never once taking his eyes off you, a soft smile on his face. “It’s okay if you don’t want me to.”

You immediately shake your head, needing him to understand it’s not about that. Your mouth opens, the words on the tip of your tongue, but nothing comes out. This is how it’s been for weeks. Words desperately trying to claw their way out, only to get stuck in your throat with no escape. 

The frustration easily builds, fresh tears pricking your eyes, and you look away again, letting out a shuddering breath. Bucky should just give up on you. Leave you to wallow in self-pity and loneliness. He never will though, no matter how much you think you might deserve it.

“It’s also okay if you do want me to,” he continues, his hand slowly reaching out towards you, the tips of his fingers ghosting over the blanket wrapped around you, waiting for permission to touch you. 

Bucky sees you, understands you in ways no one ever has. Your independence is your shield, something you’ve carefully cultivated. You’ve handled everything that life’s thrown at you on your own, and relying on someone else doesn’t come easy. It has absolutely nothing to do with him, but he can still be there for you, if you’ll let him. 

“It’s okay if you need me to take care of you.”

His gentle assurance breaks your resolve, the tears currently blurring your vision spilling over your lashes, and the only thing you can do is bury your face in your hands, trying to hide from him. Bucky’s not one to give up so easily, choosing to join you, taking a spot on the edge of the seat instead of breaking the physical distance, his hand now inches from your sock-covered foot.

“You don’t have to look at me,” he promises, letting the words process before he continues, “I just want you to listen, okay? Can you do that, please?” 

All you can manage is a slight nod as you try to stifle a sniffle, your breaths uneven, willing yourself to stop the fresh tears threatening to build. 

No matter how many times you’ve been down this road - both alone and together - it never seems to get easier. Especially when Bucky’s male ego tells him he’s supposed to fix this, that it’s his job to put you back together and all you have to do is let him.

It’s a ridiculous notion, one he does his best to ignore, choosing instead to tell you, “I know it’s scary to admit you’re not okay, especially when you’re still trying to figure out what’s happening inside your own head. So, I’m not expecting you to have the energy to talk about anything tonight, I just want you to know that whatever you need from me, you have it sweetheart, even if you’re never able to tell me what’s going on.”

You try to fight through the rush of emotions, his words bringing a fresh wave of tears, your body aching for his comfort. You’re so tired of being strong, of forcing yourself to power through, pretending it’s not as bad as it seems. Bucky’s your one safe place in this chaotic world and for a fleeting moment, you have the courage to bridge the gap, the tension in your shoulders easing just a bit as you let your hand drop towards him.

He takes it for what it is, catching your hand before it can fall to his thigh and brings your palm to his lips, placing a sweet kiss right in the center. At the feel of your pulse fluttering from his simple touch, Bucky’s smile grows and he’s encouraging you closer with a soft, “co’mere,” his metal hand sliding along the outside of your arm to help guide you.

Pulling you into his lap, your soft curves molding perfectly to the harder planes of his body, Bucky wraps you up in his warm embrace, cradling your head against his shoulder. Your tears come more freely now and for a while, you just sit there, listening to the steady heartbeat of the man you’re lucky to call yours, the sound a gentle reminder that you’re not alone, regardless of what your brain tries to convince you of sometimes.

It’s not until your breath begins to even out, your sniffles slowly subsiding, that Bucky softly breaks the silence to ask you, “How do ya feel about a bath, sweetheart?”

A soft noise of protest comes out muffled against his skin, your arms tightening around his torso, content to just stay here as long as he’ll let you. Still, you can’t help asking, “is this your way of saying I smell?” It hasn’t been that long since you forced yourself to shower.

Bucky’s laughter gently shakes your body, your own smile building in return and he wastes no time in nuzzling your hair, his head dipping to dramatically sniff along your jaw and neck. “Nope,” he says matter-of-factly, meeting your gaze with a grin before repeating the action along the other side, drawing an unmistakable laugh from you. “You smell just as good as you always do,” he promises with a tender kiss right below your ear. “But, a bath might make you feel a little better.”

There are a multitude of reasons to say no - the energy it takes just to get in, the stark contrast of the cool air after getting out, having to dry off every inch of your skin before you can even think about getting into bed, just to name a few. All it takes is one look at Bucky and you’re realizing none of them matter because he already knows. 

His assurance that you won’t have to lift a finger comes quick, reminding you that he’s here to take care of you, in whatever way you need. He’ll even carry you, if you’ll let him.

To both of your surprise, it doesn’t take much for you to agree and the moment you do, Bucky seeks permission to kiss you, showing his appreciation, murmuring words of adoration against your lips. He takes a moment to savor the intimate connection, silently thanking the universe for bringing you to him, for allowing him the privilege of loving you.

He drops you off in the bedroom, resecuring the blanket still wrapped around your body, convincing you to rest in bed while he draws a bath. Once he’s gone, you actually start to doze off, snuggled with Bucky’s pillow, the distant thrum of the bathtub filling a nice break from the near constant rush of thoughts trying to occupy your mind.

When he returns, the vision of you resting peacefully is almost enough for him to break his promise to wake you. He’d happily sit watch, keep an eye on you for the rest of the night to ensure your sleep went undisturbed.

It’s the last thing you’d want though. You’d wake disoriented, feeling constricted in your clothing, worse off than you were when you fell asleep. 

With a heavy sigh, Bucky shakes his head, a regretful smile crossing his face as he reaches out to stroke your cheek with the back of his fingers. “You ready?”

His voice is barely audible, your mind not comprehending his touch until his beard is tickling your nose, his lips brushing against your forehead. Your response comes in the form of a confused grunt, your face scrunched, hands reaching up to touch him.

“The bath’s ready,” he explains, his smile evident in his tone, giving you one last lingering kiss before pulling back. “Are you ready, or do ya wanna rest a bit longer?”

It’d be easy to just stay here, let Bucky undress you and put you under the covers, your body craving rest. It won’t last though. You’ll start to get restless, toss and turn in hopes of finding a better position, all the while your mind will refuse to quiet, growing more on edge until you’re forced out of bed yet again.

A bath isn’t a cure-all, and maybe it won’t really help, but you owe it to yourself to at least try. To let yourself be vulnerable, no matter how scary it feels. 

Bucky effortlessly carries you from bed into the dimly lit bathroom, the heater already keeping the room relatively warm, ready to be adjusted when it’s time to get out. After setting you on your feet next to the tub, he gives you another reassuring smile and starts to undress you, careful not to snag your shirt on your hair.

You have to close your eyes when he kneels to remove your sweatpants, your body fighting the urge to take over and do it yourself. It’s far from the first time Bucky’s undressed you - and it certainly won’t be the last - it’s just not usually under these circumstances. 

The lingering tension starts to fade when he looks up, his obvious love for you shining through even your most persistent insecurities. Once he’s freed you of the rest of your clothes, he helps you in, the oversized tub providing more than enough space for you to sink down, the water coming up to your chest.

Bucky takes his time, giving you a minute to adjust to the heat of the water while he gathers the necessary supplies, the bath pillow already secure behind your head. All you can do is watch him, your throat tight with emotion, tears starting to prick your eyes, the nagging voice in your head trying to convince you that you don’t deserve someone like him.

Biting back the urge to tell him what’s going through your mind, you blink back the tears, your eyes cast to the ceiling for a brief moment. He gives you more time than necessary, his focus on dipping the fresh washcloth in the water, then reaching for the body wash to pour a generous amount.

Seeing him preparing to bathe you makes the moment fully come into view and a soft, incredulous laugh leaves you, “are we really doing this?” You’re not sure you’ve ever felt so naked and exposed, despite all the sinful things you’ve let this man do to you.

Bucky’s grin does wonders for your anxiety, as does his soft assurance of, “not if you don’t think it’ll help.” He tilts his head, holding your gaze, ensuring you hear his next words, “But, if it’s because you think I don’t wanna do this, or I’m not gonna enjoy every single second of it? Doll, come on, this is me.” 

His words cause another exhale of a laugh and a blush spreads across your cheeks, Bucky’s smiling growing wider, his tongue peaking out to tease along his bottom lip. 

“I’m getting to take care of you, be near you, touch you. I live for this shit,” he laughs, his brows raised to drive home his point. “I’m obsessed with you, remember? I’d literally drink your bath water.”

You barely have time to react before he’s leaning forward, having every intention to prove it to you. Your wet hands reach out just in time to push against his head and shoulder before his face gets any closer to the water, a loud laugh spilling out of you, “What- Stop, Bucky, oh my god!”

His laughter joins yours and he allows you to turn his head at the last moment, taking the opportunity to close the distance to share a kiss, Bucky smiling against your lips. You can’t resist keeping your hands on him, the water dripping down his bare torso, but he doesn’t seem to mind, his own hand reaching out to cup your jaw.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he promises, peppering kisses across your cheeks and forehead, ending with one on the tip of your nose. Once he’s sure your worries and insecurities are starting to fade, he reaches for the washcloth again, telling you, “Now, just relax and let me take care of my girl, okay?”

A playful roll of your eyes and a smile you don’t even try to hide as you tell him, “fine,” begrudgingly doing as requested. Bucky takes it in stride, his smile never faltering, happily reaching for your arm to start taking care of you in one of the few ways you’ve let him recently.

He can’t help but take advantage of the opportunity, taking his time to bathe you, massaging your muscles in the process, his movements smooth along your soap-slicked skin. By the time he’s given each limb equal attention, you’re putty in his hands and you make no objections when the washcloth dips under the water to wash your stomach and hips.

Your eyes remain closed for the most part, Bucky’s occasional glance telling him you’re enjoying this far more than you anticipated. He makes a mental note to convince you to make this a regular thing, not just when you’re going through a rough time. You deserve to be pampered every day, but he’ll settle for at least once a month.

Not missing how careful Bucky is as he moves higher, the washcloth not lingering on your breasts any longer than necessary, you finally open your eyes, blinking slowly up at him. He meets your gaze with a soft smile as he starts to wash your collarbone, the warm water calling you to sink lower, as if it might erase the clinging numbness that refuses to dissipate. 

The words tumble out of you before you can overthink them, your question catching Bucky off guard, his hand stilling on the edge of the tub. “What if I never get better?”

“Sweetheart,” Bucky murmurs with a slight shake of his head, his brow furrowing to  match the frown beginning to appear. Your mouth opens to respond, the words failing you before they can even form, wishing you could rewind time to prevent the worried look on his face.

He breaks the silence before you have to, offering you an empathetic smile as he asks, “Can I get in with you?” It’s the last thing you’re expecting as a response and it catches you off guard in such a way that your mind stops racing long enough to scoot forward, making room for him.

There’s no time to waste, Bucky quickly discarding his underwear in order to join you, the oversized tub giving him space to sit behind you, pulling you back against his chest. With his arms wrapped protectively around you, he kisses your shoulder, rubbing his beard along your skin in hopes to ground you, “This isn’t going to last forever. Eventually, something’s gonna shift and you’ll start to feel better.”

Bucky’s not wrong. What you’re experiencing right now, regardless of how long it’s lasted, won't be forever and things will go back to normal at some point. Right now isn’t what you’re referring to though. With a heavy breath, you pull your knees up, letting the air hit your skin, goosebumps threatening to spread. “But that never lasts either.”

He can hear the emotion in your voice, the tears starting to build again, and it makes his chest ache, wishing he could ease your pain. “Maybe not,” he agrees, keeping his tone gentle, “but that’s okay. It’s all part of being human, sweetheart. We have good days, and we have bad days, and no, I’m not keeping score.”

An exhale of a laugh leaves you at the same time a tear escapes your lashes, causing you to automatically wipe it away, your wet hand leaving several drops of water in its place. Bucky gives you the space to collect yourself, using the opportunity to grab the washcloth and bodywash again, determined to complete his mission of bathing you.

You welcome the distraction, leaning forward to give him better access, his fingers soon working out the tension in your back. Your delicate mental state leaves you vulnerable, Bucky’s touch sending you further down the rabbit hole of negative thoughts, the once receding emotions returning tenfold, leaving you crying.

“You deserve better than this.”

“Hey,” Bucky soothes, gathering you in his arms to pull you flush against his body, your weight welcome on his lap, your face pressed against his neck, tears mixing with the water. “There is no one out there better for me than you,” he promises. “You’re it for me. You and your gorgeous mind and insanely hot body, and yes - all your ‘issues’,” he grins, kissing your temple.

There’s nothing you can do except sigh, your breath shuddering out of you, your hand pressed against his chest, drawing comfort from the strong beat of his heart. What he’s saying is starting to break through, reminding you what it’s like when things don’t feel so heavy. How easy it is to be loved by him when you’re not so scared of being a burden.

“I just want you to be happy,” you manage to whisper, working past the emotions trying to overwhelm you again.

“Good,” Bucky’s quick to respond, his fingers on your chin tilting your face up to meet his warm gaze. “‘Cause that’s exactly how you make me feel.” He can’t help but shake his head at you, his smile growing, as if you don’t realize how ridiculous you’re being, “Every day you make me feel like the luckiest guy in the world. Nothing is ever going to change that. Got it?”

Another heavy breath, and a tear that Bucky casually wipes away, but this time it’s accompanied by a twitch of a smile, the waves of anxiety starting to recede. “Got it,” you whisper, meeting him halfway for a kiss, solidifying your devotion to each other, your promise to work as a team to get through whatever comes, without pushing the other too far out of your comfort zone.

It’ll take time, and it won’t be perfect, but at least you’ll have the rest of your lives to keep trying.

---------------------------

Comments and reblogs very much appreciated!! 🩶

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[drabblesandsnippets]

YES, I got your ask and Confidence is back on my radar!! (Could even possibly, eventually, have a part 4 with Bucky x reader x Nat 🫣)

I'm currently working on the next part of my Sunshine series, then (potentially) a personal trainer!Bucky fic - then, hopefully, part 3 of Confidence at the end of August!

Making Waves

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus-size/curvy female reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: (3.8k) During a heat wave, you take advantage of one of your favorite perks of working for the Avengers - access to their private pool - and spend some quality time with Bucky.

Background: I haven't been able to see Thunderbolts* yet (it's been torture!), so not necessarily a tower fic, but this could become part of a series! I had a lot of fun writing these two. 🩶

Warnings: Established relationship (acquaintances). Confident reader. A little awkward/charming Bucky. Vague/brief alluding to Bucky's past. Fluff. Flirting. Sexual thoughts. Kissing/making out. Implied smut.

The heat dome suffocating the city has everyone on edge, tempers flaring over the slightest inconvenience.

Even with the high-tech building's fancy cooling system, the strain is palpable, portable fans handed out right along with the company's time-off policy.

Several people took the week off in advance, others called out sick, but you? You decided to suck it up and power through, saving your PTO for that long-awaited vacation you'll probably never take.

At least you have enough sense to make use one of your favorite perks of working for the Avengers - free access to their private, indoor, temperature-controlled pool.

You're one of the limited non-Avenger employees who have the privilege, and one of the few who actually take advantage of it.

Half-expecting to find the place occupied due to the lingering heat, you're pleasantly surprised to find the luxurious natatorium empty - the cool, placid saltwater inviting you in like always.

While most people are already well into their commutes home - no doubt on their way to fight with their a/c in a futile attempt to stave off the inevitable sweatiness - you get to blissfully float for the foreseeable future.

---

Bucky's restless. Has been for days.

He blames the relentless heat. The endless patrols. The incessant 'check-ins.'

Some days it feels like he's still following the same old song and dance. Minus the obvious mind control and innocent bloodshed.

And, at least now, he can live with himself in between the chaos.

Plus, there's better scenery.

The pool was supposed to be empty, according to his precursory check fifteen minutes ago, yet here you are, currently unaware of your newly rapt audience of one.

Hidden in the shadows like some creep, unable to tear his gaze away from your swimsuit digging into your soft, plush hips, Bucky watches you for longer than he'll ever admit.

It's far from the first time you've caught his attention. Even recently, he's managed to carry on a few more conversations with you, your infectious laughter haunting him for days after.

This, by far, has to be of his favorite moments though - right after that office party they held in celebration of your promotion. The confidence you radiated that day had the most filthiest thoughts swimming through his head.

Some of which are currently taking laps behind his eyes, even as he tracks a tiny droplet slipping over the swell of your belly before it's absorbed by the gentle waves lapping at your skin.

Bucky imagines tracing the path with his tongue and thanks the gods for his enhanced senses, blood rushing south when your tiny sighs of contentment reach his ears.

A new forbidden soundtrack to go along with the fantasy reels aching to come to life.

He should probably walk away.

Leave you in peace.

Allow you the privacy you're clearly seeking. You might even take one look at him and come up with an excuse to be elsewhere anyway.

Not that you ever have, it's just a lot people still do, even after all this time.

Except.

Except, he's supposed to be trying. Trying to exist like an actual human being, instead of a relic that no one knows quite how to handle.

Before Bucky can overthink it, his weirdly unsteady feet are carrying him forward, soles scuffing on the tiled limestone as he makes his way to you.

Your ever-vigilant mind clocks him before he even has a chance to interrupt the comfortable silence, your heart fluttering like it always does in his vicinity.

Ignoring your initial assumption that you're not supposed to be here right now - or that he came to swim strictly in solitude - you settle for treading water and offer a simple, smiling, "Hi."

One side of Bucky's mouth ticks upward, eyes crinkling with silent appreciation. "Hi." You're not retreating.

"Hi," you repeat with an undignified laugh, attempting to ground yourself in the cool water flowing around your fingers. And forcing your eyes to remain on his handsome features, instead of lingering on the tantalizing display of taut skin and defined muscle.

It should be a crime how delicious he looks in such simple attire - white tank top and black swim trunks. Almost as good as he looked in his latest uniform the other day. The unexpected sight when he passed you in the hall nearly had you choking on your own saliva.

And now you're wondering if Bucky's into choking-

Your possibly-most-definitely-inappropriate thoughts are interrupted by his deliberate repetition of, "Hi." And that butterfly-inducing smirk that should definitely be classified as a lethal weapon. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Yeah?" Your raised eyebrow has his grin widening and you dare to swim a little closer, using the opportunity to take another appreciative look at his previously unseen muscular legs, which you don't even try to hide this time.

"Mmm," Bucky acknowledges with a tilt of his head, his own fleeting glance at the teasing glimpse of your cleavage raising your temperature by at least ten degrees. So much for cooling off.

"Expected the place to be deserted," he continues. "Gotta say, this is much better."

Your responding laugh relieves the hint of tension trying to creep up his neck.

Apparently, flirting is like riding a bike.

"You waitin' for an invitation?" you tease after a moment of extended silence, another laugh bubbling up at the color blooming across his cheeks.

An ancient, rusty bike.

But, if there's one thing Bucky's excelled at, it's taking back control, no matter how daunting the challenge initially seems.

In one smooth motion, he's pulling the tank up and off his body with a suggestive move that'd have you dunking yourself if you weren't afraid of missing the rest of the show.

As it is, you let the heat creep up and unabashedly take him in.

The confidence. The blatant rippling of muscle. The obvious performance of stretching limbs in preparation for his swim. The metal whirring as he rotates his left arm once.

Twice.

Then a wink for good measure that finally sends you underwater before you can start giggling. There's no hiding his affect on you - and you don't really want to - you just can't give him the satisfaction of hearing that sound from you yet.

When you resurface, hands swiping away the drops clinging to your face, a knowing smirk greets you, Bucky exactly where you left him. Waiting for your attention to fully commit to the final act.

A perfect dive into the pool, your breath stalling as he effortlessly slices through the clear water towards your treading form. He emerges seconds later, almost within reach, his wet hair slicked back after barely lifting a hand to tame it.

"So much for challenging you to a swimming contest," you deadpan, feigning a sigh of disappointment. "Shoulda known you'd be good at that too."

The grin Bucky gives you is downright sinful.

And the way he breathes your name almost makes you forget that it belongs to you. "I'm sure there are plenty o' things you're better at."

Hands almost brush as he mimics your movements to keep himself afloat, the combined effort surrounding you both in a cocoon of small waves.

Playing along, you ask, "Oh yeah, like what?"

That familiar thrill rushes through Bucky, one he hadn't felt in so long before you - one he wasn't even sure he'd recognize if it happened again. Yet, here you are, your mischievous grin doing wonders for his ego.

"Bet you'd win at a staring contest." His answer is immediate. As is the flirtatious follow up, "I already seem to be having a hard time concentrating."

His lingering once over leaves nothing open for interpretation.

"Considering you just made an entire production of stripping and diving in, my eyes are definitely drifting too," you're quick to retort, much to Bucky's delight.

"Fair enough."

Wetting his lips, he takes a moment to respond, darting off to start swimming lazy circles around you, all in hopes of catching a glimpse of that coy smile you throw over your shoulder.

Basking in his own sudden burst of confidence, Bucky keeps the game going, enjoying the way you're unintentionally encouraging him to come out of his shell.

"How about this?" he asks, slowing to a stop to angle you between him and the nearby pool ladder, "The first one to touch that ladder gets to choose the restaurant."

He breathlessly counts the seconds between the 'o' shape of surprise and when understanding dawns, the excited smile gracing your gorgeous face making his heart skip several beats at once.

Then you shoot off like a light, Bucky effortlessly chasing after you as your sputtering laughter warms places he once thought would never thaw.

All goes according to plan - your fingers curling around the metal pole a split second before he's sliding in next to you, his steady hand brushing along your arm, leaving goose bumps in its wake.

It takes him a ridiculous amount of effort to resist the urge to lean in to see how you'd react to his lips on your skin instead.

Especially when you lean into his touch, your exhilarated laugh of triumph not even dampened by the obviously rigged game.

Bucky letting you win only makes it that much sweeter, your mind already conjuring up several options of where your first date could take place. And where you might end up.

"Does it have to be a restaurant?" you're asking, ignoring the clinging droplets of water on your lashes.

Having a front row seat to the mesmerizing vision leaves Bucky speechless, his vast vocabulary and the numerous languages embedded in his brain suddenly alluding him. All because you're looking at him like he's worth something.

Maybe he is.

"It can be wherever you want, sweetheart." There's no hint of jest or teasing in his tone this time, only the undeniable need to see where this could go. "I'll call in favors if I have to."

"Well that opens up all sorts of possibilities." Your impish reply comes with an exaggerated innocent smile and you push off the wall, leisure backstrokes coaxing him to come along.

"Like I said, absolutely anywhere you wanna go," he jovially promises, dutifully following in your wake, fingers itching to wrap around your ankle to pull you closer.

Bucky settles for increasing his speed, decades of honed skills now locked on every single microexpression as the distance shrinks. The twinkle in your eye, the deliberate slowing down to let him overtake you, the way your gaze keeps drifting to his mouth.

"I'll definitely take that into consideration," you say, the smoldering look you get in return not helping quiet the fantasy playing out in your head. Legs wrapped around his waist, your hands in those long, dark strands.

Heat sprawls across your chest when you imagine tugging a fistful, tilting his head back to watch his eyes darken. Bucky may not be a man of many words, but that doesn't necessarily mean he wouldn't make noises.

And oh, the noises you could elicit from this man.

"Should probably wait until it's not so hot out though," you continue, willing your heart to calm the fuck down the moment his knee gently, accidentally-on-purpose, knocks into yours. "I don't usually let a guy get me all sweaty until at least the second date."

This time his palm makes contact, the searing touch licking heat up your forearm, his accompanying laughter sending tingles of pleasure straight to your nipples.

And then, as if you're not already embarrassingly responsive enough, he has the nerve to ask, "What would it take for you to make an exception for me?"

Pink brightens his cheeks before he hastily adds, "'Cause I'd rather not have to wait for the weather to cooperate before I get to take you out."

Your foot weakly hooks around his ankle as you smother a laugh and pretend to consider his offer, then you're playfully darting away again, purposefully turning to glide past him.

You intentionally bump his thigh with your hip, fully expecting him to let you pass, continuing this impromptu game of cat and mouse.

A pleasant, exhilarated rush washes over you when he doesn't.

Bucky doesn't even think about it - one second he's enjoying the view of you swimming away, his eyes raking a glorious path down your back to the swell of your biteable ass, and the next he's tenderly pulling you back, metal fingers delicately wrapped around your calf.

There's no tension on your part, no hesitation, just a gleeful giggle that has him rethinking his entire, meticulously planned course of action.

Ask you out. Buy you flowers. Open doors. Tell you you're beautiful. And intelligent. And hilarious. And a million other praising adjectives.

Then he was going to ask to kiss you.

But you giggled when he touched you - with the same goddamn arm that people stare at like it's some uncontrolled, sentient weapon.

Not you though.

You take hold, metal warming under your touch, fingers encouraging him to explore more of you.

Far be it from him to ever deny a lady.

Slowly drifting his hand up along your forearm, thumb catching tiny droplets painting your skin, he marvels at how readily you accept him. Even the parts he usually hides.

He track the gentle rise of your chest, the miniscule movement of your body towards his touch, the steadily increasing heartrate - all telltale signs that this is right.

Wanted.

Bucky still has to ask. Needs to hear the words to silence the doubt creeping in at the edges.

"This okay?" he exhales, intense blues meeting your wide, hopeful eyes.

"More'n okay," you assure him on the next beath, your tongue peaking out to wet suddenly dry lips.

Holy shit, this man is going to be the death of you. All careful patience and obvious desire - a lethal combination that almost has you forgetting that you're technically in a public space.

Bucky watches you like you're his first sunrise after freedom, metal hand skimming over the inside of your elbow before dropping down, fingertips ghosting over the dip of your waist.

The sound that escapes your parted lips has him repeating the action, firmer this time, his attention laser focused on all the ways you're beautifully communicating for him to keep going.

Welcoming his hands as if they don't come with a long list of regrets.

"Thought about askin' you out at least a dozen times since Christmas," he confesses, his pinkie tracing the edge of your swimsuit snug against your hip.

"Got a hell of a lotta time to make up for then."

Your bold response has him leading you backwards before he can second guess himself, carefully guiding you to the closest wall in order to keep you both above water with minimal effort.

Because the things he wants to do to you are gonna take all of his focus.

The absence of Bucky's left hand is quickly overshadowed by his fingers curling around the low edge of the pool right next to your head, protectively caging you in.

He's barely touched you and warmth already pools low in your belly, thighs fighting the urge to press together in search of friction.

Instinct has you safely wrapping a leg around one of his instead, your opposite hand grabbing hold of his smooth bicep for stability, excitement thrumming through your veins.

Even as your consent sends ripples of arousal straight to Bucky's core, he doesn’t rush, needing to commit every little thing to memory.

Ensuring he'll be able to play this moment back when he's off god knows where, he takes note of the slow flutter of lashes against warm cheeks.

The inviting tease of tongue wetting lips he's dying to taste.

Your questing ankle inching up his calf to pull him millimeters closer.

That grin that makes him truly believe he gets to have this again.

And when he reaches up with his free hand, fingers dripping with saltwater, his brow slightly raised in question, he files away your answer like it's a benediction - the tiny slip of your bottom lip between teeth, a hint of smile playing at one corner of your tempting mouth.

Bucky almost forgets how to breathe at such a simple act until your enticing him with a slow nod and a full, devastating smile.

Metal whirs as he brings himself closer, his leg dangerously close to sliding home between yours. You'd greedily welcome it, your thighs instinctively parting even as you resist the urge to close the gap.

Let him decide. Let him set the pace and you'll gladly follow, throwing out encouraging signs, leaving no doubt that you want this as much as he does.

Eventually, when he's not struggling to form a coherent word, Bucky swears he'll figure out a way to thank you for it. For making him feel alive again, instead of letting him just go along for the ride.

Everything else fades away except you, open and waiting, pulling him in like a magnet until there's no choice left but to take the leap.

To let himself drown in the way your breath exhales in the scant space separating you. The steady cadence of your pulse when the back of his fingers map the apple of your cheek.

"Hope you like flowers, doll," he murmurs, legs intertwining under water, his knee innocently slotting right between your soft thighs. "'Cause you're gonna get 'em by the dozens."

You're sure you respond, freely gifting him the knowledge of your favorite kinds, it's just, Bucky's doing that thing. Warm palm cupping your jaw, long fingers splayed across your neck, his water-slicked thumb daring to be licked as he traces the edge of your bottom lip.

He's close enough that you could count the freckles dusting his cheekbones - a project you intend to cherish soon enough - but you're currently too preoccupied by how thoroughly enamored he is by you.

As if you're a purely figment of his wild imagination. Willingly allowing him to crowd you up against cold tile, knowing he'll treat you like you deserve. Despite all the rumors and whispers you've undoubtedly heard.

"Never seen anyone as beautiful as you," he vows, bringing you close enough to gently bump noses, silently imploring you to hear this isn't a line.

Bucky's usually impenetrable shield is lain at your feet, giving you access to his jagged pieces, praying they don't end up cutting you.

Because this right here is everything - the trusting tilt of your head, your shallow breaths mingling with his, the arch of your spine speaking words long foreign to him - and he'll be damned if he ever risks losing it.

"Gonna kiss you now."

Your free hand finally makes contact with his waist and his sharp exhale throws fuel on the flames of arousal already threatening to consume you.

Somehow, you still manage to fill the drawn out seconds he's giving you to change your mind with an emphatic, "I sure hope so."

You might fucking combust if he doesn't.

It begins tentative. Soft lips and gentle pressure, testing the palpable chemistry, the teasing hint of you lingering on Bucky's lips when he pauses briefly to check in.

The sight of you already enraptured - parted lips and heavy eyelids as you chase after him - has him diving back in, his thumb under your chin coaxing you to that perfect angle in order to deepen the next kiss.

Heat builds quickly, tongues dancing to a tune old as time, muscle memory carrying him along after all these years. A groan reverberates between you before Bucky can swallow it down, your answering moan hitching when his teeth nip at your bottom lip.

The apologetic caress of his tongue leaves you breathless, an exhale of a giggle getting lost when his mouth covers yours again, desperate to drink you in.

It's impossible to know who moves first, your body seeking more contact the instant he's pushing you flush against the chilled pool wall. All that matters is that he's here, warm and solid, kissing you as if his next breath depends on it.

It may as well be, because Bucky can't get enough of you.

The taste of you exploding on his tongue, decades of celibacy narrowing down to this single moment in time, rewiring his brain.

Synapses fire off in time with your racing pulse, the frightening realization settling in that the universe aligned to lead him straight to you.

All the shit he's endured won't ever be erased, and the anger may never completely fade, but it definitely feels lighter in your arms. Like maybe he gets a chance at a happily ever after.

"Already addicted to you, sweetheart," Bucky confesses, kissing a worshipful path along your jaw, his heavy breath exhaling across your heated skin, sending shivers down your spine.

The noises you planned to draw out of him pour out of you unbidden when his fingers grip your hair, encouraging you to bare more of yourself to him.

"Tell me if I cross a line," he murmurs against your neck, his words getting lost in the sensations suddenly flooding you, his thigh fitting perfectly between yours, providing you with just a hint of pressure.

His mouth explores every inch of exposed skin, your body already aching to grind against him, arousal building with every sure flick of tongue and bold nip of teeth.

Your hands cling to him, nails scraping the nape of his neck, fingers caressing metal, proving over and over you want this. Want him.

"Might get caught," you breathe, grip tightening to keep him right where he belongs.

"Door's locked," Bucky grunts, answering your raised brow with a sheepish smile. "Thought I'd be alone," he reminds you, lips hovering just out of reach.

"Oh, I'm not complaining."

His eyes track up to the ceiling, hidden security cameras no doubt steadily blinking away. "Good," he smirks, once again meeting your adoring gaze. "I'll also wipe the security tapes."

"Make you sure you send me a copy first."

"Jesus Christ, doll," he laughs, pulling you in for a passionate kiss before you can throw him for yet another thrilling loop.

Bucky's not sure he's gonna survive long at this rate, but damned if he's not ready to go on the ride of his fucking life with you.

My first fic after a very long, unexpected hiatus - I hope you enjoyed it 🩶

Please let me know if you'd like more of these two!

Banners by @cafekitsune

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[drabblesandsnippets]

Making Waves

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus-size/curvy female reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: (3.8k) During a heat wave, you take advantage of one of your favorite perks of working for the Avengers - access to their private pool - and spend some quality time with Bucky.

Background: I haven't been able to see Thunderbolts* yet (it's been torture!), so not necessarily a tower fic, but this could become part of a series! I had a lot of fun writing these two. 🩶

Warnings: Established relationship (acquaintances). Confident reader. A little awkward/charming Bucky. Vague/brief alluding to Bucky's past. Fluff. Flirting. Sexual thoughts. Kissing/making out. Implied smut.

The heat dome suffocating the city has everyone on edge, tempers flaring over the slightest inconvenience.

Even with the high-tech building's fancy cooling system, the strain is palpable, portable fans handed out right along with the company's time-off policy.

Several people took the week off in advance, others called out sick, but you? You decided to suck it up and power through, saving your PTO for that long-awaited vacation you'll probably never take.

At least you have enough sense to make use one of your favorite perks of working for the Avengers - free access to their private, indoor, temperature-controlled pool.

You're one of the limited non-Avenger employees who have the privilege, and one of the few who actually take advantage of it.

Half-expecting to find the place occupied due to the lingering heat, you're pleasantly surprised to find the luxurious natatorium empty - the cool, placid saltwater inviting you in like always.

While most people are already well into their commutes home - no doubt on their way to fight with their a/c in a futile attempt to stave off the inevitable sweatiness - you get to blissfully float for the foreseeable future.

---

Bucky's restless. Has been for days.

He blames the relentless heat. The endless patrols. The incessant 'check-ins.'

Some days it feels like he's still following the same old song and dance. Minus the obvious mind control and innocent bloodshed.

And, at least now, he can live with himself in between the chaos.

Plus, there's better scenery.

The pool was supposed to be empty, according to his precursory check fifteen minutes ago, yet here you are, currently unaware of your newly rapt audience of one.

Hidden in the shadows like some creep, unable to tear his gaze away from your swimsuit digging into your soft, plush hips, Bucky watches you for longer than he'll ever admit.

It's far from the first time you've caught his attention. Even recently, he's managed to carry on a few more conversations with you, your infectious laughter haunting him for days after.

This, by far, has to be of his favorite moments though - right after that office party they held in celebration of your promotion. The confidence you radiated that day had the most filthiest thoughts swimming through his head.

Some of which are currently taking laps behind his eyes, even as he tracks a tiny droplet slipping over the swell of your belly before it's absorbed by the gentle waves lapping at your skin.

Bucky imagines tracing the path with his tongue and thanks the gods for his enhanced senses, blood rushing south when your tiny sighs of contentment reach his ears.

A new forbidden soundtrack to go along with the fantasy reels aching to come to life.

He should probably walk away.

Leave you in peace.

Allow you the privacy you're clearly seeking. You might even take one look at him and come up with an excuse to be elsewhere anyway.

Not that you ever have, it's just a lot people still do, even after all this time.

Except.

Except, he's supposed to be trying. Trying to exist like an actual human being, instead of a relic that no one knows quite how to handle.

Before Bucky can overthink it, his weirdly unsteady feet are carrying him forward, soles scuffing on the tiled limestone as he makes his way to you.

Your ever-vigilant mind clocks him before he even has a chance to interrupt the comfortable silence, your heart fluttering like it always does in his vicinity.

Ignoring your initial assumption that you're not supposed to be here right now - or that he came to swim strictly in solitude - you settle for treading water and offer a simple, smiling, "Hi."

One side of Bucky's mouth ticks upward, eyes crinkling with silent appreciation. "Hi." You're not retreating.

"Hi," you repeat with an undignified laugh, attempting to ground yourself in the cool water flowing around your fingers. And forcing your eyes to remain on his handsome features, instead of lingering on the tantalizing display of taut skin and defined muscle.

It should be a crime how delicious he looks in such simple attire - white tank top and black swim trunks. Almost as good as he looked in his latest uniform the other day. The unexpected sight when he passed you in the hall nearly had you choking on your own saliva.

And now you're wondering if Bucky's into choking-

Your possibly-most-definitely-inappropriate thoughts are interrupted by his deliberate repetition of, "Hi." And that butterfly-inducing smirk that should definitely be classified as a lethal weapon. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Yeah?" Your raised eyebrow has his grin widening and you dare to swim a little closer, using the opportunity to take another appreciative look at his previously unseen muscular legs, which you don't even try to hide this time.

"Mmm," Bucky acknowledges with a tilt of his head, his own fleeting glance at the teasing glimpse of your cleavage raising your temperature by at least ten degrees. So much for cooling off.

"Expected the place to be deserted," he continues. "Gotta say, this is much better."

Your responding laugh relieves the hint of tension trying to creep up his neck.

Apparently, flirting is like riding a bike.

"You waitin' for an invitation?" you tease after a moment of extended silence, another laugh bubbling up at the color blooming across his cheeks.

An ancient, rusty bike.

But, if there's one thing Bucky's excelled at, it's taking back control, no matter how daunting the challenge initially seems.

In one smooth motion, he's pulling the tank up and off his body with a suggestive move that'd have you dunking yourself if you weren't afraid of missing the rest of the show.

As it is, you let the heat creep up and unabashedly take him in.

The confidence. The blatant rippling of muscle. The obvious performance of stretching limbs in preparation for his swim. The metal whirring as he rotates his left arm once.

Twice.

Then a wink for good measure that finally sends you underwater before you can start giggling. There's no hiding his affect on you - and you don't really want to - you just can't give him the satisfaction of hearing that sound from you yet.

When you resurface, hands swiping away the drops clinging to your face, a knowing smirk greets you, Bucky exactly where you left him. Waiting for your attention to fully commit to the final act.

A perfect dive into the pool, your breath stalling as he effortlessly slices through the clear water towards your treading form. He emerges seconds later, almost within reach, his wet hair slicked back after barely lifting a hand to tame it.

"So much for challenging you to a swimming contest," you deadpan, feigning a sigh of disappointment. "Shoulda known you'd be good at that too."

The grin Bucky gives you is downright sinful.

And the way he breathes your name almost makes you forget that it belongs to you. "I'm sure there are plenty o' things you're better at."

Hands almost brush as he mimics your movements to keep himself afloat, the combined effort surrounding you both in a cocoon of small waves.

Playing along, you ask, "Oh yeah, like what?"

That familiar thrill rushes through Bucky, one he hadn't felt in so long before you - one he wasn't even sure he'd recognize if it happened again. Yet, here you are, your mischievous grin doing wonders for his ego.

"Bet you'd win at a staring contest." His answer is immediate. As is the flirtatious follow up, "I already seem to be having a hard time concentrating."

His lingering once over leaves nothing open for interpretation.

"Considering you just made an entire production of stripping and diving in, my eyes are definitely drifting too," you're quick to retort, much to Bucky's delight.

"Fair enough."

Wetting his lips, he takes a moment to respond, darting off to start swimming lazy circles around you, all in hopes of catching a glimpse of that coy smile you throw over your shoulder.

Basking in his own sudden burst of confidence, Bucky keeps the game going, enjoying the way you're unintentionally encouraging him to come out of his shell.

"How about this?" he asks, slowing to a stop to angle you between him and the nearby pool ladder, "The first one to touch that ladder gets to choose the restaurant."

He breathlessly counts the seconds between the 'o' shape of surprise and when understanding dawns, the excited smile gracing your gorgeous face making his heart skip several beats at once.

Then you shoot off like a light, Bucky effortlessly chasing after you as your sputtering laughter warms places he once thought would never thaw.

All goes according to plan - your fingers curling around the metal pole a split second before he's sliding in next to you, his steady hand brushing along your arm, leaving goose bumps in its wake.

It takes him a ridiculous amount of effort to resist the urge to lean in to see how you'd react to his lips on your skin instead.

Especially when you lean into his touch, your exhilarated laugh of triumph not even dampened by the obviously rigged game.

Bucky letting you win only makes it that much sweeter, your mind already conjuring up several options of where your first date could take place. And where you might end up.

"Does it have to be a restaurant?" you're asking, ignoring the clinging droplets of water on your lashes.

Having a front row seat to the mesmerizing vision leaves Bucky speechless, his vast vocabulary and the numerous languages embedded in his brain suddenly alluding him. All because you're looking at him like he's worth something.

Maybe he is.

"It can be wherever you want, sweetheart." There's no hint of jest or teasing in his tone this time, only the undeniable need to see where this could go. "I'll call in favors if I have to."

"Well that opens up all sorts of possibilities." Your impish reply comes with an exaggerated innocent smile and you push off the wall, leisure backstrokes coaxing him to come along.

"Like I said, absolutely anywhere you wanna go," he jovially promises, dutifully following in your wake, fingers itching to wrap around your ankle to pull you closer.

Bucky settles for increasing his speed, decades of honed skills now locked on every single microexpression as the distance shrinks. The twinkle in your eye, the deliberate slowing down to let him overtake you, the way your gaze keeps drifting to his mouth.

"I'll definitely take that into consideration," you say, the smoldering look you get in return not helping quiet the fantasy playing out in your head. Legs wrapped around his waist, your hands in those long, dark strands.

Heat sprawls across your chest when you imagine tugging a fistful, tilting his head back to watch his eyes darken. Bucky may not be a man of many words, but that doesn't necessarily mean he wouldn't make noises.

And oh, the noises you could elicit from this man.

"Should probably wait until it's not so hot out though," you continue, willing your heart to calm the fuck down the moment his knee gently, accidentally-on-purpose, knocks into yours. "I don't usually let a guy get me all sweaty until at least the second date."

This time his palm makes contact, the searing touch licking heat up your forearm, his accompanying laughter sending tingles of pleasure straight to your nipples.

And then, as if you're not already embarrassingly responsive enough, he has the nerve to ask, "What would it take for you to make an exception for me?"

Pink brightens his cheeks before he hastily adds, "'Cause I'd rather not have to wait for the weather to cooperate before I get to take you out."

Your foot weakly hooks around his ankle as you smother a laugh and pretend to consider his offer, then you're playfully darting away again, purposefully turning to glide past him.

You intentionally bump his thigh with your hip, fully expecting him to let you pass, continuing this impromptu game of cat and mouse.

A pleasant, exhilarated rush washes over you when he doesn't.

Bucky doesn't even think about it - one second he's enjoying the view of you swimming away, his eyes raking a glorious path down your back to the swell of your biteable ass, and the next he's tenderly pulling you back, metal fingers delicately wrapped around your calf.

There's no tension on your part, no hesitation, just a gleeful giggle that has him rethinking his entire, meticulously planned course of action.

Ask you out. Buy you flowers. Open doors. Tell you you're beautiful. And intelligent. And hilarious. And a million other praising adjectives.

Then he was going to ask to kiss you.

But you giggled when he touched you - with the same goddamn arm that people stare at like it's some uncontrolled, sentient weapon.

Not you though.

You take hold, metal warming under your touch, fingers encouraging him to explore more of you.

Far be it from him to ever deny a lady.

Slowly drifting his hand up along your forearm, thumb catching tiny droplets painting your skin, he marvels at how readily you accept him. Even the parts he usually hides.

He track the gentle rise of your chest, the miniscule movement of your body towards his touch, the steadily increasing heartrate - all telltale signs that this is right.

Wanted.

Bucky still has to ask. Needs to hear the words to silence the doubt creeping in at the edges.

"This okay?" he exhales, intense blues meeting your wide, hopeful eyes.

"More'n okay," you assure him on the next beath, your tongue peaking out to wet suddenly dry lips.

Holy shit, this man is going to be the death of you. All careful patience and obvious desire - a lethal combination that almost has you forgetting that you're technically in a public space.

Bucky watches you like you're his first sunrise after freedom, metal hand skimming over the inside of your elbow before dropping down, fingertips ghosting over the dip of your waist.

The sound that escapes your parted lips has him repeating the action, firmer this time, his attention laser focused on all the ways you're beautifully communicating for him to keep going.

Welcoming his hands as if they don't come with a long list of regrets.

"Thought about askin' you out at least a dozen times since Christmas," he confesses, his pinkie tracing the edge of your swimsuit snug against your hip.

"Got a hell of a lotta time to make up for then."

Your bold response has him leading you backwards before he can second guess himself, carefully guiding you to the closest wall in order to keep you both above water with minimal effort.

Because the things he wants to do to you are gonna take all of his focus.

The absence of Bucky's left hand is quickly overshadowed by his fingers curling around the low edge of the pool right next to your head, protectively caging you in.

He's barely touched you and warmth already pools low in your belly, thighs fighting the urge to press together in search of friction.

Instinct has you safely wrapping a leg around one of his instead, your opposite hand grabbing hold of his smooth bicep for stability, excitement thrumming through your veins.

Even as your consent sends ripples of arousal straight to Bucky's core, he doesn’t rush, needing to commit every little thing to memory.

Ensuring he'll be able to play this moment back when he's off god knows where, he takes note of the slow flutter of lashes against warm cheeks.

The inviting tease of tongue wetting lips he's dying to taste.

Your questing ankle inching up his calf to pull him millimeters closer.

That grin that makes him truly believe he gets to have this again.

And when he reaches up with his free hand, fingers dripping with saltwater, his brow slightly raised in question, he files away your answer like it's a benediction - the tiny slip of your bottom lip between teeth, a hint of smile playing at one corner of your tempting mouth.

Bucky almost forgets how to breathe at such a simple act until your enticing him with a slow nod and a full, devastating smile.

Metal whirs as he brings himself closer, his leg dangerously close to sliding home between yours. You'd greedily welcome it, your thighs instinctively parting even as you resist the urge to close the gap.

Let him decide. Let him set the pace and you'll gladly follow, throwing out encouraging signs, leaving no doubt that you want this as much as he does.

Eventually, when he's not struggling to form a coherent word, Bucky swears he'll figure out a way to thank you for it. For making him feel alive again, instead of letting him just go along for the ride.

Everything else fades away except you, open and waiting, pulling him in like a magnet until there's no choice left but to take the leap.

To let himself drown in the way your breath exhales in the scant space separating you. The steady cadence of your pulse when the back of his fingers map the apple of your cheek.

"Hope you like flowers, doll," he murmurs, legs intertwining under water, his knee innocently slotting right between your soft thighs. "'Cause you're gonna get 'em by the dozens."

You're sure you respond, freely gifting him the knowledge of your favorite kinds, it's just, Bucky's doing that thing. Warm palm cupping your jaw, long fingers splayed across your neck, his water-slicked thumb daring to be licked as he traces the edge of your bottom lip.

He's close enough that you could count the freckles dusting his cheekbones - a project you intend to cherish soon enough - but you're currently too preoccupied by how thoroughly enamored he is by you.

As if you're a purely figment of his wild imagination. Willingly allowing him to crowd you up against cold tile, knowing he'll treat you like you deserve. Despite all the rumors and whispers you've undoubtedly heard.

"Never seen anyone as beautiful as you," he vows, bringing you close enough to gently bump noses, silently imploring you to hear this isn't a line.

Bucky's usually impenetrable shield is lain at your feet, giving you access to his jagged pieces, praying they don't end up cutting you.

Because this right here is everything - the trusting tilt of your head, your shallow breaths mingling with his, the arch of your spine speaking words long foreign to him - and he'll be damned if he ever risks losing it.

"Gonna kiss you now."

Your free hand finally makes contact with his waist and his sharp exhale throws fuel on the flames of arousal already threatening to consume you.

Somehow, you still manage to fill the drawn out seconds he's giving you to change your mind with an emphatic, "I sure hope so."

You might fucking combust if he doesn't.

It begins tentative. Soft lips and gentle pressure, testing the palpable chemistry, the teasing hint of you lingering on Bucky's lips when he pauses briefly to check in.

The sight of you already enraptured - parted lips and heavy eyelids as you chase after him - has him diving back in, his thumb under your chin coaxing you to that perfect angle in order to deepen the next kiss.

Heat builds quickly, tongues dancing to a tune old as time, muscle memory carrying him along after all these years. A groan reverberates between you before Bucky can swallow it down, your answering moan hitching when his teeth nip at your bottom lip.

The apologetic caress of his tongue leaves you breathless, an exhale of a giggle getting lost when his mouth covers yours again, desperate to drink you in.

It's impossible to know who moves first, your body seeking more contact the instant he's pushing you flush against the chilled pool wall. All that matters is that he's here, warm and solid, kissing you as if his next breath depends on it.

It may as well be, because Bucky can't get enough of you.

The taste of you exploding on his tongue, decades of celibacy narrowing down to this single moment in time, rewiring his brain.

Synapses fire off in time with your racing pulse, the frightening realization settling in that the universe aligned to lead him straight to you.

All the shit he's endured won't ever be erased, and the anger may never completely fade, but it definitely feels lighter in your arms. Like maybe he gets a chance at a happily ever after.

"Already addicted to you, sweetheart," Bucky confesses, kissing a worshipful path along your jaw, his heavy breath exhaling across your heated skin, sending shivers down your spine.

The noises you planned to draw out of him pour out of you unbidden when his fingers grip your hair, encouraging you to bare more of yourself to him.

"Tell me if I cross a line," he murmurs against your neck, his words getting lost in the sensations suddenly flooding you, his thigh fitting perfectly between yours, providing you with just a hint of pressure.

His mouth explores every inch of exposed skin, your body already aching to grind against him, arousal building with every sure flick of tongue and bold nip of teeth.

Your hands cling to him, nails scraping the nape of his neck, fingers caressing metal, proving over and over you want this. Want him.

"Might get caught," you breathe, grip tightening to keep him right where he belongs.

"Door's locked," Bucky grunts, answering your raised brow with a sheepish smile. "Thought I'd be alone," he reminds you, lips hovering just out of reach.

"Oh, I'm not complaining."

His eyes track up to the ceiling, hidden security cameras no doubt steadily blinking away. "Good," he smirks, once again meeting your adoring gaze. "I'll also wipe the security tapes."

"Make you sure you send me a copy first."

"Jesus Christ, doll," he laughs, pulling you in for a passionate kiss before you can throw him for yet another thrilling loop.

Bucky's not sure he's gonna survive long at this rate, but damned if he's not ready to go on the ride of his fucking life with you.

My first fic after a very long, unexpected hiatus - I hope you enjoyed it 🩶

Please let me know if you'd like more of these two!

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Making a note to share more of these two before the summer is over! 🤭

Making Waves

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus-size/curvy female reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: (3.8k) During a heat wave, you take advantage of one of your favorite perks of working for the Avengers - access to their private pool - and spend some quality time with Bucky.

Background: I haven't been able to see Thunderbolts* yet (it's been torture!), so not necessarily a tower fic, but this could become part of a series! I had a lot of fun writing these two. 🩶

Warnings: Established relationship (acquaintances). Confident reader. A little awkward/charming Bucky. Vague/brief alluding to Bucky's past. Fluff. Flirting. Sexual thoughts. Kissing/making out. Implied smut.

The heat dome suffocating the city has everyone on edge, tempers flaring over the slightest inconvenience.

Even with the high-tech building's fancy cooling system, the strain is palpable, portable fans handed out right along with the company's time-off policy.

Several people took the week off in advance, others called out sick, but you? You decided to suck it up and power through, saving your PTO for that long-awaited vacation you'll probably never take.

At least you have enough sense to make use one of your favorite perks of working for the Avengers - free access to their private, indoor, temperature-controlled pool.

You're one of the limited non-Avenger employees who have the privilege, and one of the few who actually take advantage of it.

Half-expecting to find the place occupied due to the lingering heat, you're pleasantly surprised to find the luxurious natatorium empty - the cool, placid saltwater inviting you in like always.

While most people are already well into their commutes home - no doubt on their way to fight with their a/c in a futile attempt to stave off the inevitable sweatiness - you get to blissfully float for the foreseeable future.

---

Bucky's restless. Has been for days.

He blames the relentless heat. The endless patrols. The incessant 'check-ins.'

Some days it feels like he's still following the same old song and dance. Minus the obvious mind control and innocent bloodshed.

And, at least now, he can live with himself in between the chaos.

Plus, there's better scenery.

The pool was supposed to be empty, according to his precursory check fifteen minutes ago, yet here you are, currently unaware of your newly rapt audience of one.

Hidden in the shadows like some creep, unable to tear his gaze away from your swimsuit digging into your soft, plush hips, Bucky watches you for longer than he'll ever admit.

It's far from the first time you've caught his attention. Even recently, he's managed to carry on a few more conversations with you, your infectious laughter haunting him for days after.

This, by far, has to be of his favorite moments though - right after that office party they held in celebration of your promotion. The confidence you radiated that day had the most filthiest thoughts swimming through his head.

Some of which are currently taking laps behind his eyes, even as he tracks a tiny droplet slipping over the swell of your belly before it's absorbed by the gentle waves lapping at your skin.

Bucky imagines tracing the path with his tongue and thanks the gods for his enhanced senses, blood rushing south when your tiny sighs of contentment reach his ears.

A new forbidden soundtrack to go along with the fantasy reels aching to come to life.

He should probably walk away.

Leave you in peace.

Allow you the privacy you're clearly seeking. You might even take one look at him and come up with an excuse to be elsewhere anyway.

Not that you ever have, it's just a lot people still do, even after all this time.

Except.

Except, he's supposed to be trying. Trying to exist like an actual human being, instead of a relic that no one knows quite how to handle.

Before Bucky can overthink it, his weirdly unsteady feet are carrying him forward, soles scuffing on the tiled limestone as he makes his way to you.

Your ever-vigilant mind clocks him before he even has a chance to interrupt the comfortable silence, your heart fluttering like it always does in his vicinity.

Ignoring your initial assumption that you're not supposed to be here right now - or that he came to swim strictly in solitude - you settle for treading water and offer a simple, smiling, "Hi."

One side of Bucky's mouth ticks upward, eyes crinkling with silent appreciation. "Hi." You're not retreating.

"Hi," you repeat with an undignified laugh, attempting to ground yourself in the cool water flowing around your fingers. And forcing your eyes to remain on his handsome features, instead of lingering on the tantalizing display of taut skin and defined muscle.

It should be a crime how delicious he looks in such simple attire - white tank top and black swim trunks. Almost as good as he looked in his latest uniform the other day. The unexpected sight when he passed you in the hall nearly had you choking on your own saliva.

And now you're wondering if Bucky's into choking-

Your possibly-most-definitely-inappropriate thoughts are interrupted by his deliberate repetition of, "Hi." And that butterfly-inducing smirk that should definitely be classified as a lethal weapon. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Yeah?" Your raised eyebrow has his grin widening and you dare to swim a little closer, using the opportunity to take another appreciative look at his previously unseen muscular legs, which you don't even try to hide this time.

"Mmm," Bucky acknowledges with a tilt of his head, his own fleeting glance at the teasing glimpse of your cleavage raising your temperature by at least ten degrees. So much for cooling off.

"Expected the place to be deserted," he continues. "Gotta say, this is much better."

Your responding laugh relieves the hint of tension trying to creep up his neck.

Apparently, flirting is like riding a bike.

"You waitin' for an invitation?" you tease after a moment of extended silence, another laugh bubbling up at the color blooming across his cheeks.

An ancient, rusty bike.

But, if there's one thing Bucky's excelled at, it's taking back control, no matter how daunting the challenge initially seems.

In one smooth motion, he's pulling the tank up and off his body with a suggestive move that'd have you dunking yourself if you weren't afraid of missing the rest of the show.

As it is, you let the heat creep up and unabashedly take him in.

The confidence. The blatant rippling of muscle. The obvious performance of stretching limbs in preparation for his swim. The metal whirring as he rotates his left arm once.

Twice.

Then a wink for good measure that finally sends you underwater before you can start giggling. There's no hiding his affect on you - and you don't really want to - you just can't give him the satisfaction of hearing that sound from you yet.

When you resurface, hands swiping away the drops clinging to your face, a knowing smirk greets you, Bucky exactly where you left him. Waiting for your attention to fully commit to the final act.

A perfect dive into the pool, your breath stalling as he effortlessly slices through the clear water towards your treading form. He emerges seconds later, almost within reach, his wet hair slicked back after barely lifting a hand to tame it.

"So much for challenging you to a swimming contest," you deadpan, feigning a sigh of disappointment. "Shoulda known you'd be good at that too."

The grin Bucky gives you is downright sinful.

And the way he breathes your name almost makes you forget that it belongs to you. "I'm sure there are plenty o' things you're better at."

Hands almost brush as he mimics your movements to keep himself afloat, the combined effort surrounding you both in a cocoon of small waves.

Playing along, you ask, "Oh yeah, like what?"

That familiar thrill rushes through Bucky, one he hadn't felt in so long before you - one he wasn't even sure he'd recognize if it happened again. Yet, here you are, your mischievous grin doing wonders for his ego.

"Bet you'd win at a staring contest." His answer is immediate. As is the flirtatious follow up, "I already seem to be having a hard time concentrating."

His lingering once over leaves nothing open for interpretation.

"Considering you just made an entire production of stripping and diving in, my eyes are definitely drifting too," you're quick to retort, much to Bucky's delight.

"Fair enough."

Wetting his lips, he takes a moment to respond, darting off to start swimming lazy circles around you, all in hopes of catching a glimpse of that coy smile you throw over your shoulder.

Basking in his own sudden burst of confidence, Bucky keeps the game going, enjoying the way you're unintentionally encouraging him to come out of his shell.

"How about this?" he asks, slowing to a stop to angle you between him and the nearby pool ladder, "The first one to touch that ladder gets to choose the restaurant."

He breathlessly counts the seconds between the 'o' shape of surprise and when understanding dawns, the excited smile gracing your gorgeous face making his heart skip several beats at once.

Then you shoot off like a light, Bucky effortlessly chasing after you as your sputtering laughter warms places he once thought would never thaw.

All goes according to plan - your fingers curling around the metal pole a split second before he's sliding in next to you, his steady hand brushing along your arm, leaving goose bumps in its wake.

It takes him a ridiculous amount of effort to resist the urge to lean in to see how you'd react to his lips on your skin instead.

Especially when you lean into his touch, your exhilarated laugh of triumph not even dampened by the obviously rigged game.

Bucky letting you win only makes it that much sweeter, your mind already conjuring up several options of where your first date could take place. And where you might end up.

"Does it have to be a restaurant?" you're asking, ignoring the clinging droplets of water on your lashes.

Having a front row seat to the mesmerizing vision leaves Bucky speechless, his vast vocabulary and the numerous languages embedded in his brain suddenly alluding him. All because you're looking at him like he's worth something.

Maybe he is.

"It can be wherever you want, sweetheart." There's no hint of jest or teasing in his tone this time, only the undeniable need to see where this could go. "I'll call in favors if I have to."

"Well that opens up all sorts of possibilities." Your impish reply comes with an exaggerated innocent smile and you push off the wall, leisure backstrokes coaxing him to come along.

"Like I said, absolutely anywhere you wanna go," he jovially promises, dutifully following in your wake, fingers itching to wrap around your ankle to pull you closer.

Bucky settles for increasing his speed, decades of honed skills now locked on every single microexpression as the distance shrinks. The twinkle in your eye, the deliberate slowing down to let him overtake you, the way your gaze keeps drifting to his mouth.

"I'll definitely take that into consideration," you say, the smoldering look you get in return not helping quiet the fantasy playing out in your head. Legs wrapped around his waist, your hands in those long, dark strands.

Heat sprawls across your chest when you imagine tugging a fistful, tilting his head back to watch his eyes darken. Bucky may not be a man of many words, but that doesn't necessarily mean he wouldn't make noises.

And oh, the noises you could elicit from this man.

"Should probably wait until it's not so hot out though," you continue, willing your heart to calm the fuck down the moment his knee gently, accidentally-on-purpose, knocks into yours. "I don't usually let a guy get me all sweaty until at least the second date."

This time his palm makes contact, the searing touch licking heat up your forearm, his accompanying laughter sending tingles of pleasure straight to your nipples.

And then, as if you're not already embarrassingly responsive enough, he has the nerve to ask, "What would it take for you to make an exception for me?"

Pink brightens his cheeks before he hastily adds, "'Cause I'd rather not have to wait for the weather to cooperate before I get to take you out."

Your foot weakly hooks around his ankle as you smother a laugh and pretend to consider his offer, then you're playfully darting away again, purposefully turning to glide past him.

You intentionally bump his thigh with your hip, fully expecting him to let you pass, continuing this impromptu game of cat and mouse.

A pleasant, exhilarated rush washes over you when he doesn't.

Bucky doesn't even think about it - one second he's enjoying the view of you swimming away, his eyes raking a glorious path down your back to the swell of your biteable ass, and the next he's tenderly pulling you back, metal fingers delicately wrapped around your calf.

There's no tension on your part, no hesitation, just a gleeful giggle that has him rethinking his entire, meticulously planned course of action.

Ask you out. Buy you flowers. Open doors. Tell you you're beautiful. And intelligent. And hilarious. And a million other praising adjectives.

Then he was going to ask to kiss you.

But you giggled when he touched you - with the same goddamn arm that people stare at like it's some uncontrolled, sentient weapon.

Not you though.

You take hold, metal warming under your touch, fingers encouraging him to explore more of you.

Far be it from him to ever deny a lady.

Slowly drifting his hand up along your forearm, thumb catching tiny droplets painting your skin, he marvels at how readily you accept him. Even the parts he usually hides.

He track the gentle rise of your chest, the miniscule movement of your body towards his touch, the steadily increasing heartrate - all telltale signs that this is right.

Wanted.

Bucky still has to ask. Needs to hear the words to silence the doubt creeping in at the edges.

"This okay?" he exhales, intense blues meeting your wide, hopeful eyes.

"More'n okay," you assure him on the next beath, your tongue peaking out to wet suddenly dry lips.

Holy shit, this man is going to be the death of you. All careful patience and obvious desire - a lethal combination that almost has you forgetting that you're technically in a public space.

Bucky watches you like you're his first sunrise after freedom, metal hand skimming over the inside of your elbow before dropping down, fingertips ghosting over the dip of your waist.

The sound that escapes your parted lips has him repeating the action, firmer this time, his attention laser focused on all the ways you're beautifully communicating for him to keep going.

Welcoming his hands as if they don't come with a long list of regrets.

"Thought about askin' you out at least a dozen times since Christmas," he confesses, his pinkie tracing the edge of your swimsuit snug against your hip.

"Got a hell of a lotta time to make up for then."

Your bold response has him leading you backwards before he can second guess himself, carefully guiding you to the closest wall in order to keep you both above water with minimal effort.

Because the things he wants to do to you are gonna take all of his focus.

The absence of Bucky's left hand is quickly overshadowed by his fingers curling around the low edge of the pool right next to your head, protectively caging you in.

He's barely touched you and warmth already pools low in your belly, thighs fighting the urge to press together in search of friction.

Instinct has you safely wrapping a leg around one of his instead, your opposite hand grabbing hold of his smooth bicep for stability, excitement thrumming through your veins.

Even as your consent sends ripples of arousal straight to Bucky's core, he doesn’t rush, needing to commit every little thing to memory.

Ensuring he'll be able to play this moment back when he's off god knows where, he takes note of the slow flutter of lashes against warm cheeks.

The inviting tease of tongue wetting lips he's dying to taste.

Your questing ankle inching up his calf to pull him millimeters closer.

That grin that makes him truly believe he gets to have this again.

And when he reaches up with his free hand, fingers dripping with saltwater, his brow slightly raised in question, he files away your answer like it's a benediction - the tiny slip of your bottom lip between teeth, a hint of smile playing at one corner of your tempting mouth.

Bucky almost forgets how to breathe at such a simple act until your enticing him with a slow nod and a full, devastating smile.

Metal whirs as he brings himself closer, his leg dangerously close to sliding home between yours. You'd greedily welcome it, your thighs instinctively parting even as you resist the urge to close the gap.

Let him decide. Let him set the pace and you'll gladly follow, throwing out encouraging signs, leaving no doubt that you want this as much as he does.

Eventually, when he's not struggling to form a coherent word, Bucky swears he'll figure out a way to thank you for it. For making him feel alive again, instead of letting him just go along for the ride.

Everything else fades away except you, open and waiting, pulling him in like a magnet until there's no choice left but to take the leap.

To let himself drown in the way your breath exhales in the scant space separating you. The steady cadence of your pulse when the back of his fingers map the apple of your cheek.

"Hope you like flowers, doll," he murmurs, legs intertwining under water, his knee innocently slotting right between your soft thighs. "'Cause you're gonna get 'em by the dozens."

You're sure you respond, freely gifting him the knowledge of your favorite kinds, it's just, Bucky's doing that thing. Warm palm cupping your jaw, long fingers splayed across your neck, his water-slicked thumb daring to be licked as he traces the edge of your bottom lip.

He's close enough that you could count the freckles dusting his cheekbones - a project you intend to cherish soon enough - but you're currently too preoccupied by how thoroughly enamored he is by you.

As if you're a purely figment of his wild imagination. Willingly allowing him to crowd you up against cold tile, knowing he'll treat you like you deserve. Despite all the rumors and whispers you've undoubtedly heard.

"Never seen anyone as beautiful as you," he vows, bringing you close enough to gently bump noses, silently imploring you to hear this isn't a line.

Bucky's usually impenetrable shield is lain at your feet, giving you access to his jagged pieces, praying they don't end up cutting you.

Because this right here is everything - the trusting tilt of your head, your shallow breaths mingling with his, the arch of your spine speaking words long foreign to him - and he'll be damned if he ever risks losing it.

"Gonna kiss you now."

Your free hand finally makes contact with his waist and his sharp exhale throws fuel on the flames of arousal already threatening to consume you.

Somehow, you still manage to fill the drawn out seconds he's giving you to change your mind with an emphatic, "I sure hope so."

You might fucking combust if he doesn't.

It begins tentative. Soft lips and gentle pressure, testing the palpable chemistry, the teasing hint of you lingering on Bucky's lips when he pauses briefly to check in.

The sight of you already enraptured - parted lips and heavy eyelids as you chase after him - has him diving back in, his thumb under your chin coaxing you to that perfect angle in order to deepen the next kiss.

Heat builds quickly, tongues dancing to a tune old as time, muscle memory carrying him along after all these years. A groan reverberates between you before Bucky can swallow it down, your answering moan hitching when his teeth nip at your bottom lip.

The apologetic caress of his tongue leaves you breathless, an exhale of a giggle getting lost when his mouth covers yours again, desperate to drink you in.

It's impossible to know who moves first, your body seeking more contact the instant he's pushing you flush against the chilled pool wall. All that matters is that he's here, warm and solid, kissing you as if his next breath depends on it.

It may as well be, because Bucky can't get enough of you.

The taste of you exploding on his tongue, decades of celibacy narrowing down to this single moment in time, rewiring his brain.

Synapses fire off in time with your racing pulse, the frightening realization settling in that the universe aligned to lead him straight to you.

All the shit he's endured won't ever be erased, and the anger may never completely fade, but it definitely feels lighter in your arms. Like maybe he gets a chance at a happily ever after.

"Already addicted to you, sweetheart," Bucky confesses, kissing a worshipful path along your jaw, his heavy breath exhaling across your heated skin, sending shivers down your spine.

The noises you planned to draw out of him pour out of you unbidden when his fingers grip your hair, encouraging you to bare more of yourself to him.

"Tell me if I cross a line," he murmurs against your neck, his words getting lost in the sensations suddenly flooding you, his thigh fitting perfectly between yours, providing you with just a hint of pressure.

His mouth explores every inch of exposed skin, your body already aching to grind against him, arousal building with every sure flick of tongue and bold nip of teeth.

Your hands cling to him, nails scraping the nape of his neck, fingers caressing metal, proving over and over you want this. Want him.

"Might get caught," you breathe, grip tightening to keep him right where he belongs.

"Door's locked," Bucky grunts, answering your raised brow with a sheepish smile. "Thought I'd be alone," he reminds you, lips hovering just out of reach.

"Oh, I'm not complaining."

His eyes track up to the ceiling, hidden security cameras no doubt steadily blinking away. "Good," he smirks, once again meeting your adoring gaze. "I'll also wipe the security tapes."

"Make you sure you send me a copy first."

"Jesus Christ, doll," he laughs, pulling you in for a passionate kiss before you can throw him for yet another thrilling loop.

Bucky's not sure he's gonna survive long at this rate, but damned if he's not ready to go on the ride of his fucking life with you.

My first fic after a very long, unexpected hiatus - I hope you enjoyed it 🩶

Please let me know if you'd like more of these two!

Banners by @cafekitsune

Main Masterlist

About Me

[drabblesandsnippets]

Making Waves

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus-size/curvy female reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: (3.8k) During a heat wave, you take advantage of one of your favorite perks of working for the Avengers - access to their private pool - and spend some quality time with Bucky.

Background: I haven't been able to see Thunderbolts* yet (it's been torture!), so not necessarily a tower fic, but this could become part of a series! I had a lot of fun writing these two. 🩶

Warnings: Established relationship (acquaintances). Confident reader. A little awkward/charming Bucky. Vague/brief alluding to Bucky's past. Fluff. Flirting. Sexual thoughts. Kissing/making out. Implied smut.

The heat dome suffocating the city has everyone on edge, tempers flaring over the slightest inconvenience.

Even with the high-tech building's fancy cooling system, the strain is palpable, portable fans handed out right along with the company's time-off policy.

Several people took the week off in advance, others called out sick, but you? You decided to suck it up and power through, saving your PTO for that long-awaited vacation you'll probably never take.

At least you have enough sense to make use one of your favorite perks of working for the Avengers - free access to their private, indoor, temperature-controlled pool.

You're one of the limited non-Avenger employees who have the privilege, and one of the few who actually take advantage of it.

Half-expecting to find the place occupied due to the lingering heat, you're pleasantly surprised to find the luxurious natatorium empty - the cool, placid saltwater inviting you in like always.

While most people are already well into their commutes home - no doubt on their way to fight with their a/c in a futile attempt to stave off the inevitable sweatiness - you get to blissfully float for the foreseeable future.

---

Bucky's restless. Has been for days.

He blames the relentless heat. The endless patrols. The incessant 'check-ins.'

Some days it feels like he's still following the same old song and dance. Minus the obvious mind control and innocent bloodshed.

And, at least now, he can live with himself in between the chaos.

Plus, there's better scenery.

The pool was supposed to be empty, according to his precursory check fifteen minutes ago, yet here you are, currently unaware of your newly rapt audience of one.

Hidden in the shadows like some creep, unable to tear his gaze away from your swimsuit digging into your soft, plush hips, Bucky watches you for longer than he'll ever admit.

It's far from the first time you've caught his attention. Even recently, he's managed to carry on a few more conversations with you, your infectious laughter haunting him for days after.

This, by far, has to be of his favorite moments though - right after that office party they held in celebration of your promotion. The confidence you radiated that day had the most filthiest thoughts swimming through his head.

Some of which are currently taking laps behind his eyes, even as he tracks a tiny droplet slipping over the swell of your belly before it's absorbed by the gentle waves lapping at your skin.

Bucky imagines tracing the path with his tongue and thanks the gods for his enhanced senses, blood rushing south when your tiny sighs of contentment reach his ears.

A new forbidden soundtrack to go along with the fantasy reels aching to come to life.

He should probably walk away.

Leave you in peace.

Allow you the privacy you're clearly seeking. You might even take one look at him and come up with an excuse to be elsewhere anyway.

Not that you ever have, it's just a lot people still do, even after all this time.

Except.

Except, he's supposed to be trying. Trying to exist like an actual human being, instead of a relic that no one knows quite how to handle.

Before Bucky can overthink it, his weirdly unsteady feet are carrying him forward, soles scuffing on the tiled limestone as he makes his way to you.

Your ever-vigilant mind clocks him before he even has a chance to interrupt the comfortable silence, your heart fluttering like it always does in his vicinity.

Ignoring your initial assumption that you're not supposed to be here right now - or that he came to swim strictly in solitude - you settle for treading water and offer a simple, smiling, "Hi."

One side of Bucky's mouth ticks upward, eyes crinkling with silent appreciation. "Hi." You're not retreating.

"Hi," you repeat with an undignified laugh, attempting to ground yourself in the cool water flowing around your fingers. And forcing your eyes to remain on his handsome features, instead of lingering on the tantalizing display of taut skin and defined muscle.

It should be a crime how delicious he looks in such simple attire - white tank top and black swim trunks. Almost as good as he looked in his latest uniform the other day. The unexpected sight when he passed you in the hall nearly had you choking on your own saliva.

And now you're wondering if Bucky's into choking-

Your possibly-most-definitely-inappropriate thoughts are interrupted by his deliberate repetition of, "Hi." And that butterfly-inducing smirk that should definitely be classified as a lethal weapon. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Yeah?" Your raised eyebrow has his grin widening and you dare to swim a little closer, using the opportunity to take another appreciative look at his previously unseen muscular legs, which you don't even try to hide this time.

"Mmm," Bucky acknowledges with a tilt of his head, his own fleeting glance at the teasing glimpse of your cleavage raising your temperature by at least ten degrees. So much for cooling off.

"Expected the place to be deserted," he continues. "Gotta say, this is much better."

Your responding laugh relieves the hint of tension trying to creep up his neck.

Apparently, flirting is like riding a bike.

"You waitin' for an invitation?" you tease after a moment of extended silence, another laugh bubbling up at the color blooming across his cheeks.

An ancient, rusty bike.

But, if there's one thing Bucky's excelled at, it's taking back control, no matter how daunting the challenge initially seems.

In one smooth motion, he's pulling the tank up and off his body with a suggestive move that'd have you dunking yourself if you weren't afraid of missing the rest of the show.

As it is, you let the heat creep up and unabashedly take him in.

The confidence. The blatant rippling of muscle. The obvious performance of stretching limbs in preparation for his swim. The metal whirring as he rotates his left arm once.

Twice.

Then a wink for good measure that finally sends you underwater before you can start giggling. There's no hiding his affect on you - and you don't really want to - you just can't give him the satisfaction of hearing that sound from you yet.

When you resurface, hands swiping away the drops clinging to your face, a knowing smirk greets you, Bucky exactly where you left him. Waiting for your attention to fully commit to the final act.

A perfect dive into the pool, your breath stalling as he effortlessly slices through the clear water towards your treading form. He emerges seconds later, almost within reach, his wet hair slicked back after barely lifting a hand to tame it.

"So much for challenging you to a swimming contest," you deadpan, feigning a sigh of disappointment. "Shoulda known you'd be good at that too."

The grin Bucky gives you is downright sinful.

And the way he breathes your name almost makes you forget that it belongs to you. "I'm sure there are plenty o' things you're better at."

Hands almost brush as he mimics your movements to keep himself afloat, the combined effort surrounding you both in a cocoon of small waves.

Playing along, you ask, "Oh yeah, like what?"

That familiar thrill rushes through Bucky, one he hadn't felt in so long before you - one he wasn't even sure he'd recognize if it happened again. Yet, here you are, your mischievous grin doing wonders for his ego.

"Bet you'd win at a staring contest." His answer is immediate. As is the flirtatious follow up, "I already seem to be having a hard time concentrating."

His lingering once over leaves nothing open for interpretation.

"Considering you just made an entire production of stripping and diving in, my eyes are definitely drifting too," you're quick to retort, much to Bucky's delight.

"Fair enough."

Wetting his lips, he takes a moment to respond, darting off to start swimming lazy circles around you, all in hopes of catching a glimpse of that coy smile you throw over your shoulder.

Basking in his own sudden burst of confidence, Bucky keeps the game going, enjoying the way you're unintentionally encouraging him to come out of his shell.

"How about this?" he asks, slowing to a stop to angle you between him and the nearby pool ladder, "The first one to touch that ladder gets to choose the restaurant."

He breathlessly counts the seconds between the 'o' shape of surprise and when understanding dawns, the excited smile gracing your gorgeous face making his heart skip several beats at once.

Then you shoot off like a light, Bucky effortlessly chasing after you as your sputtering laughter warms places he once thought would never thaw.

All goes according to plan - your fingers curling around the metal pole a split second before he's sliding in next to you, his steady hand brushing along your arm, leaving goose bumps in its wake.

It takes him a ridiculous amount of effort to resist the urge to lean in to see how you'd react to his lips on your skin instead.

Especially when you lean into his touch, your exhilarated laugh of triumph not even dampened by the obviously rigged game.

Bucky letting you win only makes it that much sweeter, your mind already conjuring up several options of where your first date could take place. And where you might end up.

"Does it have to be a restaurant?" you're asking, ignoring the clinging droplets of water on your lashes.

Having a front row seat to the mesmerizing vision leaves Bucky speechless, his vast vocabulary and the numerous languages embedded in his brain suddenly alluding him. All because you're looking at him like he's worth something.

Maybe he is.

"It can be wherever you want, sweetheart." There's no hint of jest or teasing in his tone this time, only the undeniable need to see where this could go. "I'll call in favors if I have to."

"Well that opens up all sorts of possibilities." Your impish reply comes with an exaggerated innocent smile and you push off the wall, leisure backstrokes coaxing him to come along.

"Like I said, absolutely anywhere you wanna go," he jovially promises, dutifully following in your wake, fingers itching to wrap around your ankle to pull you closer.

Bucky settles for increasing his speed, decades of honed skills now locked on every single microexpression as the distance shrinks. The twinkle in your eye, the deliberate slowing down to let him overtake you, the way your gaze keeps drifting to his mouth.

"I'll definitely take that into consideration," you say, the smoldering look you get in return not helping quiet the fantasy playing out in your head. Legs wrapped around his waist, your hands in those long, dark strands.

Heat sprawls across your chest when you imagine tugging a fistful, tilting his head back to watch his eyes darken. Bucky may not be a man of many words, but that doesn't necessarily mean he wouldn't make noises.

And oh, the noises you could elicit from this man.

"Should probably wait until it's not so hot out though," you continue, willing your heart to calm the fuck down the moment his knee gently, accidentally-on-purpose, knocks into yours. "I don't usually let a guy get me all sweaty until at least the second date."

This time his palm makes contact, the searing touch licking heat up your forearm, his accompanying laughter sending tingles of pleasure straight to your nipples.

And then, as if you're not already embarrassingly responsive enough, he has the nerve to ask, "What would it take for you to make an exception for me?"

Pink brightens his cheeks before he hastily adds, "'Cause I'd rather not have to wait for the weather to cooperate before I get to take you out."

Your foot weakly hooks around his ankle as you smother a laugh and pretend to consider his offer, then you're playfully darting away again, purposefully turning to glide past him.

You intentionally bump his thigh with your hip, fully expecting him to let you pass, continuing this impromptu game of cat and mouse.

A pleasant, exhilarated rush washes over you when he doesn't.

Bucky doesn't even think about it - one second he's enjoying the view of you swimming away, his eyes raking a glorious path down your back to the swell of your biteable ass, and the next he's tenderly pulling you back, metal fingers delicately wrapped around your calf.

There's no tension on your part, no hesitation, just a gleeful giggle that has him rethinking his entire, meticulously planned course of action.

Ask you out. Buy you flowers. Open doors. Tell you you're beautiful. And intelligent. And hilarious. And a million other praising adjectives.

Then he was going to ask to kiss you.

But you giggled when he touched you - with the same goddamn arm that people stare at like it's some uncontrolled, sentient weapon.

Not you though.

You take hold, metal warming under your touch, fingers encouraging him to explore more of you.

Far be it from him to ever deny a lady.

Slowly drifting his hand up along your forearm, thumb catching tiny droplets painting your skin, he marvels at how readily you accept him. Even the parts he usually hides.

He track the gentle rise of your chest, the miniscule movement of your body towards his touch, the steadily increasing heartrate - all telltale signs that this is right.

Wanted.

Bucky still has to ask. Needs to hear the words to silence the doubt creeping in at the edges.

"This okay?" he exhales, intense blues meeting your wide, hopeful eyes.

"More'n okay," you assure him on the next beath, your tongue peaking out to wet suddenly dry lips.

Holy shit, this man is going to be the death of you. All careful patience and obvious desire - a lethal combination that almost has you forgetting that you're technically in a public space.

Bucky watches you like you're his first sunrise after freedom, metal hand skimming over the inside of your elbow before dropping down, fingertips ghosting over the dip of your waist.

The sound that escapes your parted lips has him repeating the action, firmer this time, his attention laser focused on all the ways you're beautifully communicating for him to keep going.

Welcoming his hands as if they don't come with a long list of regrets.

"Thought about askin' you out at least a dozen times since Christmas," he confesses, his pinkie tracing the edge of your swimsuit snug against your hip.

"Got a hell of a lotta time to make up for then."

Your bold response has him leading you backwards before he can second guess himself, carefully guiding you to the closest wall in order to keep you both above water with minimal effort.

Because the things he wants to do to you are gonna take all of his focus.

The absence of Bucky's left hand is quickly overshadowed by his fingers curling around the low edge of the pool right next to your head, protectively caging you in.

He's barely touched you and warmth already pools low in your belly, thighs fighting the urge to press together in search of friction.

Instinct has you safely wrapping a leg around one of his instead, your opposite hand grabbing hold of his smooth bicep for stability, excitement thrumming through your veins.

Even as your consent sends ripples of arousal straight to Bucky's core, he doesn’t rush, needing to commit every little thing to memory.

Ensuring he'll be able to play this moment back when he's off god knows where, he takes note of the slow flutter of lashes against warm cheeks.

The inviting tease of tongue wetting lips he's dying to taste.

Your questing ankle inching up his calf to pull him millimeters closer.

That grin that makes him truly believe he gets to have this again.

And when he reaches up with his free hand, fingers dripping with saltwater, his brow slightly raised in question, he files away your answer like it's a benediction - the tiny slip of your bottom lip between teeth, a hint of smile playing at one corner of your tempting mouth.

Bucky almost forgets how to breathe at such a simple act until your enticing him with a slow nod and a full, devastating smile.

Metal whirs as he brings himself closer, his leg dangerously close to sliding home between yours. You'd greedily welcome it, your thighs instinctively parting even as you resist the urge to close the gap.

Let him decide. Let him set the pace and you'll gladly follow, throwing out encouraging signs, leaving no doubt that you want this as much as he does.

Eventually, when he's not struggling to form a coherent word, Bucky swears he'll figure out a way to thank you for it. For making him feel alive again, instead of letting him just go along for the ride.

Everything else fades away except you, open and waiting, pulling him in like a magnet until there's no choice left but to take the leap.

To let himself drown in the way your breath exhales in the scant space separating you. The steady cadence of your pulse when the back of his fingers map the apple of your cheek.

"Hope you like flowers, doll," he murmurs, legs intertwining under water, his knee innocently slotting right between your soft thighs. "'Cause you're gonna get 'em by the dozens."

You're sure you respond, freely gifting him the knowledge of your favorite kinds, it's just, Bucky's doing that thing. Warm palm cupping your jaw, long fingers splayed across your neck, his water-slicked thumb daring to be licked as he traces the edge of your bottom lip.

He's close enough that you could count the freckles dusting his cheekbones - a project you intend to cherish soon enough - but you're currently too preoccupied by how thoroughly enamored he is by you.

As if you're a purely figment of his wild imagination. Willingly allowing him to crowd you up against cold tile, knowing he'll treat you like you deserve. Despite all the rumors and whispers you've undoubtedly heard.

"Never seen anyone as beautiful as you," he vows, bringing you close enough to gently bump noses, silently imploring you to hear this isn't a line.

Bucky's usually impenetrable shield is lain at your feet, giving you access to his jagged pieces, praying they don't end up cutting you.

Because this right here is everything - the trusting tilt of your head, your shallow breaths mingling with his, the arch of your spine speaking words long foreign to him - and he'll be damned if he ever risks losing it.

"Gonna kiss you now."

Your free hand finally makes contact with his waist and his sharp exhale throws fuel on the flames of arousal already threatening to consume you.

Somehow, you still manage to fill the drawn out seconds he's giving you to change your mind with an emphatic, "I sure hope so."

You might fucking combust if he doesn't.

It begins tentative. Soft lips and gentle pressure, testing the palpable chemistry, the teasing hint of you lingering on Bucky's lips when he pauses briefly to check in.

The sight of you already enraptured - parted lips and heavy eyelids as you chase after him - has him diving back in, his thumb under your chin coaxing you to that perfect angle in order to deepen the next kiss.

Heat builds quickly, tongues dancing to a tune old as time, muscle memory carrying him along after all these years. A groan reverberates between you before Bucky can swallow it down, your answering moan hitching when his teeth nip at your bottom lip.

The apologetic caress of his tongue leaves you breathless, an exhale of a giggle getting lost when his mouth covers yours again, desperate to drink you in.

It's impossible to know who moves first, your body seeking more contact the instant he's pushing you flush against the chilled pool wall. All that matters is that he's here, warm and solid, kissing you as if his next breath depends on it.

It may as well be, because Bucky can't get enough of you.

The taste of you exploding on his tongue, decades of celibacy narrowing down to this single moment in time, rewiring his brain.

Synapses fire off in time with your racing pulse, the frightening realization settling in that the universe aligned to lead him straight to you.

All the shit he's endured won't ever be erased, and the anger may never completely fade, but it definitely feels lighter in your arms. Like maybe he gets a chance at a happily ever after.

"Already addicted to you, sweetheart," Bucky confesses, kissing a worshipful path along your jaw, his heavy breath exhaling across your heated skin, sending shivers down your spine.

The noises you planned to draw out of him pour out of you unbidden when his fingers grip your hair, encouraging you to bare more of yourself to him.

"Tell me if I cross a line," he murmurs against your neck, his words getting lost in the sensations suddenly flooding you, his thigh fitting perfectly between yours, providing you with just a hint of pressure.

His mouth explores every inch of exposed skin, your body already aching to grind against him, arousal building with every sure flick of tongue and bold nip of teeth.

Your hands cling to him, nails scraping the nape of his neck, fingers caressing metal, proving over and over you want this. Want him.

"Might get caught," you breathe, grip tightening to keep him right where he belongs.

"Door's locked," Bucky grunts, answering your raised brow with a sheepish smile. "Thought I'd be alone," he reminds you, lips hovering just out of reach.

"Oh, I'm not complaining."

His eyes track up to the ceiling, hidden security cameras no doubt steadily blinking away. "Good," he smirks, once again meeting your adoring gaze. "I'll also wipe the security tapes."

"Make you sure you send me a copy first."

"Jesus Christ, doll," he laughs, pulling you in for a passionate kiss before you can throw him for yet another thrilling loop.

Bucky's not sure he's gonna survive long at this rate, but damned if he's not ready to go on the ride of his fucking life with you.

My first fic after a very long, unexpected hiatus - I hope you enjoyed it 🩶

Please let me know if you'd like more of these two!

Banners by @cafekitsune

Main Masterlist

About Me

[drabblesandsnippets]

Hehe, Bucky's good at that! 😏

Making Waves

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus-size/curvy female reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: (3.8k) During a heat wave, you take advantage of one of your favorite perks of working for the Avengers - access to their private pool - and spend some quality time with Bucky.

Background: I haven't been able to see Thunderbolts* yet (it's been torture!), so not necessarily a tower fic, but this could become part of a series! I had a lot of fun writing these two. 🩶

Warnings: Established relationship (acquaintances). Confident reader. A little awkward/charming Bucky. Vague/brief alluding to Bucky's past. Fluff. Flirting. Sexual thoughts. Kissing/making out. Implied smut.

The heat dome suffocating the city has everyone on edge, tempers flaring over the slightest inconvenience.

Even with the high-tech building's fancy cooling system, the strain is palpable, portable fans handed out right along with the company's time-off policy.

Several people took the week off in advance, others called out sick, but you? You decided to suck it up and power through, saving your PTO for that long-awaited vacation you'll probably never take.

At least you have enough sense to make use one of your favorite perks of working for the Avengers - free access to their private, indoor, temperature-controlled pool.

You're one of the limited non-Avenger employees who have the privilege, and one of the few who actually take advantage of it.

Half-expecting to find the place occupied due to the lingering heat, you're pleasantly surprised to find the luxurious natatorium empty - the cool, placid saltwater inviting you in like always.

While most people are already well into their commutes home - no doubt on their way to fight with their a/c in a futile attempt to stave off the inevitable sweatiness - you get to blissfully float for the foreseeable future.

---

Bucky's restless. Has been for days.

He blames the relentless heat. The endless patrols. The incessant 'check-ins.'

Some days it feels like he's still following the same old song and dance. Minus the obvious mind control and innocent bloodshed.

And, at least now, he can live with himself in between the chaos.

Plus, there's better scenery.

The pool was supposed to be empty, according to his precursory check fifteen minutes ago, yet here you are, currently unaware of your newly rapt audience of one.

Hidden in the shadows like some creep, unable to tear his gaze away from your swimsuit digging into your soft, plush hips, Bucky watches you for longer than he'll ever admit.

It's far from the first time you've caught his attention. Even recently, he's managed to carry on a few more conversations with you, your infectious laughter haunting him for days after.

This, by far, has to be of his favorite moments though - right after that office party they held in celebration of your promotion. The confidence you radiated that day had the most filthiest thoughts swimming through his head.

Some of which are currently taking laps behind his eyes, even as he tracks a tiny droplet slipping over the swell of your belly before it's absorbed by the gentle waves lapping at your skin.

Bucky imagines tracing the path with his tongue and thanks the gods for his enhanced senses, blood rushing south when your tiny sighs of contentment reach his ears.

A new forbidden soundtrack to go along with the fantasy reels aching to come to life.

He should probably walk away.

Leave you in peace.

Allow you the privacy you're clearly seeking. You might even take one look at him and come up with an excuse to be elsewhere anyway.

Not that you ever have, it's just a lot people still do, even after all this time.

Except.

Except, he's supposed to be trying. Trying to exist like an actual human being, instead of a relic that no one knows quite how to handle.

Before Bucky can overthink it, his weirdly unsteady feet are carrying him forward, soles scuffing on the tiled limestone as he makes his way to you.

Your ever-vigilant mind clocks him before he even has a chance to interrupt the comfortable silence, your heart fluttering like it always does in his vicinity.

Ignoring your initial assumption that you're not supposed to be here right now - or that he came to swim strictly in solitude - you settle for treading water and offer a simple, smiling, "Hi."

One side of Bucky's mouth ticks upward, eyes crinkling with silent appreciation. "Hi." You're not retreating.

"Hi," you repeat with an undignified laugh, attempting to ground yourself in the cool water flowing around your fingers. And forcing your eyes to remain on his handsome features, instead of lingering on the tantalizing display of taut skin and defined muscle.

It should be a crime how delicious he looks in such simple attire - white tank top and black swim trunks. Almost as good as he looked in his latest uniform the other day. The unexpected sight when he passed you in the hall nearly had you choking on your own saliva.

And now you're wondering if Bucky's into choking-

Your possibly-most-definitely-inappropriate thoughts are interrupted by his deliberate repetition of, "Hi." And that butterfly-inducing smirk that should definitely be classified as a lethal weapon. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Yeah?" Your raised eyebrow has his grin widening and you dare to swim a little closer, using the opportunity to take another appreciative look at his previously unseen muscular legs, which you don't even try to hide this time.

"Mmm," Bucky acknowledges with a tilt of his head, his own fleeting glance at the teasing glimpse of your cleavage raising your temperature by at least ten degrees. So much for cooling off.

"Expected the place to be deserted," he continues. "Gotta say, this is much better."

Your responding laugh relieves the hint of tension trying to creep up his neck.

Apparently, flirting is like riding a bike.

"You waitin' for an invitation?" you tease after a moment of extended silence, another laugh bubbling up at the color blooming across his cheeks.

An ancient, rusty bike.

But, if there's one thing Bucky's excelled at, it's taking back control, no matter how daunting the challenge initially seems.

In one smooth motion, he's pulling the tank up and off his body with a suggestive move that'd have you dunking yourself if you weren't afraid of missing the rest of the show.

As it is, you let the heat creep up and unabashedly take him in.

The confidence. The blatant rippling of muscle. The obvious performance of stretching limbs in preparation for his swim. The metal whirring as he rotates his left arm once.

Twice.

Then a wink for good measure that finally sends you underwater before you can start giggling. There's no hiding his affect on you - and you don't really want to - you just can't give him the satisfaction of hearing that sound from you yet.

When you resurface, hands swiping away the drops clinging to your face, a knowing smirk greets you, Bucky exactly where you left him. Waiting for your attention to fully commit to the final act.

A perfect dive into the pool, your breath stalling as he effortlessly slices through the clear water towards your treading form. He emerges seconds later, almost within reach, his wet hair slicked back after barely lifting a hand to tame it.

"So much for challenging you to a swimming contest," you deadpan, feigning a sigh of disappointment. "Shoulda known you'd be good at that too."

The grin Bucky gives you is downright sinful.

And the way he breathes your name almost makes you forget that it belongs to you. "I'm sure there are plenty o' things you're better at."

Hands almost brush as he mimics your movements to keep himself afloat, the combined effort surrounding you both in a cocoon of small waves.

Playing along, you ask, "Oh yeah, like what?"

That familiar thrill rushes through Bucky, one he hadn't felt in so long before you - one he wasn't even sure he'd recognize if it happened again. Yet, here you are, your mischievous grin doing wonders for his ego.

"Bet you'd win at a staring contest." His answer is immediate. As is the flirtatious follow up, "I already seem to be having a hard time concentrating."

His lingering once over leaves nothing open for interpretation.

"Considering you just made an entire production of stripping and diving in, my eyes are definitely drifting too," you're quick to retort, much to Bucky's delight.

"Fair enough."

Wetting his lips, he takes a moment to respond, darting off to start swimming lazy circles around you, all in hopes of catching a glimpse of that coy smile you throw over your shoulder.

Basking in his own sudden burst of confidence, Bucky keeps the game going, enjoying the way you're unintentionally encouraging him to come out of his shell.

"How about this?" he asks, slowing to a stop to angle you between him and the nearby pool ladder, "The first one to touch that ladder gets to choose the restaurant."

He breathlessly counts the seconds between the 'o' shape of surprise and when understanding dawns, the excited smile gracing your gorgeous face making his heart skip several beats at once.

Then you shoot off like a light, Bucky effortlessly chasing after you as your sputtering laughter warms places he once thought would never thaw.

All goes according to plan - your fingers curling around the metal pole a split second before he's sliding in next to you, his steady hand brushing along your arm, leaving goose bumps in its wake.

It takes him a ridiculous amount of effort to resist the urge to lean in to see how you'd react to his lips on your skin instead.

Especially when you lean into his touch, your exhilarated laugh of triumph not even dampened by the obviously rigged game.

Bucky letting you win only makes it that much sweeter, your mind already conjuring up several options of where your first date could take place. And where you might end up.

"Does it have to be a restaurant?" you're asking, ignoring the clinging droplets of water on your lashes.

Having a front row seat to the mesmerizing vision leaves Bucky speechless, his vast vocabulary and the numerous languages embedded in his brain suddenly alluding him. All because you're looking at him like he's worth something.

Maybe he is.

"It can be wherever you want, sweetheart." There's no hint of jest or teasing in his tone this time, only the undeniable need to see where this could go. "I'll call in favors if I have to."

"Well that opens up all sorts of possibilities." Your impish reply comes with an exaggerated innocent smile and you push off the wall, leisure backstrokes coaxing him to come along.

"Like I said, absolutely anywhere you wanna go," he jovially promises, dutifully following in your wake, fingers itching to wrap around your ankle to pull you closer.

Bucky settles for increasing his speed, decades of honed skills now locked on every single microexpression as the distance shrinks. The twinkle in your eye, the deliberate slowing down to let him overtake you, the way your gaze keeps drifting to his mouth.

"I'll definitely take that into consideration," you say, the smoldering look you get in return not helping quiet the fantasy playing out in your head. Legs wrapped around his waist, your hands in those long, dark strands.

Heat sprawls across your chest when you imagine tugging a fistful, tilting his head back to watch his eyes darken. Bucky may not be a man of many words, but that doesn't necessarily mean he wouldn't make noises.

And oh, the noises you could elicit from this man.

"Should probably wait until it's not so hot out though," you continue, willing your heart to calm the fuck down the moment his knee gently, accidentally-on-purpose, knocks into yours. "I don't usually let a guy get me all sweaty until at least the second date."

This time his palm makes contact, the searing touch licking heat up your forearm, his accompanying laughter sending tingles of pleasure straight to your nipples.

And then, as if you're not already embarrassingly responsive enough, he has the nerve to ask, "What would it take for you to make an exception for me?"

Pink brightens his cheeks before he hastily adds, "'Cause I'd rather not have to wait for the weather to cooperate before I get to take you out."

Your foot weakly hooks around his ankle as you smother a laugh and pretend to consider his offer, then you're playfully darting away again, purposefully turning to glide past him.

You intentionally bump his thigh with your hip, fully expecting him to let you pass, continuing this impromptu game of cat and mouse.

A pleasant, exhilarated rush washes over you when he doesn't.

Bucky doesn't even think about it - one second he's enjoying the view of you swimming away, his eyes raking a glorious path down your back to the swell of your biteable ass, and the next he's tenderly pulling you back, metal fingers delicately wrapped around your calf.

There's no tension on your part, no hesitation, just a gleeful giggle that has him rethinking his entire, meticulously planned course of action.

Ask you out. Buy you flowers. Open doors. Tell you you're beautiful. And intelligent. And hilarious. And a million other praising adjectives.

Then he was going to ask to kiss you.

But you giggled when he touched you - with the same goddamn arm that people stare at like it's some uncontrolled, sentient weapon.

Not you though.

You take hold, metal warming under your touch, fingers encouraging him to explore more of you.

Far be it from him to ever deny a lady.

Slowly drifting his hand up along your forearm, thumb catching tiny droplets painting your skin, he marvels at how readily you accept him. Even the parts he usually hides.

He track the gentle rise of your chest, the miniscule movement of your body towards his touch, the steadily increasing heartrate - all telltale signs that this is right.

Wanted.

Bucky still has to ask. Needs to hear the words to silence the doubt creeping in at the edges.

"This okay?" he exhales, intense blues meeting your wide, hopeful eyes.

"More'n okay," you assure him on the next beath, your tongue peaking out to wet suddenly dry lips.

Holy shit, this man is going to be the death of you. All careful patience and obvious desire - a lethal combination that almost has you forgetting that you're technically in a public space.

Bucky watches you like you're his first sunrise after freedom, metal hand skimming over the inside of your elbow before dropping down, fingertips ghosting over the dip of your waist.

The sound that escapes your parted lips has him repeating the action, firmer this time, his attention laser focused on all the ways you're beautifully communicating for him to keep going.

Welcoming his hands as if they don't come with a long list of regrets.

"Thought about askin' you out at least a dozen times since Christmas," he confesses, his pinkie tracing the edge of your swimsuit snug against your hip.

"Got a hell of a lotta time to make up for then."

Your bold response has him leading you backwards before he can second guess himself, carefully guiding you to the closest wall in order to keep you both above water with minimal effort.

Because the things he wants to do to you are gonna take all of his focus.

The absence of Bucky's left hand is quickly overshadowed by his fingers curling around the low edge of the pool right next to your head, protectively caging you in.

He's barely touched you and warmth already pools low in your belly, thighs fighting the urge to press together in search of friction.

Instinct has you safely wrapping a leg around one of his instead, your opposite hand grabbing hold of his smooth bicep for stability, excitement thrumming through your veins.

Even as your consent sends ripples of arousal straight to Bucky's core, he doesn’t rush, needing to commit every little thing to memory.

Ensuring he'll be able to play this moment back when he's off god knows where, he takes note of the slow flutter of lashes against warm cheeks.

The inviting tease of tongue wetting lips he's dying to taste.

Your questing ankle inching up his calf to pull him millimeters closer.

That grin that makes him truly believe he gets to have this again.

And when he reaches up with his free hand, fingers dripping with saltwater, his brow slightly raised in question, he files away your answer like it's a benediction - the tiny slip of your bottom lip between teeth, a hint of smile playing at one corner of your tempting mouth.

Bucky almost forgets how to breathe at such a simple act until your enticing him with a slow nod and a full, devastating smile.

Metal whirs as he brings himself closer, his leg dangerously close to sliding home between yours. You'd greedily welcome it, your thighs instinctively parting even as you resist the urge to close the gap.

Let him decide. Let him set the pace and you'll gladly follow, throwing out encouraging signs, leaving no doubt that you want this as much as he does.

Eventually, when he's not struggling to form a coherent word, Bucky swears he'll figure out a way to thank you for it. For making him feel alive again, instead of letting him just go along for the ride.

Everything else fades away except you, open and waiting, pulling him in like a magnet until there's no choice left but to take the leap.

To let himself drown in the way your breath exhales in the scant space separating you. The steady cadence of your pulse when the back of his fingers map the apple of your cheek.

"Hope you like flowers, doll," he murmurs, legs intertwining under water, his knee innocently slotting right between your soft thighs. "'Cause you're gonna get 'em by the dozens."

You're sure you respond, freely gifting him the knowledge of your favorite kinds, it's just, Bucky's doing that thing. Warm palm cupping your jaw, long fingers splayed across your neck, his water-slicked thumb daring to be licked as he traces the edge of your bottom lip.

He's close enough that you could count the freckles dusting his cheekbones - a project you intend to cherish soon enough - but you're currently too preoccupied by how thoroughly enamored he is by you.

As if you're a purely figment of his wild imagination. Willingly allowing him to crowd you up against cold tile, knowing he'll treat you like you deserve. Despite all the rumors and whispers you've undoubtedly heard.

"Never seen anyone as beautiful as you," he vows, bringing you close enough to gently bump noses, silently imploring you to hear this isn't a line.

Bucky's usually impenetrable shield is lain at your feet, giving you access to his jagged pieces, praying they don't end up cutting you.

Because this right here is everything - the trusting tilt of your head, your shallow breaths mingling with his, the arch of your spine speaking words long foreign to him - and he'll be damned if he ever risks losing it.

"Gonna kiss you now."

Your free hand finally makes contact with his waist and his sharp exhale throws fuel on the flames of arousal already threatening to consume you.

Somehow, you still manage to fill the drawn out seconds he's giving you to change your mind with an emphatic, "I sure hope so."

You might fucking combust if he doesn't.

It begins tentative. Soft lips and gentle pressure, testing the palpable chemistry, the teasing hint of you lingering on Bucky's lips when he pauses briefly to check in.

The sight of you already enraptured - parted lips and heavy eyelids as you chase after him - has him diving back in, his thumb under your chin coaxing you to that perfect angle in order to deepen the next kiss.

Heat builds quickly, tongues dancing to a tune old as time, muscle memory carrying him along after all these years. A groan reverberates between you before Bucky can swallow it down, your answering moan hitching when his teeth nip at your bottom lip.

The apologetic caress of his tongue leaves you breathless, an exhale of a giggle getting lost when his mouth covers yours again, desperate to drink you in.

It's impossible to know who moves first, your body seeking more contact the instant he's pushing you flush against the chilled pool wall. All that matters is that he's here, warm and solid, kissing you as if his next breath depends on it.

It may as well be, because Bucky can't get enough of you.

The taste of you exploding on his tongue, decades of celibacy narrowing down to this single moment in time, rewiring his brain.

Synapses fire off in time with your racing pulse, the frightening realization settling in that the universe aligned to lead him straight to you.

All the shit he's endured won't ever be erased, and the anger may never completely fade, but it definitely feels lighter in your arms. Like maybe he gets a chance at a happily ever after.

"Already addicted to you, sweetheart," Bucky confesses, kissing a worshipful path along your jaw, his heavy breath exhaling across your heated skin, sending shivers down your spine.

The noises you planned to draw out of him pour out of you unbidden when his fingers grip your hair, encouraging you to bare more of yourself to him.

"Tell me if I cross a line," he murmurs against your neck, his words getting lost in the sensations suddenly flooding you, his thigh fitting perfectly between yours, providing you with just a hint of pressure.

His mouth explores every inch of exposed skin, your body already aching to grind against him, arousal building with every sure flick of tongue and bold nip of teeth.

Your hands cling to him, nails scraping the nape of his neck, fingers caressing metal, proving over and over you want this. Want him.

"Might get caught," you breathe, grip tightening to keep him right where he belongs.

"Door's locked," Bucky grunts, answering your raised brow with a sheepish smile. "Thought I'd be alone," he reminds you, lips hovering just out of reach.

"Oh, I'm not complaining."

His eyes track up to the ceiling, hidden security cameras no doubt steadily blinking away. "Good," he smirks, once again meeting your adoring gaze. "I'll also wipe the security tapes."

"Make you sure you send me a copy first."

"Jesus Christ, doll," he laughs, pulling you in for a passionate kiss before you can throw him for yet another thrilling loop.

Bucky's not sure he's gonna survive long at this rate, but damned if he's not ready to go on the ride of his fucking life with you.

My first fic after a very long, unexpected hiatus - I hope you enjoyed it 🩶

Please let me know if you'd like more of these two!

Banners by @cafekitsune

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[drabblesandsnippets]

Making Waves

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus-size/curvy female reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: (3.8k) During a heat wave, you take advantage of one of your favorite perks of working for the Avengers - access to their private pool - and spend some quality time with Bucky.

Background: I haven't been able to see Thunderbolts* yet (it's been torture!), so not necessarily a tower fic, but this could become part of a series! I had a lot of fun writing these two. 🩶

Warnings: Established relationship (acquaintances). Confident reader. A little awkward/charming Bucky. Vague/brief alluding to Bucky's past. Fluff. Flirting. Sexual thoughts. Kissing/making out. Implied smut.

The heat dome suffocating the city has everyone on edge, tempers flaring over the slightest inconvenience.

Even with the high-tech building's fancy cooling system, the strain is palpable, portable fans handed out right along with the company's time-off policy.

Several people took the week off in advance, others called out sick, but you? You decided to suck it up and power through, saving your PTO for that long-awaited vacation you'll probably never take.

At least you have enough sense to make use one of your favorite perks of working for the Avengers - free access to their private, indoor, temperature-controlled pool.

You're one of the limited non-Avenger employees who have the privilege, and one of the few who actually take advantage of it.

Half-expecting to find the place occupied due to the lingering heat, you're pleasantly surprised to find the luxurious natatorium empty - the cool, placid saltwater inviting you in like always.

While most people are already well into their commutes home - no doubt on their way to fight with their a/c in a futile attempt to stave off the inevitable sweatiness - you get to blissfully float for the foreseeable future.

---

Bucky's restless. Has been for days.

He blames the relentless heat. The endless patrols. The incessant 'check-ins.'

Some days it feels like he's still following the same old song and dance. Minus the obvious mind control and innocent bloodshed.

And, at least now, he can live with himself in between the chaos.

Plus, there's better scenery.

The pool was supposed to be empty, according to his precursory check fifteen minutes ago, yet here you are, currently unaware of your newly rapt audience of one.

Hidden in the shadows like some creep, unable to tear his gaze away from your swimsuit digging into your soft, plush hips, Bucky watches you for longer than he'll ever admit.

It's far from the first time you've caught his attention. Even recently, he's managed to carry on a few more conversations with you, your infectious laughter haunting him for days after.

This, by far, has to be of his favorite moments though - right after that office party they held in celebration of your promotion. The confidence you radiated that day had the most filthiest thoughts swimming through his head.

Some of which are currently taking laps behind his eyes, even as he tracks a tiny droplet slipping over the swell of your belly before it's absorbed by the gentle waves lapping at your skin.

Bucky imagines tracing the path with his tongue and thanks the gods for his enhanced senses, blood rushing south when your tiny sighs of contentment reach his ears.

A new forbidden soundtrack to go along with the fantasy reels aching to come to life.

He should probably walk away.

Leave you in peace.

Allow you the privacy you're clearly seeking. You might even take one look at him and come up with an excuse to be elsewhere anyway.

Not that you ever have, it's just a lot people still do, even after all this time.

Except.

Except, he's supposed to be trying. Trying to exist like an actual human being, instead of a relic that no one knows quite how to handle.

Before Bucky can overthink it, his weirdly unsteady feet are carrying him forward, soles scuffing on the tiled limestone as he makes his way to you.

Your ever-vigilant mind clocks him before he even has a chance to interrupt the comfortable silence, your heart fluttering like it always does in his vicinity.

Ignoring your initial assumption that you're not supposed to be here right now - or that he came to swim strictly in solitude - you settle for treading water and offer a simple, smiling, "Hi."

One side of Bucky's mouth ticks upward, eyes crinkling with silent appreciation. "Hi." You're not retreating.

"Hi," you repeat with an undignified laugh, attempting to ground yourself in the cool water flowing around your fingers. And forcing your eyes to remain on his handsome features, instead of lingering on the tantalizing display of taut skin and defined muscle.

It should be a crime how delicious he looks in such simple attire - white tank top and black swim trunks. Almost as good as he looked in his latest uniform the other day. The unexpected sight when he passed you in the hall nearly had you choking on your own saliva.

And now you're wondering if Bucky's into choking-

Your possibly-most-definitely-inappropriate thoughts are interrupted by his deliberate repetition of, "Hi." And that butterfly-inducing smirk that should definitely be classified as a lethal weapon. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Yeah?" Your raised eyebrow has his grin widening and you dare to swim a little closer, using the opportunity to take another appreciative look at his previously unseen muscular legs, which you don't even try to hide this time.

"Mmm," Bucky acknowledges with a tilt of his head, his own fleeting glance at the teasing glimpse of your cleavage raising your temperature by at least ten degrees. So much for cooling off.

"Expected the place to be deserted," he continues. "Gotta say, this is much better."

Your responding laugh relieves the hint of tension trying to creep up his neck.

Apparently, flirting is like riding a bike.

"You waitin' for an invitation?" you tease after a moment of extended silence, another laugh bubbling up at the color blooming across his cheeks.

An ancient, rusty bike.

But, if there's one thing Bucky's excelled at, it's taking back control, no matter how daunting the challenge initially seems.

In one smooth motion, he's pulling the tank up and off his body with a suggestive move that'd have you dunking yourself if you weren't afraid of missing the rest of the show.

As it is, you let the heat creep up and unabashedly take him in.

The confidence. The blatant rippling of muscle. The obvious performance of stretching limbs in preparation for his swim. The metal whirring as he rotates his left arm once.

Twice.

Then a wink for good measure that finally sends you underwater before you can start giggling. There's no hiding his affect on you - and you don't really want to - you just can't give him the satisfaction of hearing that sound from you yet.

When you resurface, hands swiping away the drops clinging to your face, a knowing smirk greets you, Bucky exactly where you left him. Waiting for your attention to fully commit to the final act.

A perfect dive into the pool, your breath stalling as he effortlessly slices through the clear water towards your treading form. He emerges seconds later, almost within reach, his wet hair slicked back after barely lifting a hand to tame it.

"So much for challenging you to a swimming contest," you deadpan, feigning a sigh of disappointment. "Shoulda known you'd be good at that too."

The grin Bucky gives you is downright sinful.

And the way he breathes your name almost makes you forget that it belongs to you. "I'm sure there are plenty o' things you're better at."

Hands almost brush as he mimics your movements to keep himself afloat, the combined effort surrounding you both in a cocoon of small waves.

Playing along, you ask, "Oh yeah, like what?"

That familiar thrill rushes through Bucky, one he hadn't felt in so long before you - one he wasn't even sure he'd recognize if it happened again. Yet, here you are, your mischievous grin doing wonders for his ego.

"Bet you'd win at a staring contest." His answer is immediate. As is the flirtatious follow up, "I already seem to be having a hard time concentrating."

His lingering once over leaves nothing open for interpretation.

"Considering you just made an entire production of stripping and diving in, my eyes are definitely drifting too," you're quick to retort, much to Bucky's delight.

"Fair enough."

Wetting his lips, he takes a moment to respond, darting off to start swimming lazy circles around you, all in hopes of catching a glimpse of that coy smile you throw over your shoulder.

Basking in his own sudden burst of confidence, Bucky keeps the game going, enjoying the way you're unintentionally encouraging him to come out of his shell.

"How about this?" he asks, slowing to a stop to angle you between him and the nearby pool ladder, "The first one to touch that ladder gets to choose the restaurant."

He breathlessly counts the seconds between the 'o' shape of surprise and when understanding dawns, the excited smile gracing your gorgeous face making his heart skip several beats at once.

Then you shoot off like a light, Bucky effortlessly chasing after you as your sputtering laughter warms places he once thought would never thaw.

All goes according to plan - your fingers curling around the metal pole a split second before he's sliding in next to you, his steady hand brushing along your arm, leaving goose bumps in its wake.

It takes him a ridiculous amount of effort to resist the urge to lean in to see how you'd react to his lips on your skin instead.

Especially when you lean into his touch, your exhilarated laugh of triumph not even dampened by the obviously rigged game.

Bucky letting you win only makes it that much sweeter, your mind already conjuring up several options of where your first date could take place. And where you might end up.

"Does it have to be a restaurant?" you're asking, ignoring the clinging droplets of water on your lashes.

Having a front row seat to the mesmerizing vision leaves Bucky speechless, his vast vocabulary and the numerous languages embedded in his brain suddenly alluding him. All because you're looking at him like he's worth something.

Maybe he is.

"It can be wherever you want, sweetheart." There's no hint of jest or teasing in his tone this time, only the undeniable need to see where this could go. "I'll call in favors if I have to."

"Well that opens up all sorts of possibilities." Your impish reply comes with an exaggerated innocent smile and you push off the wall, leisure backstrokes coaxing him to come along.

"Like I said, absolutely anywhere you wanna go," he jovially promises, dutifully following in your wake, fingers itching to wrap around your ankle to pull you closer.

Bucky settles for increasing his speed, decades of honed skills now locked on every single microexpression as the distance shrinks. The twinkle in your eye, the deliberate slowing down to let him overtake you, the way your gaze keeps drifting to his mouth.

"I'll definitely take that into consideration," you say, the smoldering look you get in return not helping quiet the fantasy playing out in your head. Legs wrapped around his waist, your hands in those long, dark strands.

Heat sprawls across your chest when you imagine tugging a fistful, tilting his head back to watch his eyes darken. Bucky may not be a man of many words, but that doesn't necessarily mean he wouldn't make noises.

And oh, the noises you could elicit from this man.

"Should probably wait until it's not so hot out though," you continue, willing your heart to calm the fuck down the moment his knee gently, accidentally-on-purpose, knocks into yours. "I don't usually let a guy get me all sweaty until at least the second date."

This time his palm makes contact, the searing touch licking heat up your forearm, his accompanying laughter sending tingles of pleasure straight to your nipples.

And then, as if you're not already embarrassingly responsive enough, he has the nerve to ask, "What would it take for you to make an exception for me?"

Pink brightens his cheeks before he hastily adds, "'Cause I'd rather not have to wait for the weather to cooperate before I get to take you out."

Your foot weakly hooks around his ankle as you smother a laugh and pretend to consider his offer, then you're playfully darting away again, purposefully turning to glide past him.

You intentionally bump his thigh with your hip, fully expecting him to let you pass, continuing this impromptu game of cat and mouse.

A pleasant, exhilarated rush washes over you when he doesn't.

Bucky doesn't even think about it - one second he's enjoying the view of you swimming away, his eyes raking a glorious path down your back to the swell of your biteable ass, and the next he's tenderly pulling you back, metal fingers delicately wrapped around your calf.

There's no tension on your part, no hesitation, just a gleeful giggle that has him rethinking his entire, meticulously planned course of action.

Ask you out. Buy you flowers. Open doors. Tell you you're beautiful. And intelligent. And hilarious. And a million other praising adjectives.

Then he was going to ask to kiss you.

But you giggled when he touched you - with the same goddamn arm that people stare at like it's some uncontrolled, sentient weapon.

Not you though.

You take hold, metal warming under your touch, fingers encouraging him to explore more of you.

Far be it from him to ever deny a lady.

Slowly drifting his hand up along your forearm, thumb catching tiny droplets painting your skin, he marvels at how readily you accept him. Even the parts he usually hides.

He track the gentle rise of your chest, the miniscule movement of your body towards his touch, the steadily increasing heartrate - all telltale signs that this is right.

Wanted.

Bucky still has to ask. Needs to hear the words to silence the doubt creeping in at the edges.

"This okay?" he exhales, intense blues meeting your wide, hopeful eyes.

"More'n okay," you assure him on the next beath, your tongue peaking out to wet suddenly dry lips.

Holy shit, this man is going to be the death of you. All careful patience and obvious desire - a lethal combination that almost has you forgetting that you're technically in a public space.

Bucky watches you like you're his first sunrise after freedom, metal hand skimming over the inside of your elbow before dropping down, fingertips ghosting over the dip of your waist.

The sound that escapes your parted lips has him repeating the action, firmer this time, his attention laser focused on all the ways you're beautifully communicating for him to keep going.

Welcoming his hands as if they don't come with a long list of regrets.

"Thought about askin' you out at least a dozen times since Christmas," he confesses, his pinkie tracing the edge of your swimsuit snug against your hip.

"Got a hell of a lotta time to make up for then."

Your bold response has him leading you backwards before he can second guess himself, carefully guiding you to the closest wall in order to keep you both above water with minimal effort.

Because the things he wants to do to you are gonna take all of his focus.

The absence of Bucky's left hand is quickly overshadowed by his fingers curling around the low edge of the pool right next to your head, protectively caging you in.

He's barely touched you and warmth already pools low in your belly, thighs fighting the urge to press together in search of friction.

Instinct has you safely wrapping a leg around one of his instead, your opposite hand grabbing hold of his smooth bicep for stability, excitement thrumming through your veins.

Even as your consent sends ripples of arousal straight to Bucky's core, he doesn’t rush, needing to commit every little thing to memory.

Ensuring he'll be able to play this moment back when he's off god knows where, he takes note of the slow flutter of lashes against warm cheeks.

The inviting tease of tongue wetting lips he's dying to taste.

Your questing ankle inching up his calf to pull him millimeters closer.

That grin that makes him truly believe he gets to have this again.

And when he reaches up with his free hand, fingers dripping with saltwater, his brow slightly raised in question, he files away your answer like it's a benediction - the tiny slip of your bottom lip between teeth, a hint of smile playing at one corner of your tempting mouth.

Bucky almost forgets how to breathe at such a simple act until your enticing him with a slow nod and a full, devastating smile.

Metal whirs as he brings himself closer, his leg dangerously close to sliding home between yours. You'd greedily welcome it, your thighs instinctively parting even as you resist the urge to close the gap.

Let him decide. Let him set the pace and you'll gladly follow, throwing out encouraging signs, leaving no doubt that you want this as much as he does.

Eventually, when he's not struggling to form a coherent word, Bucky swears he'll figure out a way to thank you for it. For making him feel alive again, instead of letting him just go along for the ride.

Everything else fades away except you, open and waiting, pulling him in like a magnet until there's no choice left but to take the leap.

To let himself drown in the way your breath exhales in the scant space separating you. The steady cadence of your pulse when the back of his fingers map the apple of your cheek.

"Hope you like flowers, doll," he murmurs, legs intertwining under water, his knee innocently slotting right between your soft thighs. "'Cause you're gonna get 'em by the dozens."

You're sure you respond, freely gifting him the knowledge of your favorite kinds, it's just, Bucky's doing that thing. Warm palm cupping your jaw, long fingers splayed across your neck, his water-slicked thumb daring to be licked as he traces the edge of your bottom lip.

He's close enough that you could count the freckles dusting his cheekbones - a project you intend to cherish soon enough - but you're currently too preoccupied by how thoroughly enamored he is by you.

As if you're a purely figment of his wild imagination. Willingly allowing him to crowd you up against cold tile, knowing he'll treat you like you deserve. Despite all the rumors and whispers you've undoubtedly heard.

"Never seen anyone as beautiful as you," he vows, bringing you close enough to gently bump noses, silently imploring you to hear this isn't a line.

Bucky's usually impenetrable shield is lain at your feet, giving you access to his jagged pieces, praying they don't end up cutting you.

Because this right here is everything - the trusting tilt of your head, your shallow breaths mingling with his, the arch of your spine speaking words long foreign to him - and he'll be damned if he ever risks losing it.

"Gonna kiss you now."

Your free hand finally makes contact with his waist and his sharp exhale throws fuel on the flames of arousal already threatening to consume you.

Somehow, you still manage to fill the drawn out seconds he's giving you to change your mind with an emphatic, "I sure hope so."

You might fucking combust if he doesn't.

It begins tentative. Soft lips and gentle pressure, testing the palpable chemistry, the teasing hint of you lingering on Bucky's lips when he pauses briefly to check in.

The sight of you already enraptured - parted lips and heavy eyelids as you chase after him - has him diving back in, his thumb under your chin coaxing you to that perfect angle in order to deepen the next kiss.

Heat builds quickly, tongues dancing to a tune old as time, muscle memory carrying him along after all these years. A groan reverberates between you before Bucky can swallow it down, your answering moan hitching when his teeth nip at your bottom lip.

The apologetic caress of his tongue leaves you breathless, an exhale of a giggle getting lost when his mouth covers yours again, desperate to drink you in.

It's impossible to know who moves first, your body seeking more contact the instant he's pushing you flush against the chilled pool wall. All that matters is that he's here, warm and solid, kissing you as if his next breath depends on it.

It may as well be, because Bucky can't get enough of you.

The taste of you exploding on his tongue, decades of celibacy narrowing down to this single moment in time, rewiring his brain.

Synapses fire off in time with your racing pulse, the frightening realization settling in that the universe aligned to lead him straight to you.

All the shit he's endured won't ever be erased, and the anger may never completely fade, but it definitely feels lighter in your arms. Like maybe he gets a chance at a happily ever after.

"Already addicted to you, sweetheart," Bucky confesses, kissing a worshipful path along your jaw, his heavy breath exhaling across your heated skin, sending shivers down your spine.

The noises you planned to draw out of him pour out of you unbidden when his fingers grip your hair, encouraging you to bare more of yourself to him.

"Tell me if I cross a line," he murmurs against your neck, his words getting lost in the sensations suddenly flooding you, his thigh fitting perfectly between yours, providing you with just a hint of pressure.

His mouth explores every inch of exposed skin, your body already aching to grind against him, arousal building with every sure flick of tongue and bold nip of teeth.

Your hands cling to him, nails scraping the nape of his neck, fingers caressing metal, proving over and over you want this. Want him.

"Might get caught," you breathe, grip tightening to keep him right where he belongs.

"Door's locked," Bucky grunts, answering your raised brow with a sheepish smile. "Thought I'd be alone," he reminds you, lips hovering just out of reach.

"Oh, I'm not complaining."

His eyes track up to the ceiling, hidden security cameras no doubt steadily blinking away. "Good," he smirks, once again meeting your adoring gaze. "I'll also wipe the security tapes."

"Make you sure you send me a copy first."

"Jesus Christ, doll," he laughs, pulling you in for a passionate kiss before you can throw him for yet another thrilling loop.

Bucky's not sure he's gonna survive long at this rate, but damned if he's not ready to go on the ride of his fucking life with you.

My first fic after a very long, unexpected hiatus - I hope you enjoyed it 🩶

Please let me know if you'd like more of these two!

Banners by @cafekitsune

Main Masterlist

About Me

[drabblesandsnippets]

Making Waves

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus-size/curvy female reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: (3.8k) During a heat wave, you take advantage of one of your favorite perks of working for the Avengers - access to their private pool - and spend some quality time with Bucky.

Background: I haven't been able to see Thunderbolts* yet (it's been torture!), so not necessarily a tower fic, but this could become part of a series! I had a lot of fun writing these two. 🩶

Warnings: Established relationship (acquaintances). Confident reader. A little awkward/charming Bucky. Vague/brief alluding to Bucky's past. Fluff. Flirting. Sexual thoughts. Kissing/making out. Implied smut.

The heat dome suffocating the city has everyone on edge, tempers flaring over the slightest inconvenience.

Even with the high-tech building's fancy cooling system, the strain is palpable, portable fans handed out right along with the company's time-off policy.

Several people took the week off in advance, others called out sick, but you? You decided to suck it up and power through, saving your PTO for that long-awaited vacation you'll probably never take.

At least you have enough sense to make use one of your favorite perks of working for the Avengers - free access to their private, indoor, temperature-controlled pool.

You're one of the limited non-Avenger employees who have the privilege, and one of the few who actually take advantage of it.

Half-expecting to find the place occupied due to the lingering heat, you're pleasantly surprised to find the luxurious natatorium empty - the cool, placid saltwater inviting you in like always.

While most people are already well into their commutes home - no doubt on their way to fight with their a/c in a futile attempt to stave off the inevitable sweatiness - you get to blissfully float for the foreseeable future.

---

Bucky's restless. Has been for days.

He blames the relentless heat. The endless patrols. The incessant 'check-ins.'

Some days it feels like he's still following the same old song and dance. Minus the obvious mind control and innocent bloodshed.

And, at least now, he can live with himself in between the chaos.

Plus, there's better scenery.

The pool was supposed to be empty, according to his precursory check fifteen minutes ago, yet here you are, currently unaware of your newly rapt audience of one.

Hidden in the shadows like some creep, unable to tear his gaze away from your swimsuit digging into your soft, plush hips, Bucky watches you for longer than he'll ever admit.

It's far from the first time you've caught his attention. Even recently, he's managed to carry on a few more conversations with you, your infectious laughter haunting him for days after.

This, by far, has to be of his favorite moments though - right after that office party they held in celebration of your promotion. The confidence you radiated that day had the most filthiest thoughts swimming through his head.

Some of which are currently taking laps behind his eyes, even as he tracks a tiny droplet slipping over the swell of your belly before it's absorbed by the gentle waves lapping at your skin.

Bucky imagines tracing the path with his tongue and thanks the gods for his enhanced senses, blood rushing south when your tiny sighs of contentment reach his ears.

A new forbidden soundtrack to go along with the fantasy reels aching to come to life.

He should probably walk away.

Leave you in peace.

Allow you the privacy you're clearly seeking. You might even take one look at him and come up with an excuse to be elsewhere anyway.

Not that you ever have, it's just a lot people still do, even after all this time.

Except.

Except, he's supposed to be trying. Trying to exist like an actual human being, instead of a relic that no one knows quite how to handle.

Before Bucky can overthink it, his weirdly unsteady feet are carrying him forward, soles scuffing on the tiled limestone as he makes his way to you.

Your ever-vigilant mind clocks him before he even has a chance to interrupt the comfortable silence, your heart fluttering like it always does in his vicinity.

Ignoring your initial assumption that you're not supposed to be here right now - or that he came to swim strictly in solitude - you settle for treading water and offer a simple, smiling, "Hi."

One side of Bucky's mouth ticks upward, eyes crinkling with silent appreciation. "Hi." You're not retreating.

"Hi," you repeat with an undignified laugh, attempting to ground yourself in the cool water flowing around your fingers. And forcing your eyes to remain on his handsome features, instead of lingering on the tantalizing display of taut skin and defined muscle.

It should be a crime how delicious he looks in such simple attire - white tank top and black swim trunks. Almost as good as he looked in his latest uniform the other day. The unexpected sight when he passed you in the hall nearly had you choking on your own saliva.

And now you're wondering if Bucky's into choking-

Your possibly-most-definitely-inappropriate thoughts are interrupted by his deliberate repetition of, "Hi." And that butterfly-inducing smirk that should definitely be classified as a lethal weapon. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Yeah?" Your raised eyebrow has his grin widening and you dare to swim a little closer, using the opportunity to take another appreciative look at his previously unseen muscular legs, which you don't even try to hide this time.

"Mmm," Bucky acknowledges with a tilt of his head, his own fleeting glance at the teasing glimpse of your cleavage raising your temperature by at least ten degrees. So much for cooling off.

"Expected the place to be deserted," he continues. "Gotta say, this is much better."

Your responding laugh relieves the hint of tension trying to creep up his neck.

Apparently, flirting is like riding a bike.

"You waitin' for an invitation?" you tease after a moment of extended silence, another laugh bubbling up at the color blooming across his cheeks.

An ancient, rusty bike.

But, if there's one thing Bucky's excelled at, it's taking back control, no matter how daunting the challenge initially seems.

In one smooth motion, he's pulling the tank up and off his body with a suggestive move that'd have you dunking yourself if you weren't afraid of missing the rest of the show.

As it is, you let the heat creep up and unabashedly take him in.

The confidence. The blatant rippling of muscle. The obvious performance of stretching limbs in preparation for his swim. The metal whirring as he rotates his left arm once.

Twice.

Then a wink for good measure that finally sends you underwater before you can start giggling. There's no hiding his affect on you - and you don't really want to - you just can't give him the satisfaction of hearing that sound from you yet.

When you resurface, hands swiping away the drops clinging to your face, a knowing smirk greets you, Bucky exactly where you left him. Waiting for your attention to fully commit to the final act.

A perfect dive into the pool, your breath stalling as he effortlessly slices through the clear water towards your treading form. He emerges seconds later, almost within reach, his wet hair slicked back after barely lifting a hand to tame it.

"So much for challenging you to a swimming contest," you deadpan, feigning a sigh of disappointment. "Shoulda known you'd be good at that too."

The grin Bucky gives you is downright sinful.

And the way he breathes your name almost makes you forget that it belongs to you. "I'm sure there are plenty o' things you're better at."

Hands almost brush as he mimics your movements to keep himself afloat, the combined effort surrounding you both in a cocoon of small waves.

Playing along, you ask, "Oh yeah, like what?"

That familiar thrill rushes through Bucky, one he hadn't felt in so long before you - one he wasn't even sure he'd recognize if it happened again. Yet, here you are, your mischievous grin doing wonders for his ego.

"Bet you'd win at a staring contest." His answer is immediate. As is the flirtatious follow up, "I already seem to be having a hard time concentrating."

His lingering once over leaves nothing open for interpretation.

"Considering you just made an entire production of stripping and diving in, my eyes are definitely drifting too," you're quick to retort, much to Bucky's delight.

"Fair enough."

Wetting his lips, he takes a moment to respond, darting off to start swimming lazy circles around you, all in hopes of catching a glimpse of that coy smile you throw over your shoulder.

Basking in his own sudden burst of confidence, Bucky keeps the game going, enjoying the way you're unintentionally encouraging him to come out of his shell.

"How about this?" he asks, slowing to a stop to angle you between him and the nearby pool ladder, "The first one to touch that ladder gets to choose the restaurant."

He breathlessly counts the seconds between the 'o' shape of surprise and when understanding dawns, the excited smile gracing your gorgeous face making his heart skip several beats at once.

Then you shoot off like a light, Bucky effortlessly chasing after you as your sputtering laughter warms places he once thought would never thaw.

All goes according to plan - your fingers curling around the metal pole a split second before he's sliding in next to you, his steady hand brushing along your arm, leaving goose bumps in its wake.

It takes him a ridiculous amount of effort to resist the urge to lean in to see how you'd react to his lips on your skin instead.

Especially when you lean into his touch, your exhilarated laugh of triumph not even dampened by the obviously rigged game.

Bucky letting you win only makes it that much sweeter, your mind already conjuring up several options of where your first date could take place. And where you might end up.

"Does it have to be a restaurant?" you're asking, ignoring the clinging droplets of water on your lashes.

Having a front row seat to the mesmerizing vision leaves Bucky speechless, his vast vocabulary and the numerous languages embedded in his brain suddenly alluding him. All because you're looking at him like he's worth something.

Maybe he is.

"It can be wherever you want, sweetheart." There's no hint of jest or teasing in his tone this time, only the undeniable need to see where this could go. "I'll call in favors if I have to."

"Well that opens up all sorts of possibilities." Your impish reply comes with an exaggerated innocent smile and you push off the wall, leisure backstrokes coaxing him to come along.

"Like I said, absolutely anywhere you wanna go," he jovially promises, dutifully following in your wake, fingers itching to wrap around your ankle to pull you closer.

Bucky settles for increasing his speed, decades of honed skills now locked on every single microexpression as the distance shrinks. The twinkle in your eye, the deliberate slowing down to let him overtake you, the way your gaze keeps drifting to his mouth.

"I'll definitely take that into consideration," you say, the smoldering look you get in return not helping quiet the fantasy playing out in your head. Legs wrapped around his waist, your hands in those long, dark strands.

Heat sprawls across your chest when you imagine tugging a fistful, tilting his head back to watch his eyes darken. Bucky may not be a man of many words, but that doesn't necessarily mean he wouldn't make noises.

And oh, the noises you could elicit from this man.

"Should probably wait until it's not so hot out though," you continue, willing your heart to calm the fuck down the moment his knee gently, accidentally-on-purpose, knocks into yours. "I don't usually let a guy get me all sweaty until at least the second date."

This time his palm makes contact, the searing touch licking heat up your forearm, his accompanying laughter sending tingles of pleasure straight to your nipples.

And then, as if you're not already embarrassingly responsive enough, he has the nerve to ask, "What would it take for you to make an exception for me?"

Pink brightens his cheeks before he hastily adds, "'Cause I'd rather not have to wait for the weather to cooperate before I get to take you out."

Your foot weakly hooks around his ankle as you smother a laugh and pretend to consider his offer, then you're playfully darting away again, purposefully turning to glide past him.

You intentionally bump his thigh with your hip, fully expecting him to let you pass, continuing this impromptu game of cat and mouse.

A pleasant, exhilarated rush washes over you when he doesn't.

Bucky doesn't even think about it - one second he's enjoying the view of you swimming away, his eyes raking a glorious path down your back to the swell of your biteable ass, and the next he's tenderly pulling you back, metal fingers delicately wrapped around your calf.

There's no tension on your part, no hesitation, just a gleeful giggle that has him rethinking his entire, meticulously planned course of action.

Ask you out. Buy you flowers. Open doors. Tell you you're beautiful. And intelligent. And hilarious. And a million other praising adjectives.

Then he was going to ask to kiss you.

But you giggled when he touched you - with the same goddamn arm that people stare at like it's some uncontrolled, sentient weapon.

Not you though.

You take hold, metal warming under your touch, fingers encouraging him to explore more of you.

Far be it from him to ever deny a lady.

Slowly drifting his hand up along your forearm, thumb catching tiny droplets painting your skin, he marvels at how readily you accept him. Even the parts he usually hides.

He track the gentle rise of your chest, the miniscule movement of your body towards his touch, the steadily increasing heartrate - all telltale signs that this is right.

Wanted.

Bucky still has to ask. Needs to hear the words to silence the doubt creeping in at the edges.

"This okay?" he exhales, intense blues meeting your wide, hopeful eyes.

"More'n okay," you assure him on the next beath, your tongue peaking out to wet suddenly dry lips.

Holy shit, this man is going to be the death of you. All careful patience and obvious desire - a lethal combination that almost has you forgetting that you're technically in a public space.

Bucky watches you like you're his first sunrise after freedom, metal hand skimming over the inside of your elbow before dropping down, fingertips ghosting over the dip of your waist.

The sound that escapes your parted lips has him repeating the action, firmer this time, his attention laser focused on all the ways you're beautifully communicating for him to keep going.

Welcoming his hands as if they don't come with a long list of regrets.

"Thought about askin' you out at least a dozen times since Christmas," he confesses, his pinkie tracing the edge of your swimsuit snug against your hip.

"Got a hell of a lotta time to make up for then."

Your bold response has him leading you backwards before he can second guess himself, carefully guiding you to the closest wall in order to keep you both above water with minimal effort.

Because the things he wants to do to you are gonna take all of his focus.

The absence of Bucky's left hand is quickly overshadowed by his fingers curling around the low edge of the pool right next to your head, protectively caging you in.

He's barely touched you and warmth already pools low in your belly, thighs fighting the urge to press together in search of friction.

Instinct has you safely wrapping a leg around one of his instead, your opposite hand grabbing hold of his smooth bicep for stability, excitement thrumming through your veins.

Even as your consent sends ripples of arousal straight to Bucky's core, he doesn’t rush, needing to commit every little thing to memory.

Ensuring he'll be able to play this moment back when he's off god knows where, he takes note of the slow flutter of lashes against warm cheeks.

The inviting tease of tongue wetting lips he's dying to taste.

Your questing ankle inching up his calf to pull him millimeters closer.

That grin that makes him truly believe he gets to have this again.

And when he reaches up with his free hand, fingers dripping with saltwater, his brow slightly raised in question, he files away your answer like it's a benediction - the tiny slip of your bottom lip between teeth, a hint of smile playing at one corner of your tempting mouth.

Bucky almost forgets how to breathe at such a simple act until your enticing him with a slow nod and a full, devastating smile.

Metal whirs as he brings himself closer, his leg dangerously close to sliding home between yours. You'd greedily welcome it, your thighs instinctively parting even as you resist the urge to close the gap.

Let him decide. Let him set the pace and you'll gladly follow, throwing out encouraging signs, leaving no doubt that you want this as much as he does.

Eventually, when he's not struggling to form a coherent word, Bucky swears he'll figure out a way to thank you for it. For making him feel alive again, instead of letting him just go along for the ride.

Everything else fades away except you, open and waiting, pulling him in like a magnet until there's no choice left but to take the leap.

To let himself drown in the way your breath exhales in the scant space separating you. The steady cadence of your pulse when the back of his fingers map the apple of your cheek.

"Hope you like flowers, doll," he murmurs, legs intertwining under water, his knee innocently slotting right between your soft thighs. "'Cause you're gonna get 'em by the dozens."

You're sure you respond, freely gifting him the knowledge of your favorite kinds, it's just, Bucky's doing that thing. Warm palm cupping your jaw, long fingers splayed across your neck, his water-slicked thumb daring to be licked as he traces the edge of your bottom lip.

He's close enough that you could count the freckles dusting his cheekbones - a project you intend to cherish soon enough - but you're currently too preoccupied by how thoroughly enamored he is by you.

As if you're a purely figment of his wild imagination. Willingly allowing him to crowd you up against cold tile, knowing he'll treat you like you deserve. Despite all the rumors and whispers you've undoubtedly heard.

"Never seen anyone as beautiful as you," he vows, bringing you close enough to gently bump noses, silently imploring you to hear this isn't a line.

Bucky's usually impenetrable shield is lain at your feet, giving you access to his jagged pieces, praying they don't end up cutting you.

Because this right here is everything - the trusting tilt of your head, your shallow breaths mingling with his, the arch of your spine speaking words long foreign to him - and he'll be damned if he ever risks losing it.

"Gonna kiss you now."

Your free hand finally makes contact with his waist and his sharp exhale throws fuel on the flames of arousal already threatening to consume you.

Somehow, you still manage to fill the drawn out seconds he's giving you to change your mind with an emphatic, "I sure hope so."

You might fucking combust if he doesn't.

It begins tentative. Soft lips and gentle pressure, testing the palpable chemistry, the teasing hint of you lingering on Bucky's lips when he pauses briefly to check in.

The sight of you already enraptured - parted lips and heavy eyelids as you chase after him - has him diving back in, his thumb under your chin coaxing you to that perfect angle in order to deepen the next kiss.

Heat builds quickly, tongues dancing to a tune old as time, muscle memory carrying him along after all these years. A groan reverberates between you before Bucky can swallow it down, your answering moan hitching when his teeth nip at your bottom lip.

The apologetic caress of his tongue leaves you breathless, an exhale of a giggle getting lost when his mouth covers yours again, desperate to drink you in.

It's impossible to know who moves first, your body seeking more contact the instant he's pushing you flush against the chilled pool wall. All that matters is that he's here, warm and solid, kissing you as if his next breath depends on it.

It may as well be, because Bucky can't get enough of you.

The taste of you exploding on his tongue, decades of celibacy narrowing down to this single moment in time, rewiring his brain.

Synapses fire off in time with your racing pulse, the frightening realization settling in that the universe aligned to lead him straight to you.

All the shit he's endured won't ever be erased, and the anger may never completely fade, but it definitely feels lighter in your arms. Like maybe he gets a chance at a happily ever after.

"Already addicted to you, sweetheart," Bucky confesses, kissing a worshipful path along your jaw, his heavy breath exhaling across your heated skin, sending shivers down your spine.

The noises you planned to draw out of him pour out of you unbidden when his fingers grip your hair, encouraging you to bare more of yourself to him.

"Tell me if I cross a line," he murmurs against your neck, his words getting lost in the sensations suddenly flooding you, his thigh fitting perfectly between yours, providing you with just a hint of pressure.

His mouth explores every inch of exposed skin, your body already aching to grind against him, arousal building with every sure flick of tongue and bold nip of teeth.

Your hands cling to him, nails scraping the nape of his neck, fingers caressing metal, proving over and over you want this. Want him.

"Might get caught," you breathe, grip tightening to keep him right where he belongs.

"Door's locked," Bucky grunts, answering your raised brow with a sheepish smile. "Thought I'd be alone," he reminds you, lips hovering just out of reach.

"Oh, I'm not complaining."

His eyes track up to the ceiling, hidden security cameras no doubt steadily blinking away. "Good," he smirks, once again meeting your adoring gaze. "I'll also wipe the security tapes."

"Make you sure you send me a copy first."

"Jesus Christ, doll," he laughs, pulling you in for a passionate kiss before you can throw him for yet another thrilling loop.

Bucky's not sure he's gonna survive long at this rate, but damned if he's not ready to go on the ride of his fucking life with you.

My first fic after a very long, unexpected hiatus - I hope you enjoyed it 🩶

Please let me know if you'd like more of these two!

Banners by @cafekitsune

Main Masterlist

About Me

[drabblesandsnippets]

This looks like a fun read 😏

Mornings With You

Clark Kent x Fem!Reader

Summary: The morning after your first night together, Clark still can’t get enough of you.

Warnings: strictly 18+, soft smut, Clark Kent is a munch, oral (fem receiving), fingering, very self indulgent, me being a hopeless romantic

Word count: 2.5k

A/N: I need this 6’4 dork more than I need air. Banners by @vase-of-lilies

Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Library

Last night you came to the conclusion that Clark Kent looked the most beautiful under moonlight.

Those big, impossibly blue eyes sparkled like they were stars in the dark night sky, the soft light of the moon illuminating those gorgeous features you’ve admired from across the newsroom for the past few months and which make him look mythical, ethereal. Gazing at you like he had flown through constellations to be with you.

But nothing can come close to now.

He lays beside you, muscular arm slung over your waist, his curls haphazardly strewn across his forehead, while the first rays of sunlight dance across his angelic face. A warmth to his sleepy smile that could make a chilly winter feel like the start of spring.

And he has never looked more beautiful.

As sweet as Clark is, he always seems on guard, an armour he surrounds himself with as if at the drop of a hat he’ll have to perform a self sacrificing deed for the good of all citizens of Metropolis. It’s that goodness which makes him the man you adore, but that selflessness which makes you contemplate if he could ever truly put you above the needs of the city.

But as he sleeps beside you, there’s a softness to his features you haven’t seen before, a tranquility that looks good on him. In this moment, he’s all yours. Not the city's saviour. Not some extraterrestrial guardian. He’s just your Clark.

“Mornin’” He mumbles, and you smile at how a slight Midwestern accent sneaks into his hoarse, morning voice.

You use your forefinger to brush the hair you messed up last night out from his eyes, savouring the serenity of the two of you alone, the sacredness of a quiet morning after spending your first night at his place, basking in the glow of a perfect first time together and what this could become. Perhaps what it already is.

“Morning you.” You reply with a kiss to his bare shoulder, which in turn prompts him to pull you even closer into his chest. You bury your head into his chest, he smells intoxicating, something musky that’s naturally just him and his vanilla body wash.

“Last night was amazing.” He admits bashfully, the tips of his cheekbones flushing with a blush that makes your stomach do somersaults, that you can elicit such a reaction from him, with the potential that perhaps he’s developing feelings as deep as yours.

You assume it’s rare for Clark to let someone in, allow anyone to see this part of his life which he’s usually so cryptic about to his other coworkers, to know of his secret identity, the most important parts of him he doesn’t share with anyone else and how his voice sounds first thing in the morning.

It’s a quiet kind of wonder, the realisation that beneath the strong and selflessness he raises effortlessly, Clark Kent is the type of guy who is cautious who he gets close to, blushes at intimacy and yet who currently is holding you close, like he’s afraid this cruel world might take you from him if he lets go.

You feel the way his fingers trace lazy patterns across your spine as you respond. “Yeah it was pretty good, wasn’t it?”

“Only pretty good huh?” He pulls back in feign surprise, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile. “You must have freaking high standards if that wasn’t the most magical night of your life. I know it was for me.”

His last sentence trails off, much quieter, as if it’s something difficult for him to disclose. It makes your heart clench, and butterflies flutter in your stomach at this sweet man, the most gorgeous being you’ve ever laid eyes on, who is attractive enough to have every woman in Metropolis falling at their knees for him, admitting your carnal activities were magical.

But there’s also a resounding pang in your heart at the possibility he doesn’t realise you’re joking, and that last night was indeed the best night you’ve ever spent with someone.

You suspect it’s because that someone is Clark Kent, the most endearing and generous man on earth.

“Maybe I’m just taunting you into trying to top it.” Your voice comes out much softer than intended, you’ll play it off as being early in the morning, but in reality it’s because this moment with him means more than you can admit aloud.

You hook your leg around his waist as you allow the words to sink in for him. Clark immediately places a large hand on your thigh, keeping your pelvis pressed right against his, a pressure that makes him hiss.

“That’s a challenge I’m certainly up for.” With his other hand he tilts your chin up, and for a split second you’re able to admire the warmth in his eyes, how much sincere affection he looks at you with, before his soft lips capture yours.

It starts soft, a gentle press of mouths, a laziness of sleepy muscles just getting warmed up, but there’s a hunger beneath it. It’s like the world has narrowed around you, as if there is limited space and your bodies have no choice but to be squeezed together.

You respond desperately, lips parting beneath his with a quiet gasp, and Clark takes his chance to slip his tongue past your lips with a slow, deliberate sweep that sends a shiver down your spine. He kisses you like he’s savouring every every moment, as if he may never get the opportunity again.

The kiss is no longer lethargic, it’s molten, scorching, and you feel the tension coil low in your belly. You grind against him, needing some friction against your core, anything to alleviate the growing desire between your legs. Clark sucks gently on your bottom lip before releasing it with a soft, wet sound that makes your breath hitch.

“You’re so perfect.” He moans. The way he says it makes your heart falter, instinctive, visceral, like his mouth is working too fast and his brain can’t catch up.

“Clark, please, I need you to touch me.” You beg, plead, practically bursting at the seams from the pent up craving, regardless of if he helped satisfy you right hours ago. You could never get enough of the pleasure you know he is more than capable of pulling from you.

“Show me where you need me.”

You don’t hesitate to direct his strong, large hand between your legs, where your core is throbbing, waiting for the sweet relief of his touch.

The pads of his fingers are drawn to your clit like a magnet, circling your sensitive bundle of nerves with teasing pressure that makes you keen. His lips attach to your neck, and the moan which falls from your lips is downright salacious.

You arch into his toned body instinctively, your body already attuned to his caress, to the way he seems to know exactly what you need without needing to be told twice. He’s not rushing, not racing to the finish line like some men you’ve been with, instead all you feel is the quiet devotion of a man who wants to make you feel cherished with each movement of his fingers.

“You’re so wet, darling.” He mumbles against your already hot skin, and you feel the heat rise in your cheeks. Not from embarrassment, but from the sheer intensity of being exposed to him like this, from him learning every inch of your body like you’re his new favourite story.

“It’s all for you.”

You thread your fingers through his messy hair as he slips two fingers inside you. The stretch makes you groan, the way he fills you deliciously satisfying. He watches you closely, eyes dark with lust, yet tender, lips parted as he memorises every reaction to his intrusion, listening carefully to every sound you make.

Clutching at his shoulders, your nails dig into his smooth skin, needing something to hold onto as he curls his fingers, grazing the spot inside you that makes you see stars, the same one your shorter fingers can’t reach on their own.

His lips attach to the column of your neck, sucking gently at the sensitive skin there as his fingers piston in and out of you. It only adds to the overwhelming pleasure that is flowing through you like river rapids, relentless, all consuming, and you’re prepared to go under in it if it’s Clark you’re drowning in.

“Clark,” you breathe his name, voice cracking with need, a palpable indicator of how close you are to coming undone, “don’t stop.”

He doesn’t respond with words. Instead, he kisses your jaw, moving his body up so he can look at your features as you reach the pinnacle of ecstasy, not for a millisecond abandoning his ambition of seeing you fall apart before him.

As intense as the pressure building in your core is, it’s the eye contact, Clark’s deep gaze which is filled with agonising tenderness, a fondness you have never known before, like you’re the only thing that could possibly matter, someone’s reason for being, which is your ultimate undoing.

With a cry of his name, you arch of your back, rapture exploding from your core, like shooting stars dancing through your veins. Your toes curl, fingers clinging to him like he’s your lifeline, as he doesn’t abate, continuing to stimulate you as you ride the wave of pleasure all the way to the shore.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers as you work on catching your breath. You blink up at him, still dazed, but it surprises you to find much more awe and devotion in his gaze than pure lust. “Not just like this, but always.”

You can’t find the words in your breathless state, but you reach up, fingers brushing along his high cheekbone, trying to convey that you feel the same about him, that he’s the most beautiful man both inside and out. He leans into your touch, and you hope that means he understands.

“I think we’ve got time for one more round before we need to leave for the newsroom.” He says with a raised brow. You can’t help but giggle at how insatiable he is, pulling you down the bed so he can settle between your thighs.

Your chuckle turns into a gasp as his hands slide under your legs, lifting and spreading you with ease to have you right where he wants you. You tingle as his breath fans across your still sensitive, heated skin, sending a fresh ripple of anticipation through your core.

He starts with soft kisses to the insides of your thighs, each one slow, teasing, like he’s laying a path of intention, building tension with each press of his lips.

That fight swipe of his tongue across your folds makes you jolt, the warmth of contact sending a shockwave through your already overstimulated body. Your wobbly thighs are no match for his strong, bulging biceps, keeping you splayed open for him, every part of your core accessible for his tongue to taste.

He doesn’t hold back in the slightest, even when he’s already made you cum this morning. He’s devouring you ferociously, with a hunger that feels almost primal, yet there’s nothing careless about the way he moves.

Your moans and whimpered swears fill the otherwise still and peaceful morning. Wetness pours out of you in response to his incessant tongue, but as he licks up all the sweet goodness you give him, it only elicits more of your release. It’s a cycle that you know will bring about your end, but with how your body trembles with each swipe, suckle and swirl of your clit, you’re welcoming the unraveling with open arms.

The way his hands cradle your thighs, the way his lips suck into you like he’s drinking something divine, there’s no question that he’s worshipping you with everything he has.

Your breaths come short and fast, your fingers grasping onto the bedsheets to prevent you from ascending to heaven, because that’s exactly what this feels like, Clark pulling you towards some celestial edge, cradling you as you fly dangerously close to the sun.

His tongue moves with maddening perfection, that makes your thighs quiver, toes curl and brings you to the precipice of euphoria. You’re soaked, trembling, unraveling within an inch of your existence, but Clark doesn’t falter.

You fall apart quicker than a house of cards crumbling. It only takes one final suck of your bundle of nerves before your body surrenders to the pleasure. Stars flash behind your eyelids, a cry tears through your throat, every muscle taut as your orgasm crashes through you.

It’s not simply a powerful climax, it’s transcendent. You’re in another plane of reality, a paradise, floating somewhere between reality and a dream, where bliss is the only language spoken.

Clark kisses up your body as you return to earth with shallow breaths. He has quite the satisfied smirk considering he himself hasn’t been gratified, but that just shows how generous a man he is, he wants to put you first, focussing on you getting off rather than reaching his own high.

He settles beside you, one arm slipping beneath your shoulders to cradle you close, the other brushing tenderly along your ribcage as if to soothe the tremors still lingering in your limbs. His smirk softens into something warmer when your eyes meet his. In your mind, you’d describe it as something closer to a loving gaze, but you don’t dare admit it aloud.

“I’m not going to be able to look at you across the desks today without thinking about how you taste.” His tone feels somewhat joking, but deep in your heart you hope he sneaks glances at you all day just to take him back to this moment right here, where your slick is still on his chin and he’s watching you with that gaze, the one that’s too raw to put a name to.

“I’ll be thinking about you too, and how you looked so damn sexy between my thighs.” His smile is luscious, warm, and just a little stunned, as if he hadn’t been sure how this would affect either how you interact at work, but this banter now sets his mind at ease. Perhaps you had never been just colleagues anyway.

Clark kisses you like you have all the time in the world, that there could never be anything more important than being right here with you. Even with work at The Daily Planet awaiting you both.

Outside, the city hums to life, but in here, wrapped in Clark’s arms, time feels suspended.

It makes you believe this really could be the start of something special.

Something which lasts forever.

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