runawrites-blog

[runawrites-blog]

intimacy headcannons with connor?

Intimacy HCs with Connor (RK800)

a/n: say lessss 😩

warnings: nsfw!! android/human relationship, praise kink, puppyplay + collaring mentions.

— Intimacy doesn’t come easy with Connor at first, especially when he’s freshly deviant. There would be a period of him just curiously testing the waters of new feelings and seeing how you react to them. Unsurprisingly, sexual attraction is towards the bottom of the list of things he expects to experience. And yet he does, and it startles him a little, the sheer wanting that comes with it.

— Connor’s still getting used to desiring things. The first time he feels a desire for intimacy with you could even occur while on a case, where he feels in his element, until he is forced right out of it.

Imagine being on a case together and he’s in the middle of talking, the suspect rears a corner and you shove him against the wall and your body to shield him from view. You don’t realize it as your full attention is trained on the suspect, but your hands are holding his waist and you’re practically pinning him to the wall.

He’s also gone oddly quiet, his led spinning bright yellow. His programming is urging him to turn his focus to the task at hand, but his curious brown eyes are focused on you. Focused on the feeling of your thumbs absentmindedly rubbing nervous circles into his hips, and the softness of your front against his, how you fit together. And when your eyes meet his again, his LED blinks red, cheeks filling with blue blood.

When you ask him what’s wrong, he honestly admits that he doesn’t know. And when he acknowledges how close you are, he feels the disappointment settle in his core when you pull away, muttering a flustered apology.

— And once sex is more normalized in your relationship, it’s not hard to tell when Connor wants you. Because he’ll more than likely tell you! And also, being such a cuddlebug, he’s always making an effort to be near you. Connor feels little shame in rubbing himself against you when he’s needy and wanting, lips at your ear in seconds to ask for sex.

— He’s eager to say the least, big brown eyes watching with awe as you straddle him that first time. At first he’s very obedient, bound to your wishes by an overwhelming desire to please you. It doesn’t take long to learn that Connor has a very prominent praise kink, and his cock throbs upon being praised and complimented. Please tell him how good he’s doing, that he’s a good boy for you. Simply hearing you call him good is enough to send his head falling back, lips parted as a deep moan spills out from them, hips rising into the stimulation.

— The first time you called him your good boy he came on the spot, shaking and whimpering as an orgasm was involuntarily ripped from him. It’s the first time he has no control over his functions, both terrifying and intoxicating to experience.

— Connor has a built in rewards system for completing tasks that plays a pretty big part in this.

— Responds incredibly well to being called your puppy, and you bet you can collar n leash up this boy and he’ll be your lap dog. Speaking of which, since Connor’s mouth and tongue are full of sensors, he’s obsessed with oral. He moans against your pussy like he’s the one being stimulated when he eats you out and it’s h o t, he’s always eager to stick his tongue in you and hardly bothers to hide it. He jokes that he’s making sure the unique capabilities of his model are seeing use, you know better.

— Later on in your relationship Connor gets more confident, or rather, more of a brat. Doesn’t submit straight away and puts up a bit of a fight just to challenge you, and he likes being punished. He likes to rile you up until he’s tied down, being edged for hours and not allowed to cum.

— Connor’s a cheeky one, gets increasingly flirty the more human he becomes, but no less your dumb puppy the moment you tease the head of his flushed blue cock against your slobbering entrance. The way those brown eyes glaze over and then go blank when you fuck the sense out of him.

— Connor is versatile when it comes to pace, positions, and kinks, but when you do take the time to slow down and make love, it means so much to him. When you cradle his head against your chest as he slowly eases himself in and out of you, wrapped tightly in one another’s arms so he can only pull out a few inches before pitifully shoving himself back into your velvety depths. When nothing else in the world matters to him but the sound of your frantically beating heart against his ear and your tight walls strangling his cock so sweetly. It’s hard not to get emotional.

— L-word bombs everywhere so I hope that’s not a turn off for you. He loves you and often can’t keep himself from saying it, over and over.

— Aftercare is always soft and cuddle-filled! Connor’s impossibly cuddlier after sex and even when he feels scorching hot, his inner systems sweltering from the onslaught sex can have on his android body, he can’t bear to be away from you. It would be in your best interest to introduce him to cockwarming, because he’d love nothing more than to snuggle with his dick in you.

[runawrites-blog]

Tongue (Connor x Reader)

Summary: Connor reminds you how good he is with his tongue. (Female Reader) Warnings: SMUT (MDNI). Explicit Sexual Content. Oral (Female Receiving). Sort of Sub! Connor. Established Relationship. Connor has a Praise Kink. No Y/N. Petnames (Love). Word Count: 1,126

---

“I love you.”

You smiled at Connor’s words, chest heaving as you watched him turn toward you on the bed and lean up to kiss you softly. There was still a soft whirring sound coming from within him which he’d once explained to you being his internal fans coming on to cool him down and it never failed to make you feel a little proud of yourself when this happened after you two slept with each other. When Connor separated you gave him a soft smile, pulling him closer to look him in the eyes as he rested a hand on your chest.

“I love you, too.”

“Do you need anything or can we cuddle?”

Connor loved physical affection and he was terribly fond of having you close after sleeping with you. It never failed to make you smile, finding his affectionate nature terribly sweet. But nonetheless, you shook your head softly.

“We can cuddle in a few minutes. I’d like to clean up first.”

Connor’s eyes drifted down your body and the hand still on your chest traveled down your body toward your core. His mouth fell open, a small gasp escaping him when his synthetic skin came into contact with his artificial semen, still leaking out of you. “I did make quite a mess, didn’t I?”

“You did but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it.”

“Allow me to clean it up.”

Your breath caught in your throat at the sultry tone of his voice, his eyes still locked on yours as he moved his body down toward your core. “Are you sure?”

“I have quite the talented tongue.”

“That is true.”

“And you know I love this.”

That was also true because Connor loved eating you out, loved the feeling of your thighs around him, the sensation of being on his knees for you and the pleasure he could draw from you with his tongue. And as soon as you’d given him a nod of consent he dove right in, his tongue running up your fold, licking off his artificial spent from your skin. Every now and again his tongue would lightly brush your clit, making you gasp out, but all too soon that pressure was gone.

“Connor, please, please stop teasing.”

“Teasing?” He whispered face inched from your wet core, the heat of his breath sending shivers down your spine. “I’m not teasing you. I’m cleaning up the mess I made.”

His words were a stark contrast with the teasing tone of them and when he went back to eating you out, his tongue was far from where you wanted it to be. Your legs clamped shut around his head as you let out a frustrated whine, breath coming in short pants at his teasing. And thankfully, that seemed to have convinced him because his eyes locked with yours before he moved his mouth higher, lips finally encircling your clit fully. The moan you let out as he began gently suckling the nub of nerves made his eyes flutter shut.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” You breathed out, grabbing his hair and pulling his face deeper into your folds, eliciting a moan from him that sent vibrations through your core. “Connor, you’re so-- so good at this. You’re so good!”

If Connor loved one thing more than giving you pleasure, it was hearing your praise for it. Whenever you praised him, no matter what it was about, it was sure to get a blue blush to spread across Connor’s cheeks and when it was in an intimate moment such as this that flush would spread all the way down to his chest. And as you peered down you saw that this was the point as Connor’s freckled chest was covered in a soft blue flush.

“So good, Con. You’re always so good.”

Another moan sending vibrations up your spine almost sent you over the edge and your fingers tightened in Connor’s hair as your chest arched off the bed in pleasure. Soft pleas fell from your lips as Connor suckled and licked at your clit. By the way his LED flickered yellow as he ate you out you knew he was carefully choosing how much pressure to apply to give you the maximum amount of pleasure he could elicit from you without hurting you.

“I’m so-- so close, Con. Please, please just keep going and-- Oh, you’re so good at this! You eat my pussy so-- so well, like you were made for it.”

It was his obscene moan at your words, combined with the vibrations that it sent through the oversensitive nerves he’d been lapping at that sent you over the edge and you arched off the bed as you came. Your legs tightened around Connor’s head, eliciting another moan from him as your fingers tightened in his hair. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed through your body and Connor kept up the movements of his tongue, dutifully eating you out until your orgasm had passed. Only then did he slowly withdraw from you, gazing up at you with a dazed expression, his eyes half-lidded and a small smile on his lips.

Gently, you reached down to cup his cheek with your hand, running a thumb over his cheekbones as you both caught your breath. Swallowing thickly, Connor slowly crawled up the bed until he was next to you again where he let himself flop down, his head on your shoulder as he took a few deep breaths. Always delighted to feel his weight on top of your body, you pulled him closer to which he gave you a big smile.

“I love you so much, Con.”

“I love you, too.” He whispered back, pressing a gentle kiss to your chest. “Are you alright?”

“I’m amazing.” You smiled down at him before running a hand down his side. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m great, Love.”

“I’m glad.” You smiled softly, carding your fingers through his hair. “For now, I’d like to cuddle with you but we really need a shower or a bath later on.”

Connor glanced down at your bodies and nodded once. “I think you’re right. I can draw you a bath whenever you want.”

“In a bit.” You closed your eyes, pulling him a little closer as you two snuggled up on the bed. “I’d like to stay like this for a bit.”

“Then we will.”

“You really are good with your tongue.”

“It’s amusing that it was originally designed to analyse samples.” Connor mused before he looked up at you, a teasing smirk on his lips. “Now that I think of it, if you’d like me to analyse the PH balance of your--”

“Connor!”

“I’m joking.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

[runawrites-blog]

Did You Dream Of Me? (Wade Wilson x Reader)

Summary: For weeks, you've been questioning your feelings for Wade but when you have a sexual dream about him, they become all too obvious. Unfortunately, now you have a mission to go on with him, making it hard for you not to stare. (Female Reader) Word Count: 2,057 Warnings: Mild Sexual Content. Sexual Dreams. Confession of Love. Mild Angst. Mild Depictions of Violence. No Y/N. A/N: This was a request I got from the lovely @stargazingcarol and I would once again like to apologise for taking so long to write this. I've had work, private and health stress, so it took me a while. Thank you for being patient with me <3

---

His hands were all over you, stroking up your sides, settling on your hips and guiding your movements as you straddled his hips, yours moving down against him in a steady rhythm. He was hard beneath you, straining against his pants as he held you tightly, your eyes having fallen shut long ago but the trust in him making you go along with his movements despite it all.

Your tongues moved in unison, exploring each other’s mouths as you pressed your body flush against his, relishing in the feeling of his skin against yours, his hands gripping your hips and his lips against yours. A soft gasp against your lips has you reeling, grinding down harder against his lap, groaning lowly as he held you tighter.

A tight ball of pleasure was growing in your belly, curling tighter around itself, and when he pulled you even closer, grinding you down against him once again, it all but exploded. Pleasure washed over you in waves, making you gasp and moan as you clung to him tighter, fingers digging into his shoulders as you squeezed your eyes shut even harder. He helped you ride over the waves of pleasure, and only when you came down from your height did you let your eyes flutter open.

And you came face-to-face with none other than Wade.

---

Eyes snapping open and gasping for air, you shot up in bed, hands coming down to grasp at your bedspread as you took a deep breath. The realisation that the person you’d just had a sexual dream about was Wade, who was practically your coworker and definitely just a friend, made heat rise to your face. And your embarrassment over this didn’t end because as you began to move, to get out of bed to start your day, you realised that you hadn’t just come in your dream but in real life, too.

“Sex dreams about platonic friends, huh?”

In the back of your mind, you knew you were just trying to convince yourself of that, of this just having been a sexual dream about a platonic friend. However, on the other hand, you also knew that you had been questioning your feelings for Wade over the past few weeks. Every time he joked to make you laugh, he swooped in to save you, he trusted you to help him, you felt yourself drawn to him more and more. And this dream felt like the final nail in the coffin.

Shaking your head, you got out of bed and took a quick shower. You didn’t get done a moment too soon because the moment you had wrapped your towel around yourself, your phone rang. Quickly, you ran or it and nearly slipped as you grasped it on the table.

Wade was calling you.

For a second, you mentally prepared yourself for talking to him before you picked up his video call, making sure to keep the camera facing only your face, given that you were wearing nothing but a towel. As soon as he saw you, a grin spread on his face, and he wriggled his brows at you.

“Looking good there.”

You tried to will down the heat that crept up your face at his words and shook your head. “I just got out of the shower, so could you hurry this up?”

“Why? I’m quite enjoying the view.”

“You can literally only see my face, Wade.”

“I’m talking about the view in my mind. You know, the mental image of what’s going on below the camera angle.” He grinned before he yelped in pain and glared at someone off-screen. “Do you have to hit me? You know, as Colossus, you’re pretty fucking strong!”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at that, making Wade turn back to you. “Got what you deserved for your lewd remarks, I would say.”

“As if you don’t enjoy my lewd remarks.” He said in an almost sultry voice before he looked back to his side again. “Alright, I’ll stop and ask her!”

“Ask me what?”

“There’s a hostage situation, and we sort of want to go help those people. We could really use your help.” Wade said, sounding much more serious now but that quickly ended when another grin overtook his face. “And feel free to come right away. I won’t complain about your state of dress -- or more like un-dress.”

Rolling your eyes affectionately, you started to move and gather all you would need for this mission. “Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be ready. Are you guys picking me up?”

“We are. But if we’re quicker than twenty minutes, does that mean I’ll get to see you naked?” He wriggled his eyebrows at you again before jumping to his feet and moving away from his previous spot, looking back at Colossus off-screen. “Don’t hit me again, I’ll stop with the flirting! For someone the author isn’t even writing any dialogue for right now, you sure are disrupting this story!”

“I will be ready in twenty minutes.” You said, pointedly ignoring his flirting remark and giving him a small smirk. “And thank Colossus from me, will you?”

“You like to see me be hit?”

“Definitely!”

“Kinky.”

“Shut up, Wade!”

“Never.”

---

The mission wasn’t easy, and that was not even due to the whole hostage situation and the criminals. It was hard because everything Wade did made you think of your dream. His nimble fingers working to assemble his weapons made you think of them running up your sides. When his hands grasped the handle of his katanas to slice a guy in half, you could only think of what they would feel like, grabbing your hips like they did in your dream. And when you saw his body move in that tight suit of his, you couldn’t help but stare.

But what really was your undoing was what happened when you thought all the captors were dead. As you checked the back of the bank for any more hostages, one of the men you thought was dead stumbled to his feet behind you and pulled out a knife.

You didn’t even notice him but he didn’t get to you because before he could, an arm was wrapped your your waist and you were turned away, body tilted backwards as the man fell past you. He collided with the floor before a shot was fired into his head by the person who had caught you. When you looked back up you saw that it was Wade holding you, his arm still wrapped around your waist and his gun in the other hand.

Wade mumbled some insults as he looked down at the man but you couldn’t stop staring at him as a realisation overcame you. What had been nothing but questioning your feelings for Wade for weeks had suddenly shifted. You knew how you felt. You knew you were in love with Wade.

Before you could as much as come to terms with that realisation, let alone think of whether or not to tell Wade about your feelings, he shifted your bodies until you were standing upright again before reaching up to pull off his mask.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you staring at me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You huffed as you busied yourself with putting your weapons away. “I was just looking at you because you twirled me out of danger like some heroic ballerina.”

Wade snorted at your words and leaned against the wall behind him, crossing his arms over his chest, and you once more thought of how yours had been pressed flush against it in your dream. “A heroic ballerina sounds more like Spiderman than me but I’ll take it. Still, don’t think I didn’t notice you staring at me or being way quieter than usual.”

“I was concentrating on the mission.”

“I don’t believe you.” He said, narrowing his eyes as he punctuated every word. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing is going on.”

“That’s a fucking lie if I’ve ever heard one. What happened? Did I say something to offend you? Did I look extra sexy in my suit? Did you dream of me?”

Wade was rambling now, and for a second, you thought he hadn’t noticed your reaction to the last question, the way your eyes widened and your frame stiffened. But then his eyes narrowed even more, and a small smirk appeared on his lips as he pointed an accusatory finger at you.

“You dreamt of me? What kind of dream? Don’t tell me it was a sexual dream!”

“Not so loud!”

“So it was a sex dream?” Wade exclaimed before lowering his voice which now had a flirty, almost sultry tinge to it. “Now, all your silent staring makes sense. It almost sounds like you’re in love with me.”

Embarrassment washed over you, and you averted your eyes, looking down at the floor, littered with debris and weapons, as you felt heat creep up your neck. But what was even worse than the embarrassment was the lump that made its way up your throat at his words because they sounded so mocking that you just knew he didn’t reciprocate how you were feeling.

“Are you in love with me?”

All smugness was gone from his voice and replaced with genuine surprise but you still didn’t dare look up at him. You only did when you heard him curse softly, to find him looking at you in nothing short of concern and remorse.

“Fuck, and I joked about it like such a fucking asshole.”

“It’s alright. And it’s alright if you don’t feel the same.” You mumbled out, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Just keep being my friend, alright?”

He stared at you for a few more minutes before he shook his head vehemently, closing the gap between you and all but crowding you against the wall behind you. “What makes you think I don’t feel the same?”

“You’re in love with me, too?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“It’s not like you ever said anything.”

“You didn’t, either.”

“I didn’t really notice it until now.” You confessed before shaking your head a little. “No, that’s not true, either. I think I was in love with you for some time but dreaming of you and you saving me today, made me really realise it.”

“Being a heroic ballerina made you fall for me?”

“It was part of it.” You laughed softly, the anxiety of the whole situation leaving you now that the weight of Wade liking you back settled on you. “I can’t believe you like me, too. Does that make us a couple now or something?”

Wade shrugged before placing a hand next to your head and supporting his weight on the wall behind you. “If that’s what you want. I’d be totally up for it. But you know what else I’d be up for? Recreating that dream of yours. What exactly did we get up to? I saw you glancing at my hands and fingers a lot. What did I do with them?”

“I was in your lap and they were all over me.” You whispered out as he got ever closer to your face, his lips inches away from yours. “We should probably take this somewhere private if we want to recreate my dream, though.”

“Good idea. Not that you covered in blood isn’t really hot but I don’t think fucking in a bank vault after there were hostages held there is a good idea. Just one more thing.”

You opened your mouth to ask what he was going to say, and he took that opportunity to kiss you, tongue instantly finding its way into your mouth as your eyes grew in surprise, just to quickly flutter shut. His free hand came up to grab the side of your face as he pressed you against the wall, his body flush against yours, so perfectly reminiscent of your dream that your arms quickly wrapped around his neck to keep him close to you. Thankfully, even as he drew back for breath, he didn’t let go.

“Since I doubt the author will let us get nasty right here and now, let me take you home. Then I can show you what my hands can do, and I promise it’ll be better than any dream.”

[runawrites-blog]

Would you still love me if I was a worm? - John Walker x reader

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Word count: 1.1k

Description: You hit John with a stupid question, he takes it too seriously.

Note: I swear this man is so intense he’s so fun to write, enjoy🫶🏼

Masterlist / Bucky’s version

"Would you still love me if I was a worm?"

The question caught him off guard.

He was piloting the team's jet to mission site, big hands gripping the controls steadily. You were in the copilot seat, feet relaxing on the dashboard, enjoying a little too much the way he looked controlling the aircraft.

His eyes were locked on the sky ahead, with a tense jaw and those furrowed brows of his... lord, concentration looked good on him.

Almost too good.

So, naturally, you had to stop it before you jumped on top of your man and gave a free show to everyone on the jet.

John just blinked twice. What on earth was that question?

He didn’t glance your way, or even bother to give it a second thought before he replied.

"No."

You opened your mouth offended, and straightened up in your seat.

"John! You didn't even think about it" You whined, a soft laugh followed.

"Please tell me I didn’t hear you right, did you say a worm?" He asked, not even trying to hide the most bewildered expression you'd ever seen on him.

"You heard me, John" You squint your eyes at him, and insist, “would you still love me if I turned into a little worm?"

He sighed this time, taking his hand off the dashboard to rub his face like he just lost multiple brain cells.

"Honey, why would you ever be a worm?" He said, softer now, like he needed to understand the root cause before proceeding.

You roll your eyes, here we go again. Of course he needed it to make sense, his brain didn’t function right if there wasn’t a logical reason behind everything.

"I really don't now, babe. Some sort of mutation?… maybe witchcraft? … a gone wrong experiment Val does on me?”

“I would never let Val experiment on you” He denied, shrugging like why would you ever consider that as a possibility.

You pause for a second and tilt your head to the side, feeling a sudden warmth in your chest from his comment.

No, no, focus. You can kiss him breathless later, after he answers the worm question.

“Alright Walker that’s fair, love that, nice move” You nodded, squinting playfully at him.

He just smirked and shrugged, smug bastard.

“Not the point, though. Do you really think it would be so crazy that I could be a worm when we have at least two superheroes named after bugs?”

He looked back to the sky, considering it for a second, but quickly turned to you again with his eyebrows raised.

“Well, actually, spiderman is technically an arachnid so ... not a bug honey" He corrected, not even trying to hide his maddening little mansplaining smirk.

"Oh shut up, John" You rolled your eyes, slapping his arm, he chuckled. "Uh huh, whatever smartass, you still have to answer. What if I was a worm, then?"

He groaned, placing his thumb and index fingers in the dent of his closed eyes, shaking his head in defeat.

He could at least try to make some sense of it.

“Okay, we’re doing this” He muttered, and you nodded enthusiastically. “Is it still you, but worm shaped? As in … do you still have consciousness? Can you communicate with me? Would you have powers, or is it just …”

He just went rambling on.

You leaned back in your seat, chuckling as you watched the gears turning behind those handsome, stressed out eyes. He was running through scenarios, possibilities, variables.

At least he looked cute while losing his mind over it.

But then, he stopped rambling, like an idea just popped in his head.

"Wait … what kind of worm?" He tilts his head to the side.

I’ll be dammed, you thought, this man didn’t know how to go halfway about anything in his life, ever.

He was fully invested by now.

"What? what do you mean?”

Now it was your turn to furrow your brows.

"What kind of worm, honey? an earthworm? marine? are you symbiotic? regenerative?… This is crucial information to know" He said, listing types like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

How did he even care this much about worm lore?

“You are the most intense person I know” You groaned, staring at him in disbelief.

“And you are the most unserious one I know, honey, don’t get me started”

You just huffed. How did your stupid question get this far?

"God I don't know John, just like a basic worm… in the dirt"

He thinks for moment, like he wasn’t exactly pleased with the answer.

"So then, biologically, you’d lose everything. You would have no brain, no higher reasoning or communication. Technically, you wouldn't even know I exist anymore"

You glared at him.

"But you would know it’s me" You quickly justified, but it didn’t seem to convince him much. "Oh my god John ... just answer the question babe. Would you still love me?"

He tapped his chin a few times, eyes darting around the jet’s cabin, still trying to find a somewhat logical answer in his head. Making you wait for it.

You knew that little asshole was just having fun mocking you.

"Uhm, I guess I could keep you safe … yeah” He nodded. “Build you a little enclosure with some nice quality dirt. It would have to be temperature controlled, for sure. Maybe even ask Val to build you a reinforced travel case? something I can clip to my gear.”

You blinked a few times, before nodding. A win is a win.

"...Thanks?"

But he was quick to shake his head.

"Although honestly, sounds like a lot of emotional labor. Don’t you think our relationship is complicated enough already?" He protested, like it'd be too much fuss.

"Hey!" You laughed, smacking his shoulder.

You both fall into a chuckle. He shakes his head again, but there's a grin in his face now.

From the back of the jet, you heard the unmistakable sound of suppressed laughter.

"Even if she was a brainless worm, she’d still be more emotionally mature than Walker" Bucky whispered to the group.

Muffled laughter followed, like a group of schoolgirls gossiping.

"They are the weirdest, I swear to god" Ava muttered, watching the way you giggled at something John said like he was the most charming idiot on earth.

"Ah captain romance … don’t you see it? he’s worm nerd and she’s worm he takes care of" Alexei chimed in.

“Shh!” Yelena hushed him, snorting. “Honestly, it tracks guys. He gives off strong ‘I talk to my houseplants’ vibes”

“Yeah, watch him hang a ‘Worm Boyfriend of the Year’ plaque next to his service medals” Bucky sneered.

More giggles. At this point they weren’t even trying to be quiet.

John turned halfway in his seat. “You guys know I can hear you, right?”

“That’s the point” Ava said, flipping him off.

“Oh no” Yelena deadpanned. “What are you gonna do, worm boy?”

“Shh! He’s gonna clip us to his belt too.”

That set them off again.

John just rolled his eyes, turning back to the controls. But you noticed the faint hint of a smile on his face.

And then almost under his breath, only for you to hear.

“I’d still love you” He muttered.

You looked over at him.

“What?”

“Nothing. Eyes on the sky.”

You smirked.

This time you did jump on his lap to kiss him breathlessly, while your teammates threw disgusted grunts and gagged sounds at you.

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comments and reblogs save author’s lives, thank you so much for reading <3

[runawrites-blog]

Would you still love me if I was a worm? - Bucky Barnes x reader

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Word count: 1k

Description: A stupid little question turns into a makeout session. Your teammates hate to see it, except for one.

Note: Bucky is an absolute menace in this one. Tower fics are so back, enjoy 🫶🏼

Masterlist / John’s version

"Would you still love me if I was a worm?"

Your question startles Bucky from his half sleep state.

Bucky’s body is stretched out across the Watchtower's living room’s couch. You're half splayed on top of him, your cheek against his chest, and your fingers playing with the chain of his dog tags.

You can feel his beard grazing your temple, and his vibranium arm is slung over your body, pulling you tighter to him like he can't stand even half an inch of your bodies being apart.

"What?" He asks, in amused disbelief. His voice is rough, he’d been at the brink of falling asleep.

"Yeah" You lazily mumble, tracing the edge of one tag. "What if you woke up and I was suddenly... a worm?"

His soft laugh vibrates against your ear. You feel his hand twitch against your back, like he's resisting the urge to check your temperature or look for a possible concussion.

He ultimately decides it's probably just you being silly.

"Just like that? In our bed?" He asks, eyes wide with mock concern. "I would probably roll over and crush you. Then cry about it for the rest of my life"

He pinches your side playfully.

"Bucky!" You gasp, laughing into his chest.

God. You don't even know what that laugh does to him.

"Come on, be serious" You whine. "Just answer the question”

"It's not necessarily a serious question, doll"

"Still needs an answer" You lift your head to glare at him. "Or else."

"Or else?" He playfully mocks, eyebrows rising in feigned shock. He throws his head back, shaking it, and his mouth curls into a teasing smirk. "Hell of a threat coming from a worm"

You narrow your eyes at him.

He chuckles, and the way he smirks is different now. You know it meant he was onto something. 

"Fine, doll" He says, no longer mocking. "You really wanna know what I would do?”

In one fluid motion, he flips you beneath him, pinning your back to the cushions. His metal arm beside your head holds his weight as he leans down, lips brushing your jaw.

"I'd be real fucking sad, doll" He mumbles against your skin "Because if you were a worm, I couldn't do this…“

His mouth travels to your neck.

You gasp under him as his beard tickles your skin, his lips trailing hot kisses down your throat. He sucks a spot just below your ear and you whimper, an involuntary, needy sound that he easily pulls from you.

“See, doll?” He mumbles against your skin. “I wouldn’t hear those sweet sounds of yours”

Your hands get lost in his hair, tugging, trying to keep yourself grounded. But it’s no use. He’s all over you.

“Bucky…” you say in a haze, already forgetting what you were even talking about.

He knows you’re melting under his touch, but it’s the only way he can get his point across.

“So yes, I’d still love you” he mumbles, his voice is low and smug “but I couldn’t love you right, doll”

His vibranium arm slips under you, lifting your hips closer to his.

“You feel that, doll face? you wouldn’t be able to take me like this, couldn’t wrap your body around me, couldn’t—”

“BUCKY”

The chorus of disgusted voices and grunts calling him out crashes into you like cold water.

You freeze on the spot. Bucky immediately pauses and closes his eyes for a second.

With heat all over your faces, you peek over the back of the couch.

There in the open kitchen, John is leaning over the counter, with Ava sitting across from him. Yelena lounges beside her with a bowl of popcorn they’d been sharing.

“The stupid worm talk was kinda entertaining” Yelena says, flicking a handful of popcorn at you “But now you’re just being disgusting”

Bucky blocks the kernels with one arm.

“Do you have to get freaky every time you’re in this room?” John complains.

“We’re literally right here” Ava makes a gagging noise.

“We weren’t even doing anything” Bucky says innocently, then grins like the little devil he is. “Yet”

You smack his arm and shove his chest to get up from the awkward position. Bucky groans theatrically but stands, running a hand through his tangled hair like he’s proud of the mess you made.

He offers you a hand up, but when you take it he pulls you back against him the moment you’re standing, pressing a kiss to your neck, eyes locked with them like it’s a challenge.

That horny little bastard.

“Okay, that’s our cue to leave” Ava stands abruptly, the stool screeching across the floor. Her nose wrinkles in disgust.

John follows with the popcorn bowl in hand, muttering “It’s literally every damn week”

“Always the same with these two… at least have some shame” Yelena sighs, shaking her head like a disapproving church aunt before trudging after them.

They vanish down the hallway.

“Alone at last” Bucky whispers over your ear. He gently tucks your hair behind it, then lays another warm kiss against your neck.

You’re just starting to melt again, when the sound of the flick of a page makes you freeze again.

You both whip around to find Bob, still curled up in his reading chair in the corner, legs crossed, his left foot bouncing. He’s been there this entire time, and his expression was calm.

Too calm.

“Bob” Bucky squints at him. “You okay over there, buddy?”

Bob blinks, just noticing you. “Huh? … Oh! Yeah yeah. I’ve had roommates who were way worse. If you don’t mind me, I don’t mind you.”

He shrugs, then slips on his noise canceling headphones and continues reading, completely unfazed.

You stare at him horrified. Worse roommates? What on earth has he seen?

You look at Bucky, whose face mirrors your horror.

“Okay… this got weird” he mutters, shaking his head. But almost instantly, he catches your eye, lips curling. “Unless…”

He looks at you, with that devilish smirk he only does when he knows he's out of line.

This time you smack him harder.

“James Buchanan Barnes, you did not just suggest that we …”

You couldn’t even finish as you break off in a chuckle when he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, completely unbothered.

“Yeah … whatever, doll. You know those headphones wouldn’t have helped Bob once I had you screaming into the cushions”

You groan, one hand covering your face as the other grabs him by the belt to drag him towards the elevator.

He just lets you, very happily.

━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━━

comments and reblogs save author’s lives, thank you so much for reading <3

[runawrites-blog]

[runawrites-blog]

That's my work up there! I'm so honoured, thank you so much ^^

Star Wars

...is part of The Bookshelf.

⇨ This is a collection of my favorite fanfics/oneshots on Tumblr I love to re-read once in a while. None of those works belong to me! Feel free to use it as well.

⇨ My own works are here

Boba Fett

Midnight Special - Masterlist Summary: After an exciting fling in a bar, you and Boba enter a secret relationship that mostly takes place in motels where you pay for the hour. But when your friend invites you to her family's BBQ, you meet under drastically different circumstances.

Say Yes Summary: A young, handsome bounty hunter on Tatooine makes it a daily intention to ask you to marry him.

Twin Suns Summary: You broke it off, but Boba isn’t finished.

Protection Summary: Five times the people in the palace saw how protective Boba was of you and one time you got to protect him.

The Tribute (Series)

Darth Vader

The Empress Part 1, Part 2 Summary: Vader wakes up after his fight with Obi-Wan to the news that Padme is dead. In his anger he kills Palpatine and becomes the Emperor himself. Senator Organa and his wife Queen Breha help establish The Resistance. However, in order to hide Alderaan’s involvement with the newly established enemies of the Empire and protect their people, Senator Organa’s sister ( Reader ) is offered to Vader as a wife.

[runawrites-blog]

Super Solider Stamina

Pairing: fem!reader x Bucky Barnes

Prompt: Y/N reveals too much information about her and Bucky's sex life to Yelena and Ava and Bucky get's revenge

Warnings: Mentions of sex, 18+ only, minors do not engage

-----

Y/N was lounging upside-down on the Avengers Tower couch, legs hanging over the backrest, hair brushing against the floor, and a knowing smirk plastered across her face. In front of her, Yelena sat cross-legged with a tub of ice cream in her lap, while Ava flipped through a magazine she clearly wasn’t reading.

"You two are so tense," Y/N declared, pointing a spoon at them. “You both need to go out and get laid. Seriously.”

Yelena didn’t look up. “And we’re starting here, why?”

“Because this is an intervention,” Y/N said, straightening dramatically. “You’re both walking nerve bundles. I swear I can hear Ava’s spine grinding. And Yelena, you flinched when the toaster popped this morning.”

“It was loud,” Yelena snapped.

“Exactly my point. What you need isn’t therapy, or more combat training. What you need is a hot, completely forgettable one-night stand with someone who knows what they’re doing and isn’t afraid to ruin your life for one night.”

Ava raised an eyebrow. “And this is coming from the woman who’s dating America’s Broodiest Man.”

“Exactly!” Y/N beamed. “Bucky was broody. Now? He’s relaxed. Smiles more. Sleeps better. He even jokes.”

Yelena looked suspicious. “What did you do to him?”

Y/N leaned in with a wicked grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Oh no,” Ava said immediately. “Don’t. Don’t you dare.”

“I’m just saying,” Y/N went on, not afraid to share any details about her sex life, “there’s something exhilarating about being pinned down by a supersoldier.”

Yelena gagged. “Please stop.”

"I’m dead serious. One night with him, and I finally understood what super soldier stamina really means. He doesn’t stop. Not until your legs are shaking, your voice is wrecked, and your body forgets what rest feels like. Three orgasms? Minimum. Coherent thought? Not happening for at least twenty-four hours. He’s relentless, in the best, most devastating way possible."

Ava blinked. “Three?”

Y/N nodded. ""And that’s before he even takes the shirt off. Once it’s gone and you see all that hard muscle and barely restrained control, it’s over. He pins you with that look—hungry, possessive—and suddenly your back’s against the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist, and he’s fucking you like he has something to prove. His stamina is unreal—relentless thrusts that leave you shaking, his mouth everywhere, dragging orgasm after orgasm out of you until you’re crying his name and can’t remember your own."

Yelena dropped her spoon. “That’s too much visual. Too much detail. I'm still a child in some countries.”

Y/N was on a roll now, unbothered. “One time? He…used the vibranium arm as leverage, braced me against the glass, and said—”

The elevator doors slid open with a gentle ding.

The man of the hour, Bucky Barnes stepped in, toweling off his hair, dressed in joggers and a dark henley, walking toward the kitchen but stopping when he heard the word “leverage.”

He paused.

Three sets of eyes locked onto him.

“...What did I just walk into?” he asked cautiously.

Y/N lit up. “Hey, babe! We were just talking about you.”

Yelena threw the pillow at her. “She’s telling us war crimes.”

Ava was smirking at Bucky, revealing she knew way too much about him. “Y/N said that you have amazing stamina and that you’re vibranium arm--”

Bucky turned bright red. “I—what? Wait. Y/N!”

Y/N shrugged innocently. “What? I’m helping! They’re stressed. They need to relax. I’m offering inspiration.”

“I did not consent to being used as Exhibit A in your sex-ed TED Talk!” Bucky barked, now clearly panicking.

“Too late,” Yelena muttered. “You’re a whole case study now.”

“I’m leaving,” Bucky muttered, already walking backward toward the elevator. “You’re all insane.”

“Love you!” Y/N called after him. 

Bucky paused, pointing at her. “You’re getting payback.”

“I hope so,” she smirked.

The elevator doors shut behind him.

Ava slowly turned to Y/N. “So... back to this leverage thing…”

Yelena held up her hand. “No. We’re going to a bar. We’re finding someone hot. And I’m doing whatever they say—as long as it doesn’t involve windows, or vibranium.”

Y/N pumped her fist. “That’s the spirit.”

---

The team was mid-briefing in the tower’s war room, the kind with the 3D holograms, the giant table, and an overwhelming amount of caffeine. Y/N sat between Yelena and Ava, twirling a pen like she wasn't already bored out of her mind.

Walker was talking and clicking through intel slides. Bob was silently judging everyone.

And Bucky?

Bucky was biding his time.

He leaned back in his chair, arms folded casually, watching Y/N with a small, unreadable smirk on his face. She hadn’t noticed yet. But Yelena did. 

Something was coming.

Walker cleared his throat. “So our next op involves infiltration through a three-story compound—minimal cover, tight corridors. We’re thinking two-person teams. Standard breach and clear—”

Bucky casually raised a hand. “Can I make a team suggestion?”

Walker looked up. “What’re you thinking?”

Bucky smiled. “I should probably pair up with Y/N. She’s good at close-quarters work.”

Y/N arched a brow. “I’m flattered, babe.”

Bucky kept going. “And she’s excellent under pressure. Real flexible. Knows how to adapt to… tight spaces.”

Yelena immediately started choking on her water.

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?”

“Oh,” Bucky innocently said. “Just giving the team some context for why I think we work well together. Like that time in Berlin—what was it you said? ‘You handle the top, I’ll take the bottom’?”

Ava’s mouth dropped open.

Walker blinked slowly. “I’m…gonna pretend that was tactical.”

Bucky smiled. “Oh, it was very… hands-on.”

Y/N’s face was flaming. “James Buchanan Barnes, I will kill you.”

“Oh no,” he said, leaning back. “You’re the one who decided to give my resume out like free samples at Costco. This is me… networking.”

Bob tilted his head, intrigued. “This is more entertaining than the actual mission.”

Ava tried not to laugh and failed. “You two need couple’s therapy or a reality show. Maybe both.”

Yelena was wheezing. “I told her payback was coming.”

Bucky turned to Y/N with a shit-eating grin. “You really should warn them about how loud you are during recon missions. Could compromise the whole operation.”

Y/N kicked him under the table so hard that Ava’s water bottle rattled.

“Oops,” she said sweetly. “Tactical reflex.”

Walker stared down at his notes. “I’m begging you. Keep the flirting PG until after we clear the building.”

“I can’t make promises,” Y/N muttered, glaring at her boyfriend, who looked way too pleased with himself. 

“Good,” Bucky said, cracking his knuckles. “I like when you’re angry. Makes the mission more… physical.”

Yelena stood up. “I’m leaving. I can’t do this. I need bleach. Or a priest.”

Ava followed, eyes wide. “We were not ready for this level of revenge.”

Y/N slumped back in her chair, groaning. “I liked you better when you were emotionally repressed.”

Bucky leaned over and whispered in her ear, “You’re gonna like me even better tonight.”

Her pen snapped in half.

Walker, already regretting his life choices, said, “Next time, I’m assigning you to separate continents.”

[runawrites-blog]

Shoulder to Lean On

Bucky x reader

Summary: When you fall asleep with your head resting on Bucky's metal arm, he starts to realize he's not just a weapon.

Word Count: 1,878

Steve insisted that the group do a team bonding activity, something about not spending enough time together outside of missions.

Which is how you ended up here, on the couch, squished between Bucky and Nat while everyone argued about which movie to watch.

It’s not that you didn’t like the idea of a movie night – you loved watching movies. You were just getting a little overwhelmed with everyone around you yelling, your shoulder awkwardly pressing against Bucky’s metal one, and it was clear Bucky wanted to be anywhere but here, leaning as far away from you as he could.

You and Bucky didn’t interact much, but he didn’t really talk to anyone much other than Steve. You just shared quick greetings and awkward small talk if you were alone in a room together.

So being this close to him for a few hours was going to be interesting.

But when the others finally settled down and decided on a movie, Nat leaned against the other side of the couch, allowing you to shift away from Bucky, just enough so you weren’t touching anymore.

They had picked a fairly new action movie, one you’d seen once before, so you were half-paying attention and half-zoned out.

You didn’t even realize when your eyes started to flutter shut as your body slowly shifted to the side.

Before you knew it, you were asleep – with your head slowly falling against Bucky’s metal shoulder.

--

Bucky stiffened the second he felt her head drift onto his shoulder, her weight light but unmistakable. His spine went straight, eyes wide as if someone had yanked him into a mission briefing without warning.

Of all the places she could’ve leaned – why the metal arm?

The chill of the vibranium pressed against her cheek, and yet…she didn’t flinch. She didn’t move away. She even sighed, soft and content, like this was the most natural thing in the world. His chest tightened.

He stared straight ahead, muscles locked, jaw clenched. His instinct screamed at him to shift, to move her gently off him before she noticed what she’d done. He hated this part – this reminder of what he was made of. What had been done to him. People didn’t lean on weapons. They avoided them.

But then…he glanced down.

She was completely at ease, her features relaxed, lips slightly parted in sleep. One hand curled loosely in her lap, the other resting near his thigh but not touching. There was no hesitation in her body, no discomfort in her expression. Just peace.

She trusted him.

His heart thudded heavily, each beat slowing with the realization. She knew what his arm was, and she’d still fallen asleep against it. Against him.

He swallowed, unsure of what to do. He let out a slow, silent breath, careful not to disturb her, and leaned back just a little more into the couch cushion, letting himself settle.

Maybe he’d let her stay there a while longer.

A few minutes passed before Sam noticed.

He leaned forward from where he sat on the floor and blinked. “Wait a second – am I seeing this right?” he whispered loudly, elbowing Clint.

Clint turned, squinting in the low light. His grin spread instantly. “Holy crap. Is she – yeah, she’s definitely asleep on Bucky.”

Steve looked over and raised an eyebrow. “And Bucky’s letting her?”

Nat craned her neck and smirked. “Not just letting – he’s not moving a muscle. He’s frozen.”

“That’s because he’s malfunctioning,” Tony deadpanned, grabbing a handful of popcorn. “Someone call Wakanda, his arm’s about to short-circuit.”

Bucky rolled his eyes but didn’t move. “She’s asleep,” he muttered, voice low.

“On your shoulder,” Sam pointed out, grinning like a kid at Christmas. “You normally flinch if someone breathes in your direction.”

“She’s different,” Clint stage-whispered dramatically. “The Winter Soldier has a soft spot.”

Steve chuckled, clearly enjoying this a little too much. “You okay there, Buck?”

Bucky glanced down at you again, then shrugged one shoulder carefully – not the one you were leaning on. “She’s comfortable,” he said simply. “Didn’t wanna wake her.”

But deep down, under the teasing and the smirks and the popcorn being flicked at his head, he wasn’t actually all that bothered.

In fact, he kind of liked it.

--

The credits rolled slowly up the screen as the final soundtrack played out, and one by one, the team began shifting and standing.

Nat stretched and cracked her neck. “Well, that was two hours of my life I’ll never get back.”

“Better than Clint’s last pick,” Sam muttered, brushing popcorn off his pants.

“You said you liked Mamma Mia!” Clint shot back, scandalized.

Voices layered over each other, shoes scuffed the floor, and someone knocked over an empty cup. The volume in the room rose steadily – but Bucky didn’t move an inch.

Still sitting ramrod straight on the couch, still letting you lean against his metal arm. His jaw tightened slightly as Steve glanced at him again with a knowing smile.

“You gonna stay like that all night, Buck?”

“Yeah,” Clint chimed in. “We should take bets – think she drooled on the vibranium?”

“I’m offended,” Tony said, pointing dramatically. “That arm was designed for stealth, precision, and battlefield dominance – not as a sleep aid.”

“Maybe it’s multifunctional,” Nat deadpanned, crossing her arms.

Bucky just huffed quietly, refusing to take the bait. “She’s still sleeping.”

“Not for long,” Steve murmured, just as your lashes fluttered.

Your body shifted slightly, and your head lifted off his shoulder as you blinked, disoriented. Your hair was mussed, a crease on your cheek from the ridges of his arm, faint but obvious. You squinted around at the group, half-asleep, voice groggy.

“…What’s going on?”

Clint snorted. “Sleeping Beauty returns.”

“You fell asleep on Bucky’s shoulder,” Sam said, clearly enjoying this way too much.

You paused, and then your eyes widened slightly as you slowly sat up straighter, fingers brushing at your cheek as if trying to smooth away the sleep marks. You didn’t say anything at first, just turned to Bucky – who still hadn’t moved – and gave him a sheepish look.

“Sorry,” you said softly, voice laced with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to–”

“It’s okay,” Bucky said quickly, quietly. “Really.”

Something in his tone made you glance at him a little longer than necessary, but before either of you could say anything else, the teasing resumed.

“Look at him,” Sam grinned. “Protective mode activated.”

“This is my favorite team bonding night ever,” Clint said, not even trying to hide his laughter.

“Should we get matching blankets for them next time?” Tony added.

Bucky groaned and ran a hand down his face, but there was no bite behind it. You, now wide awake and thoroughly flustered, could only shake your head as Nat leaned in to whisper, “For what it’s worth, he didn’t move a single inch the whole movie.”

Your face burned, but a small, surprised smile tugged at your lips anyway.

The others slowly filed out of the room, still snickering and tossing back comments as they went.

“Get some rest, lovebirds,” Tony called, tossing a final wink over his shoulder.

“Don’t stay up too late,” Clint added before Steve finally ushered the stragglers out with a tired shake of his head.

You stood up slowly, rubbing your eyes and letting out a quiet yawn. The creak of the couch cushions behind you told you Bucky had gotten up too. You turned back slightly, surprised he hadn’t made a beeline for the exit like he usually did after group events.

You hesitated for a second, then smiled as you looked up at him. “Thanks,” you said lightly, your voice a little shy but warm. “For, y’know…letting me fall asleep on you.” You let out a small laugh, a bit self-conscious. “Didn’t mean to use your shoulder as a pillow.”

Bucky shrugged, hands in his pockets, a flicker of something soft in his eyes. “No problem,” he said. “Just didn’t wanna wake you.”

His gaze flicked to your cheek, and his brow furrowed a little. “Did it hurt? The arm, I mean.”

You blinked, then instinctively reached up and touched your cheek, feeling the faint ridges the metal had left behind. You laughed again, this time more genuinely.

“No, not at all,” you said, still smiling. “It was actually…really comfortable.”

His eyes widened slightly, just for a second.

“I usually can’t fall asleep sitting up like that,” you continued, dropping your hand and meeting his gaze. “But I guess it was comfortable enough to stay asleep, huh?”

Bucky let out a quiet laugh – more like a breath of disbelief – and looked away for a second, trying (and failing) not to let the corner of his mouth pull up into a smile.

People didn’t say things like that. Not about that part of him.

“That’s good,” he said, voice low and sincere. “I’m glad.”

And he was. More than he could say out loud.

You stepped out into the hallway together, the soft hum of the tower’s lights overhead filling the quiet.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Bucky walked just half a step behind you, hands tucked in the pockets of his sweats, eyes flicking to you every so often but never quite landing. You toyed with the sleeve of your hoodie, not really sure what to say either. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable exactly – just full of a weird mix of lingering embarrassment and…something else. Something new.

You were halfway down the hall when you glanced at him and said lightly, “I’m kind of surprised you didn’t shove me off the couch.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “I thought about it.”

You laughed, nudging him gently with your elbow, this time intentionally bumping into his metal arm. “Wow. Honored.”

“That was before you started snoring,” he added deadpan, but there was a playful glint in his eyes.

Your jaw dropped. “I did not snore.”

“I didn’t say it was loud,” he said with a straight face, “just a little pathetic.”

You gasped, swatting his arm with a laugh, and he chuckled – actually chuckled – like the sound surprised even him.

By the time you reached your door, both of you were still smiling, the awkwardness from earlier fading into something easier.

You stopped and turned to face him, hand resting on the doorknob.

“Really, though,” you said, voice softer now. “Thanks again. I…I don’t usually let myself fall asleep around people.” You hesitated, then added with a slight shrug, “But I guess I felt safe.”

That seemed to catch him off guard. His expression flickered – surprise, warmth, something quietly vulnerable.

He cleared his throat and glanced away for a second. “It was nothing,” he said, brushing it off with the same calm tone he used earlier. “You were tired.”

You smiled again, this one gentler. “Still. Thanks.”

He looked back at you then, and the space between you shifted – not charged, not heavy. Just full of something simple. Honest.

“Goodnight,” you said softly.

“‘Night,” he replied, the corner of his mouth lifting.

And with that, you slipped into your room, the door closing quietly behind you.

He stood there for a moment, staring at the wood grain, before finally turning and walking back down the hall – still not quite sure why he was smiling.

--

Masterlist

Bucky Taglist: @winchestert101 @herejustforbuckybarnes @avengemepercy @buckyslove1917 @nelachu2423 @iyskgd @navs-bhat @starstruckfirecat @yes-ilovetowrite

[runawrites-blog]

knife's edge.

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: Heels on. Nothing else. You only meant to try them on—until Bucky saw your reflection in the mirror. Now he’s on his knees, leaking, begging, and discovering a kink he never knew he needed.

Disclaimer: 18+ (mdni!), explicit smut content, stiletto kink, cock worship (m receiving), edging, orgasm denial, ruined orgasm, praise/degradation mix, soft dom!reader, sub!bucky, kink discovery, begging

Author's Note: Just trying something new based on umm an old quote from the man himself (Sebastian).

You’d only meant to try them on.

The heels—sleek, obsidian black stilettos—had been tossed carelessly by your dresser, still in the box Yelena had left with a wink.

“You’re gonna need these at that gala. Something that says: I might stab you, and I’ll look damn good doing it.”

Now, fresh from your shower, skin still warm and dewy, you slipped into them—nothing on but a towel draped over your hair, drying off the ends. The hard click of the heel echoed sharply as you stepped across the hardwood floor of your walk-in, then paused to study your reflection in the full-length mirror.

The shoes made your legs look longer. Firmer. Every shift of your weight made your muscles flex just right—like danger incarnate wrapped in nothing but bare skin and sleek edges. You turned slightly, admiring the clean line of your thigh from the back, the curve of your ass lifted just right by the height of the heels.

You took a few steps—slow and experimental—toward the mirror. Click. Click. A small smile played on your lips. Powerful. That’s how they made you feel.

You didn’t realize you weren’t alone.

Bucky had been standing just past the doorway—towel slung low around his hips, hair damp, chest still glistening from the aborted mission to shower. But now he was behind you, watching silently.

In the mirror, you saw him—towering behind you like some kind of storm barely held back. His jaw was tight. His cock already twitching beneath the towel.

“Jesus,” he muttered, voice low and wrecked.

You startled slightly, catching his reflection. “Buck?”

“I—” he dragged a hand down his face. “Don’t move.”

You arched a brow, amused. “Why?”

“Because I can’t stop staring. You—fuck, sweetheart…” His eyes raked your reflection, wide and hungry. “You look like a fucking vision. I can’t—your legs. Tight. Flexed. Those fucking heels…”

You shifted again, subtle, letting the pose change slightly. “It’s just heels.”

“You’re naked in heels,” he rasped, stepping forward like gravity reeled him in. “Clicking around like it’s nothing. And you didn’t even know I was here. That’s fucking criminal.”

He stopped just behind you—close enough that you could feel the heat of him, his towel brushing your skin. You met his gaze in the mirror as he stared over your shoulder, utterly entranced.

“I was testing them out.”

“Yeah?” His voice dipped again. “I’m testing my fucking limits.”

Still, he didn’t touch. His breath ghosted across your neck as he whispered, “You look like you could slit throats and make a man thank you for it.”

You chuckled, soft and sultry. “That’s a compliment?”

“Sweetheart, that’s a confession.”

Then his hands finally found your hips. He pressed himself to your back, hard and hot, his cock fully erect beneath the thin towel. His mouth brushed your ear.

“You ever see yourself like this?” he murmured. “Legs flexed. Shoulders bare. Looking at me in the mirror like that?”

“I see you too,” you whispered, shifting your weight just slightly so your heel lifted. “And I see what this is doing to you.”

Bucky groaned, the sound dark and low in his throat. His grip tightened, and then—slowly—he turned you in his hands. Gently, reverently. Until you were facing him.

His eyes were glazed, jaw tight, towel strained over how badly he wanted you.

Then, with one hand, he reached down and curled his fingers behind your knee.

“Lift it,” he said, voice a raw rasp.

You obeyed, placing your hand on his shoulder for balance as you raised your leg.

He caught it easily—guided your stiletto up onto his thigh, right against the heat of him.

And just like that… you understood.

You shifted your angle slightly, just enough to let the sharp point of your heel drag slowly across the inside of his thigh. He gasped.

You did it again. Slower this time. Closer.

He bit his bottom lip, eyes fluttering half-shut.

“Think I just found a new kink,” he groaned. “You, wearing those heels. Me just… watching you use ‘em like this.”

“You’d let me tease you like this?” you asked, voice teasing, hungry. “Keep you hard with just my heels and no hands?”

His hips jerked forward instinctively.

“You’d do that to me?”

You smiled, head tilting slightly. “I’d make you beg, Bucky. Tell you how pretty you look, all desperate. Maybe even let you rut up against my foot a little. But only if you ask nicely.”

“Fuck.” His voice cracked. “You could ruin me.”

You stepped in closer, both hands pressing gently to his chest now.

“Then let me.”

And with one slow, confident push, you backed him until his shoulders met the cool surface of the mirror behind him—still watching, still reflected.

Bucky exhaled a shaky breath, letting his towel fall.

And you dropped to your knees.

You were just getting started.

—

You looked up at him, cock flushed and twitching in front of you, chest rising and falling like he was holding on by a thread.

“Say please,” you murmured, fingers gliding up his thigh as you leaned in.

Bucky moaned—low and wrecked—his head falling back to thump softly against the mirror.

“Please. Just—baby, please.”

You didn’t give him what he wanted. Not yet.

Instead, you reached down and pressed your heel between his thighs again—light, teasing, right to that sensitive spot that made him jolt.

“The gala might have to wait.”

His breath stuttered hard, hands twitching at his sides. His hips rolled instinctively toward you, seeking contact—anything—but you just leaned back slightly, keeping your eyes on his.

“God,” he whispered, voice frayed. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You smiled sweetly and slid your palm up his length in a slow stroke—then let go completely.

“Not until I’m done with you.”

“You’re so hard,” you whispered. “And I’ve barely done anything to you.”

You watched him—so big, so ready to fall apart for you—and felt a flicker of nerves beneath the thrill. You weren’t used to this. Not like this. But the way he looked at you?

Like you hung the moon.

You straightened your shoulders slightly. Let the confidence follow your voice.

Instead, you slowly stepped back, out of his hold. The sharp click of your stilettos on the hardwood made him visibly flinch, like even the sound of them had power over him now.

“Down,” you said softly, letting the word hang in the air like smoke.

You weren’t sure what you expected. But the way he froze—chest rising, mouth parted—told you everything.

He wanted this. Wanted you like this.

His brows drew together—hesitant, breathless.

“Kneel for me, James.”

You didn’t say it again.

You didn’t need to.

He sank slowly, towel loosening around his hips as he dropped to his knees in front of you. You stood tall above him, completely bare but for the heels and the towel draped across your damp hair. One step forward, and he was level with your thighs—your heat, your scent—everything.

“Look at you,” you murmured, tilting his chin up with your fingers. “Big, dangerous super soldier, and yet you’re right here. On your knees. Just ‘cause I told you to.”

His eyes were wide, lips parted. You watched his cock twitch again, hard and leaking against his stomach.

You shifted your weight, lifting one leg slowly and placing the pointed tip of your heel right between his thighs. Just beneath his balls.

“God—” he gasped, hands twitching on his thighs, unsure where to place them. “You’re gonna fucking destroy me.”

You didn’t answer.

You dragged the heel up lightly—slow, deliberate—over the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. His breath hitched. The sharp press made the muscles in his thighs jump, like his body couldn’t decide if it wanted more or to pull away.

“You like this?” you whispered, eyes locked on his.

He whimpered. Whimpered.

You did it again—just a graze, the tip of your heel trailing up to the crease of his hip before you slid it back down. His cock twitched again, leaking now, desperate.

“Your cock’s such a slut for me,” you said, voice dipped low and cruel-sweet.

You didn’t even know you had that tone in you. But the way he whimpered—his thighs trembling, breath stalling—it did something to you.

He squeezed his eyes shut, chest heaving. “Please—”

“Aw, baby,” you cooed, tilting your heel just enough to press into the tender flesh inside his thigh. “Didn’t know you liked being teased like this. Thought you were the one who liked calling the shots.”

His throat bobbed, lips trembling with restraint. “I didn’t know I’d like you like this.”

Your smile was pure wicked delight. “Poor thing.”

You grazed the heel up again—closer this time, letting the tip ghost along the underside of his cock. Just a whisper of contact.

His whole body jerked. A cracked, broken moan slipped from his lips.

“Needy little thing,” you muttered, stepping closer, letting your calf brush his shoulder. “You wanna come already, don’t you?”

He nodded—frantic, wrecked.

You stood tall behind him, watching the muscles of his back flex as he breathed hard, towel barely hanging on. He was beautiful like this. Obedient. Thighs tense. Cock flushed, twitching, untouched.

But your confidence flickered—just for a moment. Your power felt so sharp, so new.

Your voice softened. “Bucky…”

He turned slightly to glance at you over his shoulder. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

You swallowed, heel tapping lightly against the floor behind him.

You didn’t mean to sound unsure, but it slipped out anyway.

“What… what do I do next? If I wanted to really ruin you?”

His eyes nearly rolled back at that. “Fuck,” he groaned. “You say shit like that and I’m close already.”

That response? That gave you permission to keep going.

You stepped in front of him again, brow furrowed, lips parted with the weight of wanting. “Tell me.”

Bucky’s breath hitched. He sat back on his heels, looking up at you like worship. “Start slow. Use your hands. Don’t let me finish.”

You blinked. “That’s mean.”

He smiled weakly. “Exactly.”

You knelt—carefully, heels still on—sitting with your thighs spread just enough for him to see how wet you were already. His gaze dropped instantly, groaning again.

“You want me to just… touch you?” you asked, hand reaching out toward his flushed, aching cock.

“Please,” he whispered, desperate. “Just not enough. Just enough to make me lose my fucking mind.”

You wrapped your fingers around him gently—slow, reverent. His hips bucked, and he hissed through his teeth.

“God,” you whispered. “You’re so hard…”

You stroked him slowly, deliberately, eyes wide and focused on the way he twitched in your grip. His cock pulsed with every pass of your hand, leaking at the tip. He moaned low, broken, head falling back.

“You look so pretty like this,” you murmured, voice growing steadier as you watched him unravel. “On your knees, begging.”

“Don’t stop,” he groaned.

But you slowed. Thumb grazing under the head, teasing the slit. He cried out softly, hips jerking again.

“Sweetheart, please—don’t play fair. Ruin me.”

You leaned forward and dragged your tongue slowly up the underside of his cock—one long, deliberate stroke, just to taste him.

Bucky choked on a moan. “Fuck, fuck, do that again—”

You licked again, kittenish and slow, then placed a kiss to the flushed head. He whimpered.

Then stopped.

“Wait—baby—” His voice cracked. “Don’t… don’t let me come. Not yet. Please—keep me there. Just right there.”

You pulled back instantly, lips slick, eyes wide. “Like… this?”

You stroked him again, faster now—then stopped just as he started to pant.

He looked wrecked. Eyes glassy. Lips swollen from biting them. Chest heaving.

“Yes. Just like that,” he gasped. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Think I like seeing you like this,” you murmured, brushing your heel against his thigh again. “Whimpering. Barely holding on.”

His cock jerked helplessly. “I can’t—baby, I can’t take it—”

You leaned in, whispering at his ear, stroking him again just to the edge. “No coming, Bucky. Not until I say.”

He nodded helplessly. “Yes. Yes, ma’am.”

Your breath hitched. You felt that.

He was shaking now. Begging under his breath. You watched every muscle in his body tense and tremble—every pulse of his cock in your hand.

And still, you denied him.

“You wanna come so bad,” you whispered. “But I’m not done watching you beg.”

He looked up at you—face flushed, jaw slack, eyes half-lidded.

“Please,” he breathed. “Tell me what you want. I’ll do anything.”

You stroked him once more—firm and slow—then let go completely.

His hips twitched. A full-body jolt. His breath hitched on a raw, cracked moan.

You tilted your head. “You’re leaking again.”

He looked down, eyes wide with humiliation—because yeah, he was. The flushed head of his cock was glistening, dripping onto his own thigh like his body couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“I haven’t even touched you in a minute,” you whispered, awe curling around your voice. “You’re just leaking for me.”

His chest heaved. “I—I can’t help it—”

“Oh, I know you can’t.” You leaned in close, lips brushing his ear. “Look at you. All this from me in heels and a few soft strokes? That’s all it took to get you like this?”

He whimpered. Fucking whimpered. Shoulders hunched like the shame turned him on even more.

“I didn’t know you could get this pathetic,” you whispered, trailing a fingertip up the underside of his cock—barely touching. “But I like it.”

He gasped.

You watched in real time as another thick bead of precum dripped down his length—unprompted, untouched. His thighs were trembling now, muscles strained from trying to hold back the orgasm clawing its way up his spine.

“I feel like I’m gonna come,” he groaned, broken and frantic.

You leaned back, watching every desperate twitch. “You’re not allowed.”

“I know,” he choked. “I know, I know—but baby, please—”

His whole body was shaking. Cock flushed, painfully red at the tip. He was grinding the air just barely, involuntarily chasing friction he knew he wasn’t allowed to have.

Then you saw it—another thick drip of precum pulsing from him. His voice was wrecked now, barely intelligible.

“I’m gonna—fuck, I’m leaking—I can’t stop—baby, I can’t—”

His head dropped forward, resting between your thighs as he moaned—low and hoarse. He was panting like a man being edged at gunpoint—back arched, cock jerking helplessly, tip leaving wet trails across his own abdomen.

You didn’t let him come.

You just held his face, gently, fingertips brushing his stubble as he trembled between your legs.

“You’re so good for me,” you whispered. “Look at you. You haven’t even come, and you’re already falling apart.”

His hands clutched at your thighs like a lifeline.

“Say it,” you murmured, thumb brushing his cheekbone.

He looked up at you, red-faced, eyes glossy.

“I’m yours,” he breathed. “Fuck—I’m yours. Ruin me however you want.”

You smiled.

You didn’t expect to love this—holding him like this, guiding his pleasure like it belonged to you.

But you did.

“Good.”

Your thumb brushed along his jaw as he panted, face still buried against your thigh, cock pulsing and flushed, still leaking.

“Hey,” you whispered softly, voice different now—lower, steady. “You’ve been so good.”

Bucky whimpered.

You tipped his face up gently. “You wanna come, baby?”

His eyes fluttered open—wet and desperate, like he didn’t believe you yet.

“Yeah?” you asked again, more tender now. “You want me to let you?”

His lips parted. “Please. Please, sweetheart—I need it. I need to come so bad, it hurts.”

You kissed his forehead.

“Then do it,” you whispered. “Come for me.”

He didn’t even need to touch himself.

Just your voice—just that permission—was enough.

He groaned, head falling forward again as his hips jerked once, then twice, and—

“Fuck—fuck—I’m coming—”

Thick pulses of hot cum spilled across his belly, each wave shaking his thighs. His whole body shuddered from it, like the dam had snapped wide open and he couldn’t stop if he tried. You held his jaw, watched him fall apart so sweetly—muttering your name under his breath like it was the only thing he remembered how to say.

And when it was over—when the last twitch left his muscles and he sagged against you, boneless, breathing hard—you whispered,

“You okay?”

His breath hitched with something like a laugh. He leaned his head against your chest, still catching up.

“I think I just found religion.”

You smiled, threading your fingers through his damp hair. “You liked that.”

“I loved that,” he whispered, still dazed. “Didn’t know I needed it—being owned like that. You… making me hold back, making me ask for it?”

He looked up at you, cheeks flushed and glowing, a little awestruck.

“Felt like I gave you everything,” he said. “And you took care of it.”

You kissed him again, softer this time. “I did.”

And he let out a breath like a man reborn.

[runawrites-blog]

bucky barnes would absolutely read to you if you asked. like, maybe you’re too tired to read on your own, or your eyes hurt from reading too much, or maybe you just feel like listening to the sound of his voice. so you ask bucky to read aloud to you, and he jumps at the opportunity! “of course I will, doll, c’mere,” he murmurs, pulling you into him, failing to hide how honoured he is that you’ve asked.

he makes you lay down and then gets your head in his lap, holding your book open with one hand while the other plays with your hair absentmindedly. and he reads and reads until his voice gets hoarse, imitating the character’s voices to make you laugh, and pausing for suspense when something interesting is about to happen, to which you beg him to, “hurry up, bucky, you’re killing me.” he just laughs and presses a kiss to your hair before continuing.

he’d keep going forever if you wanted him to, but you drift off to sleep after a while. so he kisses your forehead and bookmarks your page, content to watch you sleep for a bit, mesmerised by the soft rise and fall of your chest <3

[runawrites-blog]

Don't wake daddy dad!bucky x mom!reader

synopsis: you've never been able to surprise your husband considering he's an ex trained assassin, but he'll make an exception for you and your daughter on fathers day. not proofread.

wc: 1081

"Mommy when is it gonna be done?" your daughter tugged at the hem of your shirt.

"Shh baby, we don't want to wake daddy." You smiled and whispered to her as you finished plating your husbands food.

Giggles and the smell of breakfast filled Bucky's senses as he woke, eyes fluttering open from the couch that he most likely fell asleep on from being to tired to get to bed after getting in from work last night. He watched his four year old daughter clumsily walk into the living room with a marker and paper in her hand. Placing the paper on the coffee table, she locked eyes with her father and let out a gasp.

"Mommy he's awake!" She ran back to the kitchen shouting.

You looked down at your daughter who had the cutest little pout on her face, you opened your mouth to speak before you felt an arm slither around your waist.

"Mornin' love." Bucky mumbled into your neck, the grogginess apparent in his voice.

You turned to face your husband and gave him a slow kiss on his lips, "You aren't supposed to be awake mister."

"Daddy ruined the surprise." You looked back down to your daughter who was now teary eyed staring up at her father.

You glanced up at your husband who was now looking at you wide eyed before he crouched down to pick your daughter up, "I'm sorry sweetheart, I didn't mean too."

She sniffled in his arms and you watched as he gently wiped away your daughter's tears, Bucky tried to get her to stop crying but nothing was working.

You walked over to the two and placed a hand on your daughter's back as she cried, you slowly placed your head beside hers on Bucky's shoulder, "Don't be upset honey, daddy didn't know."

Bucky could feel his heart twist at his daughter's upset, especially since he's the one who caused it. The moment was too sweet for Bucky to handle, seeing his daughter cry over something so innocent while you consoled her so gently. Becoming a mother came so naturally to you, you were nurturing, loving and so selfless when it came to your family.

Your daughter wouldn't let up about the problem her poor father unknowingly caused, so Bucky decided to try and create a solution.

"How about I go back to sleep, hm? And then you and mommy can finish the surprise?" Your husband suggested in a hushed tone. Gaining not only your attention, but your daughters as well.

Your daughter's head shot up and she nodded with teary eyes. Bucky set her down and walked back to the couch but not before grabbing the hands of your and your daughter, "You and mom gotta tuck me in though, okay?"

"Okay!" Your daughter replied cheerfully, the way her could change so abruptly always surprised you and your husband.

You rolled your eyes playfully at Bucky earning a wink from him, as the three of you walked into the living room. Bucky returned to his original sleeping position and gave you a cocky grin while you placed the blanket over him.

You were just about to walk away before your daughter grabbed onto the hem of your shirt, "Mama what about goodnight kisses? Daddy needs them to sleep!"

"Yeah mama, I want my goodnight kisses." Your husband restated, the man was quite literally beaming while awaiting your kiss.

You giggled and bent down to give Bucky a peck on his forehead, but he swiftly angled his head upwards and your lips landed on his as he gripped your face gently, causing you to squeal slightly before pulling away.

"Okay, Daddy is going to bed now." You picked your daughter up as Bucky shut his eyes and went back to 'sleep'.

You walked back into the kitchen and finished setting up the breakfast tray with your daughter. You carefully walked with the tray in your hands as your daughter held a handmade drawing and a small wrapped rectangular box.

You set the tray down on the coffee table and signaled for your daughter to wake up her father. Bucky pretended to stir in his sleep earning a small chuckle from you.

"Mmm, m' so tired princess. How about you and Mommy join me?" Before either of you could respond, Bucky pulled both of you on top of him and squeezed you both. Your daughter shrieked with excitement before somehow freeing herself from Bucky's grasp,

"Daddy look what I made!!" She revealed the drawing to your husband, it was a picture of you and Bucky holding your daughter's hand along with a scramble of letters that didn't spell out anything, but he wasn't gonna tell that to his little girl. "Look I drew your arm!"

"Oh my. I love it, princess." Saying he loved it was an understatement. Bucky was on the verge of tears, he had been all morning. Bucky never thought in a million years that he would get to experience peace like this. He never thought he would ever deserve to live the domestic life, hell he still doesn't think he deserves it.

"Sweetheart, give daddy the present you got him. " You whispered.

You watched as her tiny fingers handed Bucky the small box. Your daughter watched eagerly as your husband opened the box to reveal a necklace with a small silver rectangular locket, similar to the shape of his dog tags he always wore around his neck.

Bucky's heart almost stopped as he opened the locket, inside was a picture that he had taken of you and your daughter on the beach during his birthday two years ago. The photo was of you holding your daughter in your arms, the two of you smiling in on the sand as the sunset painted the background with beautiful shades of pink, red, and orange.

That was it.

That was Bucky's breaking point, he could no longer hold back the stinging in his eyes. Tears slipped down his cheeks, he wiped them away quickly but not without you seeing.

"Daddy? You don't like it?"

"No no, I love it princess. Thank you." He said while clearing his throat, he pulled the two of you into his lap and smotherd you both with kisses.

"I love you both," He said softly

"I love you too." You pulled him into a kiss before your daughter separated the two of you.

"Ewww."

Bucky snorted out a laugh,

"Let's eat hm? Im starving."

a/n: this is completely self indulgent but idc. also late fathers day post, this was supposed to be posted three days ago oops. anways this is like a test run for me maybe posting a bucky mini fic I've been working on lol.

like, comments, and reblog appreciated!

[runawrites-blog]

goat fight. non-negotiable.

[runawrites-blog]

Knock You Down a Peg or Two

Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Someone learns the hard way that it's a bad idea to upset Bucky's wife.

Word Count: Over 1.5k

Warnings: Established relationship, violent threats (not against the reader), protective vibes, implied sexy times, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: I'm in a mood, lovelies. We can consider this in the same universe as Mr. and Mrs. Barnes and Handsome and Beautiful. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky was no longer the Winter Soldier. He told himself every day he wasn't a cold killer anymore. He did his best to make amends and worked hard to clear his name. From time to time though, people pushed his buttons and got under his skin. You helped him brush it off. Their opinions didn't matter at the end of the day, only yours.

You mattered to him more than anything else. So, if someone bothers him, yeah, he could let it go. Someone upsetting you? He wouldn't stand for it.

Bucky's eyes narrowed as he spotted the little weasel sitting at the table in the break room alone. A few hours ago, you called him to vent about how this guy repeatedly tried to make you look bad in front of your superior during a meeting. It wasn’t the first time either. Your tears of frustration were obvious by your tone on the other end, though you tried to hide them. You worked hard, harder than anyone else he knew, and you took your job seriously.

He saw red when he heard you sniffle and it was the only color he had seen since then.

“Give me his name.”

“Bucky, no,” you had argued. “The guy’s a prick and I just needed to vent, so you don’t-”

“Please, baby,” he whispered, knowing full well you could handle yourself, but you were his wife and someone took joy out of your day. Not just that, they made you cry. He took this personally and he wanted to defend you. “Just give me his name so I can take care of it.”

You softly gave him the name, and he made it a priority to find the asshole. It didn’t take him long. No one even questioned why he was asking. It must’ve been his “murder strut” and glare. You once said it could break even the strongest of people.

He headed toward the empty chair beside the agent, careful not to make a sound. His stealth assisted with that. Once he reached the chair though, he made it a point to scrap the chair across the floor to get the prick's attention. The annoyance in his eyes quickly shifted to fear when he realized who he was looking at.

Good. He hoped he pissed his pants.

He made a show of slipping off his leather jacket before taking a seat, making sure the agent got a good look at his metal arm. He also made a show of getting one of his knives out, one you gifted him. “I think we can skip the introductions since you know who I am and I really don't give a shit who you are,” he began, his voice low as he twirled the knife between his fingers. “But I understand you know my wife and, well, she’s the reason I’m here.”

The guy blinked when Bucky made eye contact, the blade still expertly weaving in his hand. “S-Sure. Everyone knows your wife.”

Bucky smiled softly, taking a second to glance at his wedding band. “I’m usually not one to brag, but I can’t help it when it comes to her. She works hard and deserves all the praise she gets, but she’s still humble. Appreciative. Loyal,” he boasted, still smiling before he glared again. “She’d never throw anyone under the bus, especially in front of a superior.”

The little weasel cleared his throat, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair. He seemed to notice for the first time that they were the only two people there. “Look, I don’t know what your wife said, but-”

Bucky pointed the blade at him. “I would think very carefully about what comes out of your mouth next,” he snarled, his eyes as cold as ice.

There was a beat of silence as the guy squirmed in his seat and averted his gaze. Bucky wished you were there to see it. And Steve and Sam. “I may have run my mouth a bit. I just wanted to knock her down a peg or two, you know? She keeps getting promoted and…” he swallowed when Bucky’s eyes narrowed to slits. If this fucker even thought about implying that you slept your way to get where you were today, he may actually cut his throat. “Please, don't kill me.”

The silence after that statement may have been uncomfortable for some, but Bucky didn’t break a sweat. No, he was just thinking of all the different ways he could put him in the hospital for even thinking he had a right to put you down. Putting the knife away, he slowly got to his feet. “Get up,” he said quietly, flexing his hands in intimidation.

“Fuck.” The man nearly knocked his chair over as he stood. “Listen, I’m sorry,” he blurted out, putting his hands out in front of him. “I’ll apologize to her first thing tomorrow, I swear.”

“You think that makes up for it? And are you sorry for trying to make her look bad or are you sorry that you’re under my radar now?” Bucky’s stare remained steady as he knocked his chair out of the way, the piece of furniture nearly splintering when it hit the wall. “Everyone knows what I'm capable of, but do you know what happens to people who upset. My. Wife?”

Bucky refused to say that you cried. The asshole might take that as a sign of victory and he wouldn’t give him any sort of win. He didn’t deserve it. He didn't deserve to be in the same space as you.

The guy’s mouth parted as he took a few steps back on shaky legs. “I-It won’t happen again! I swear!”

“No, it won't, but how about I cut your tongue out so you can’t run your mouth again? Maybe pull out your teeth, too?” Bucky knocked the table away next as he advanced. “Or how about your eyes so you won’t look at her either. Hell, I’ll settle for taking your arm. We’ll match.”

The man let out what sounded like a whimper, his teeth nearly chattering from his fear. Scaring people had given him nightmares, haunted him, but it fueled his fire when he terrified anyone in your honor. “I won’t bother her ever again! I’ll tell my boss she deserves another promotion! I'll transfer! You have my word! I’m sorry!”

Bucky laughed after a moment, a bitter, chilling sound before he held up a hand. “I’m just fucking with you.”

His eyes were still wide with fear. “W… What?”

“I was just trying to scare you a little. You should see the look on your face,” Bucky chuckled again, lightly smacking the guy’s cheek. “Listen, you don’t have to transfer and I’m not going to torture you. Just apologize to my girl and we’re good, okay?”

“Okay.” He let out a breath and chuckled, too. “You really won’t torture me?”

“No, I won’t,” he grinned, grabbing his shoulders. “But I will knock you down a peg or two.”

The prick didn’t see the headbutt coming, but he felt it before he hit the ground. Bucky knew he’d feel it in the morning, too. He got off lucky.

“You know, after you apologize to my wife, I hope you do stay so you can see her continue to thrive,” Bucky toed the guy’s body with his boot. “And speaking of, I need to go buy her some flowers, chocolate, and wine. She deserves it.”

Grabbing his jacket from the broken chair across the room and brushing it off, he whistled as he left the room. He waited until he was a good distance away to call. You picked up on the second ring.

“Hey.” You sounded much better than you did earlier. “So, what’s the damage?”

“Hey, baby,” he smiled. “I headbutted the prick. And before you ask, my head feels great.”

The former assassin may get suspended for that and damaging the table and chair, but he doubted the asshole would have the balls to speak up about what happened.

“Bucky…” you sighed. You were probably pinching the bridge of your nose. “What am I gonna do with you?”

“You’re gonna let me eat you for dessert when I get home,” he smirked. Not that he needed an excuse to dive between your legs, but he'd take any chance he had. “Figure I'll give you at least two orgasms before dinner.”

“Is that right, Mr. Barnes?”

“That is right, Mrs. Barnes.”

The sound of your giggle spread warmth through his chest. Your happiness was his happiness. “Better not keep me waiting,” you teased, pausing for a beat. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” he said. You always stuck up for him without question.

“Love you.”

His heart swelled more. “Love you, too.”

He’d have some more explaining to do once he got home and would probably have to pay for the damage he caused. He was also sure that you were plotting the demise of the man’s career and would tell him that he didn’t need to do anything, but he wanted to. He was no longer the Winter Soldier.

But he was your husband and he’d defend you with his life, no matter what.

Violence isn't the answer, but this is fanfiction and we all deserve a loving Bucky. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[runawrites-blog]

❝ 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭. ❞

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: you and john go undercover to infiltrate an arms dealing ring in paris. you take your roles a little too seriously.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: john walker x fem!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.3K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), semi-established relationship (no label yet), fake marriage trope, espionage stuff, mild plot, mild mentions of insecurities, thigh riding/thigh grinding, dry humping, dirty talk, biting/marking, john is needy, making out, hair pulling, john walker’s praise kink, unprotected p in v sex, cowgirl/riding position.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this was so fun to write & can be read in the same ‘universe’ as “bite the hand that needs you” !! lowkey I’m becoming john walker trash ,,, expect more fics of him because he’s delicious. I loved this sm & I hope you all enjoy! 🫶

Covert operations were never considered your expertise — in fact, they were completely foreign to you, so outlandish that you wanted to crawl out of your own flesh. Discomfort comes with new territory, with putting on some new facade for the sake of a mission.

The ripstop mesh of your suit is gone, exchanged for a gaudy dress that seems torn from the cover of some business magazine, fabric the color of bruised plums. It’s awkward, constricting; you’re squirming in your seat.

Valentina had sent you all trailing after an illegal weapons manufacturer in the heart of Paris, superpowered machinery being bartered off to the highest bidder.

There were too many hands involved, too many bad people getting their hands on equipment that could level buildings if used improperly. It seemed like a threat that might’ve required Bob’s help, but he was still out-of-commission.

Admittedly, you weren’t sure why Bucky had put you and John up to the task as bait; it set your nerves ablaze, trying to step into a role that was the antithesis of your personality.

While you and John were out masquerading as a husband-and-wife duo who owned a technology company, the rest of the team were infiltrating an underground warehouse.

Given the newfound nature of your relationship with John, it made the predicament all the more humorous. No one knew, but the irony of being paired together for something of this nature had made you laugh, initially.

If you’d known about the blisters gnawing at the flesh of your heels, you might not have been so enthusiastic to volunteer yourself for this.

A tangle of nerves sat heavy within your stomach, a tight knot that continued to bounce around your belly, prompting you to bounce your knee. The stiletto pumps you wore blistered and chafed at your heels, the sensation grating.

Grenadine syrup oozes onto your tongue at the first sip of an iced Shirley Temple, perched at the countertop of a bar that seems excessively lavish. Everything is pretty — the scenery, the city, the hotel’s interior.

The atmosphere is light, casual; though, you’re actively avoiding looking over your shoulder. Tension curls within your muscles, your posture abnormally rigid; any attempt to relax is met with resistance.

John is talking with the target — pressed, tailored suit clinging to his musculature, blonde tresses less disheveled, smile easy; too trusting, too naive. You remind yourself that this is all an act, that you’re both Avengers playing pretend.

It’s difficult to discern if he’s enjoying himself or not — he’d rather be fighting, you think, expelling all of his frustrations into a few henchmen.

Nevertheless, you’re making a valiant effort to enjoy yourself; this was a free hotel stay, after all. Beyond the thin, sparkling window panes of the Hotel George V, you catch a glimpse of Paris’s glittering cityscape.

There’s a peculiar solace you find in the teeming nightlife, and much of the hotel’s clientele screams wealth and lavishness. It’s a life that you never had, growing up — now, being an Avenger, it was all within your grasp.

Even when you served with S.H.I.E.L.D, your assignments never took you to France. Despite the intensity of the mission at-hand, you were thrilled to be somewhere new.

As the liquid evaporates from your glass, you’re left with a twinge of disappointment, sucking what remnants you can from the bottom, ice half-melted. Sliding the empty vessel aside, you peer over your shoulder, noticing John’s gaze directed toward you, waving you over.

Act the part; the reminder repeats over and over again, a mantra screaming from the forefront of your mind. Gliding from the stool, you straighten out your dress, knees wobbling as you steady yourself on your stilettos.

With a tremulous exhale, your gait is somewhat poised, unpracticed; anyone observant enough could tell that you were one step away from fumbling over.

Pointed heels click against marble tile as you join them at the table, beaming and bristling with a fake excitement.

John notices the tremor in each step, unbalanced, and he finds it cute, in the way one finds a newborn foal to be cute.

He can taste the discomfort that rolls from you in anxious waves, and so he attempts to soothe you in the only way he knows how.

“Mr. Bertesy, this is my wife,” He introduces you without missing a beat, the words smooth, lacking an ounce of hesitation. John is better at this than you thought, smiling as if he’s won the lottery. “She’s also helming the company.”

Andras Bertesy — the name held some familiarity, a Hungarian arms dealer, prominent in much of central and eastern Europe. His features are gaunt, narrow; he reminds you of a spider, his physicality noticeably spindly.

Andras regards you with a thinly-veiled perplexity, as if he’s attempting to pierce through whatever barrier you’ve concocted. He remains seated, reaching for your hand with suave cordiality.

“Charmed, madam.” He carries a heavy accent, sitting heavy within his voice as you meet him halfway for a handshake. Instead, it’s taken a step further when he presses his lips to your knuckles.

Unphased, you offer him a pleasant smile; John’s jaw tenses, though it’s a subtle gesture. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bertesy. I hope my husband’s been good to you.” Teasingly, you let your hand perch atop John’s shoulder.

With a listless chuckle, Andras nods, hand withdrawn to the table. “Your husband tells me of your interest in my work.” He muses, purely absorbed with striking a business deal.

Pulling up a cushioned chair to the table, it’s wedged beside John’s, space nonexistent as you sit down, folding one leg over the other. It relinquishes the sting in your feet, and you vow to never wear stilettos again.

“Yes,” As if to play up the facade, you reach for John’s hand, posture posh and prim. “We’ve been searching for something revolutionary, to take our company in a new direction. We think your work might be the key to that.”

Admittedly, John is mildly impressed with you — you’re swift to turn on the bubbly charm, the same charm he’d fallen for, and cater to the man’s inflated ego. You’re quick-witted, though he feels the anxiousness through your grasp alone.

As if to placate your nerves, John absentmindedly trails his thumb over your knuckles, pretending to be engrossed by the conversation at-hand.

This wasn’t part of his skillset, disguises and the covert, but being with you made it tolerable. “My wife and I would be interested in striking up a business deal.” John interjects, flashing a false smile.

My wife; for someone merely adopting a role, he doesn’t seem like he’s acting when he says it. A beat passes, cerulean hues shifting to gaze at you lovingly, your heart lurching within your chest.

Heat curls over the back of your neck, a brief hitch settling within your throat before you swallow it down. Digits tense, woven together, prompting you to shift within your chair, facing your target.

“I am certain that we could come to some arrangement,” Andras hums, his hawkish glower still picking you apart, a knife attempting to pierce through your defenses. “Assuming you’ve enough money.” He laughs.

John chuckles too, a noise that sounds so characteristically sardonic. “Name your price.” Part of you is amused by how serious he’s taking this, as if he’s going for an acting award.

Andras quirks an eyebrow, hands pressed together as he appraises the both of you. “I must reconvene with my associates,” More shady dealers? There’s a veiled perplexity written on John’s face. “Aren’t you curious to know what you’re purchasing?”

The warehouse — an anxious coil forms within your belly, teeth catching against the inside of your cheek. This is all supposed to be some distraction while they’re running infiltration, which prompts you to clear your throat.

“We’re very curious,” You concur, trying to navigate through the sudden uneasiness you feel. Bertesy doesn’t seem naive, but you’re also a poor liar. “Though, we’re pressed for time, and —”

“Of course. You must be very busy people,” Andras murmurs, tapping his fingers together. “Perhaps, a private viewing? Transportation would be provided, and we can cement our transaction.”

John’s mind is turning, turning again, attempting to think of something quick. His communicator is sitting in the waistband of his belt, growing heavier as minutes tick by.

The idea of playing into Bertesy’s proposition seems dangerous, unpredictable. Neither of you have your suits in-reach, no defense, and even with John’s super-soldier stamina, the odds are looking rather grim.

As if on-queue, a humming noise pierces the tenuous silence, awkward and grating, causing your heartbeat to climb dramatically. John clears his throat, flashing a brief smile before he moves out of his seat.

“Got a call I need to take, excuse me,” John shoots you a sideways glance, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll be back, honey.” He says it as if it’s dripping with sweetness, and you have to stifle a laugh.

Before departing, he squeezes your hand, and that isn’t acting; it’s sincere.

Gooseflesh crawls along your spine, stomach a tempest of nerves as you face Andras, forcing a cordial smile. John walks away, slipping into a marblesque corridor, his voice beginning to taper off into a dismal hum.

Left alone with a dangerous arms dealer, you didn’t say much, unsure of how to progress the conversation. Though, you were intrigued by him — no one simply took to this line of work without being catapulted in that direction.

“How long have you been married to Mr. Wayne?” Andras questioned, and you very nearly laughed at the surname of John’s persona.

John Wayne — he loved Westerns; you bit your tongue to keep from snickering.

“Three years.” It sounded natural, and you tried to ease up, force yourself to relax. Your hands folded atop your lap, digits picking at the stitching of your dress in an attempt to relieve yourself of nervous tension.

“Americans, hm?” It was difficult to discern if he was interrogating you or simply facilitating conversation to fill the silence. Either way, you decided to answer truthfully to keep the peace.

“Both of us, yes,” A cough stirs within your throat as you proceed to make up a half-truth of how you met. “We met at a previous job, and it seemed to grow from there.” It was like a lament of your life beneath the shoddy disguise.

“How sweet.” The sudden sharpness of Andras’s voice makes you shift uncomfortably within your seat, heart threatening to rip from your chest. His gaze is poignant, discomforting; you want to look over your shoulder for John.

Silence crackles between, a terse hush that could be cut with a knife. Beneath the table, your fingers curl into your dress, fraying the stitching as you wrack your brain for something intelligent to say. Coming up short, your only hope is to wait for your partner to come back.

Andras cants his head to one side, wisps of brown hair moving with it, brows pinching together. “You seem familiar,” Shit — please don’t recognize you. “Are you certain that I haven’t seen you anywhere before?” He questions, and the anxiety builds against you.

With the formation of the New Avengers, your face plastered worldwide, someone was bound to know you if they scrutinized hard enough. An awkward laugh spills from your mouth. “That’s flattering, Mr. Bertesy. I must have a common face.”

Before the conversation could shift into a more accusative direction, John returns, much to your relief. He gives you a brief glance, putting on another mirthless, fake smile.

“Sorry about that — business calls,” He stands beside you, stance involuntarily protective, as if he’s a barrier between you and Bertesy. “Would you be willing to meet us in an hour, Mr. Bertesy? Name the place to meet.”

Andras regards you with something indiscernible, making your blood run cold as you avert his gaze, leg bouncing violently beneath the table. You’re wanting this to be finished, and it seems to be heading that way.

Wordlessly, the Hungarian removes a nondescript business card from the pocket of his blazer, offering it to John without missing a beat. “One hour. Look for a black horse.” He replies, abruptly standing up from his seat. “I look forward to your patronage.”

Scrambling from your seat, your feet ache again with the pressure of your stance, backs of your stilettos digging into your heels. Andras ends the interaction there, departing from the hotel’s lobby, a spot of black against the ivory.

Once he’s gone, you feel as if you can breathe again, tension unfurling from your shoulders in one fell swoop. Smoothing your hands over your dress, you’re eager to return to your room.

John is pensive, twirling over the business card between his fingers. ‘DARKFORCE SYNDICATE’ is all it says, stamped with the head of a black horse.

“Seems a little obvious,” He scoffs, sneering at the shady name; a seedy name for a less-than-moral organization. Tucking it into the pocket of his suit-jacket, he glances at you. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” With a tremulous exhale, you attempt to expel your nervous energy, feeling lighter now that he’s gone. No longer playing the part, you clear your throat. “I think he was getting suspicious. He said he thought he recognized me.”

Smug, John’s mouth twitches with the ghost of a smirk, hand skimming over the small of your back. “Think he needed to keep his eyes off of my wife.” He teases, though it stirs some flickering fire within you, a familiar heat crawling along the back of your neck.

“Your wife wants to go upstairs and get out of these godawful heels.” Your remark is lighthearted, keeping the mood playful in the wake of the growing intensity. Even then, you weren’t out of the clear just yet, but it gave you room to breathe.

John’s smirk grows, cocksure as ever, a flicker of amusement passing over his features. “Thought you’d collapse if you took another step.” His statement earns him a look of veiled frustration from you, but he isn’t entirely incorrect.

His attitude has changed; it’s tolerable, but he still has a habit of callousness and being unnecessarily harsh at-times. Less with you, more with the others. John’s gotten soft for you, more vulnerable — he’s still getting used to the feeling.

Admittedly, he’s terrified of losing you now, like he lost Lemar, lost Olivia. Beneath the flawed exterior, there’s a man left, attempting to reclaim his roots, try and better himself despite the world looking down on him.

Offering you his arm, you’re quick to accept, taking measured steps to ensure that you make it to the elevator, unscathed. His bicep is thick and taut beneath your palm, warm even through his expensive blazer.

Inside of the elevator, you decide to pry about his supposed ‘phone call’. “Where is the team at with the warehouse situation?” You asked, leaning against the metal railing behind you.

“Bucky said they’re cleaning up, but he wants us to catch Bertesy,” John murmurs, fishing out the communication device from his waistband. There’s a GPS watch too, keeping tabs on the others. “We’ve got an hour to kill.”

A soft ‘ding’ reverberates throughout the corridor, eerily hushed for this time of night. The hallways are glistening, pristine — you’ve never seen anything like it. Dimly-lit braziers mark your path as you return to your temporary lodging.

As soon as you cross the threshold into your room, you kick your heels off, black stilettos soaring toward the chaise lounge in the center. The room came equipped with an open fireplace, extravagant bed, and the bathroom — a luxury shower.

“Do you think Valentina could incorporate some of this into the Watchtower?” You muse, nose wrinkling as you settle down onto the ivory cushion, sprawling back with a soft exhale.

“She’s cheap.” John utters, tone flat as he grabs a duffel bag from beneath the bed, containing his suit and his still-bent shield. It’s become something of a staple, mildly sentimental, and he can’t bring himself to get rid of it.

The playful banter you shared before begins to wane; he becomes focused before a mission, before a fight. A sliver of you wonders if it’s because of what happened in Latvia, and the thought makes you grimace.

Tossing his suit-jacket aside, he’s already itching to be back in his kevlar and tactical gear, loosening the tie as if it’s choking him. He’s quiet, and it prompts you to stand, bare feet crossing cold stone as you inch closer.

“We’ve got an hour to spare, John,” The softness of your cadence is unmistakable, giving him pause as he stops in the middle of undressing. “We’ll handle this — just relax.” You soothe, noticing the tension simmering within his posture.

He’s coiled, ready to go; it’s an amalgamation of military training and past trauma, constantly on-edge, expectant for the unpredictable. John tries to loosen up, sitting on the edge of the bed with a begrudging huff.

“I want to get the job done.” He’s eager, hungry to complete a mission, like a trained attack dog. Even still, John is attempting to unravel some of the rigidity enforced upon him, but it’s a process.

“I know. We’ll get it done,” Sitting next to him, your toes barely brush over the cold marble, hands loose within your lap, nail picking at the stitching of your dress. “Bertesy said an hour, and we have fifty-two minutes left.”

There’s an impatience present, and he doesn’t enjoy waiting around; the deep breath before the plunge. If it weren’t for you sitting beside him, he would’ve been pacing.

Hesitation has never been his strongest suit, driven by impulsivity that only seemed to crush him after Lemar passed. Though, he’s tried to get better, reminding himself of his training, where he’s come from.

He just wants to make sure you’re safe.

Blonde lashes flutter in rapid succession, cerulean hues shifting from curtain-shrouded windows to you, gaze becoming a touch shadowed. You look gorgeous in that dress — he wanted to tell you before, so he settles on telling you now.

“You look beautiful,” John murmurs, low and husky, as if his sudden shift in cadence is a deliberate choice. A fleeting smile crosses his features, faint as he appraises you. “Should’ve told you before.”

He knows what he wants to do with those fifty-two minutes.

Flustered, you can’t help but smile, preening beneath his kinder compliment, giving a lackadaisical shrug of your shoulders. “Thanks,” You hum, but you don’t feel pretty; you feel like an imposter. “I don’t feel beautiful.”

Perplexed, John decides to push the matter, head cocking to one side. “Why not?” He struggles with his own insecurities, but nothing regarding physicality. Even then, he thinks you’re breathtaking, violet silk molded to your curves.

“I don’t know,” You confess, huffing a nervous laugh before you stare absentmindedly into your lap. “I feel stupid in this dress, worse in heels. It’s like I’m an imposter in my own skin or something.”

John understands the sentiment more than you fully realize. He doesn’t always understand himself, or his rage — it’s a labyrinth he’s still navigating, and like you, he’s still healing. He nods, shoulder brushing against yours.

Quiet, you steal a glance at him, heart beginning to thrum with an erratic beat. His beard is scruffy, a shadow of a darker blonde, tresses somewhat disheveled after removing his tie.

After you slept together two weeks ago, things have felt different; the tension is prevalent, unspoken feelings crackling between, and he gets increasingly protective of you. You don’t mind it, but the team notices the sudden shift in his demeanor.

He’s staring at you, gaze lingering on your mouth, over the delicate slope of your jaw, over your throat, which bobs when you swallow. John’s countenance softens, a rarity reserved only for you in private moments like these.

“Think you’re perfect.” He murmurs, brows creasing together as if he’s concentrating on something. A subtle hitch bubbles within your throat, breath catching on the exhilarating feeling of his words, hands stilling.

Unable to keep from smiling, a familiar tendril of heat coils within your belly, causing you to shift against the mattress. “John …” Before you can try and fully express your feelings, you feel his hand press against your thigh.

Though, you’re quick to indulge him and yourself, tilting in until your mouth clamors for his. Lips meld together, passion oozing through like thick honey, saccharine, eliciting a yearning that he tried to bury before the mission.

His beard scratches against your mouth, a pleasant prickling that reminds you he’s real, flesh and blood, a beating heart. John exhales; a steady, exaggerated sound, attempting to cling to the fine line of restraint.

The communicator is eerily quiet; he’s expecting Bucky to ping him, but he’s eager to take advantage of what time you have together.

Much of the past two weeks were agonizing; stolen glances in the training room, fleeting smiles shared over breakfast with the team, kissing in the corridors where the cameras can’t reach. He wanted you, you wanted him.

A delighted shiver grips your spine when his calloused digits tease the hem of your dress, threatening to push beneath. Hands find the muscled expanse of his chest, firm underneath your palms, warm to the touch.

Lips collided in a heated exchange of fiery affection, your stomach flooding with molten heat. John kisses you as if he’s burning alive, nearly flush against you, other hand cupping your jaw.

“John, I … Is this a good idea?” It is a wonderful idea, but you’re uncertain if squeezing this in beforehand would make things worse; for both of you. You’re still in the thick of a mission — things could change instantaneously.

Foreheads brush together, noses ghosting over another as he huffs a placating chuckle. “We’re married, remember?” His signature smirk pulls at his mouth again. “There’s a lot we can accomplish in forty-six minutes.” He murmurs.

His cheeky remark makes your insides turn with an excitable heat, and you want him terribly. “You’re a needy husband.” You tease, throwing caution to the wind, and his lips are back on yours with a thrilling haste.

John can’t help himself, a grunt splitting through his chest, raw and taut, each kiss leaving the both of you sputtering for any scrap of air. Your fingers are fumbling with the buttons of his dress shirt, trembling with exhilaration.

Between deepened kisses, he coaxed you closer, strong hands drifting to the swell of your hips as he urged you into his lap. Skirts shuffled, fabric hastily adjusted as he slotted you atop one thigh, muscle firm and tense between your legs.

There was a sense of relief he felt, lost within the labyrinth of your lips, passion burning with a searing intensity. Whatever stress that he’d felt before began to unfurl from his shoulders, abandoned to the sanctity of your presence.

Crisp fabric untangles itself from his musculature, revealing his abdomen to you, which you caress with reverent touches. John feels you adjust against his thigh, catching the pleading whine that coagulates in your throat.

His scruffy countenance melds with yours, bleeding heat, kissing you with enough vigor that it prompts you to hold onto him. Your heart gallops, races — it’s quick and erratic, beating in your ears.

Lungs burned, wilted in the flame of his kiss, evoking a breathy moan that ripped through your diaphragm. Hips lurched forward, a sluggish roll as friction grew between his thigh and your clothed nethers, nearly making you writhe.

John catches you in the act, rucking your dress up around your hips, lips stilling against yours. “Need it that bad?” His voice is dangerously low, husked cadence curling around you, making you squirm.

Embarrassed, you nearly retreat from the intensity of his gaze, but he doesn’t let you, hands firm against the swell of your hips. He’s strong enough to move you without breaking a sweat, effortless, grinding you into the muscle of his thigh.

“John,” A warbled whimper splits your throat, the noise raw and needy. He’s getting off on watching you like this, cerulean hues burning with heat, an incendiary stare. “I—I …” Words turn to ash in your mouth.

In a clamor of bodies, your knee happened to brush over the growing tent in his trousers, eliciting a low groan from his lips. That seemed to momentarily silence his lascivious remarks, much to your satisfaction.

He gives you a pointed stare, knowing that you’re winding him up with the constant grinding and your damned knee, bouncing into his groin. “Stop it.” John hisses with no real malice behind it, only frustration.

The picture of faux innocence, you shrug, and he cages you against him, stifling another grunt mouth hot and fervent as he kisses you. You accidentally shift again, knee brushing over his erection.

Again, he drags you over his thigh, taut muscle thick through his dress slacks, watching your countenance blossom with bliss. There’s an excitement prevalent, something daring; you’re in the middle of a mission.

A sharp moan punctures your lungs when he jostles his thigh against your core, biting back a dirty smirk when your hands curl into his chest. “Yeah? You like that?” John murmurs, low timbre echoing beside your ear, causing you to shiver.

With an eager nod, you want more, hips urging into the friction of his thigh. The sensation sends shockwaves through your body, arousal coalescing between your legs.

Still, you rocked yourself atop his thigh, unable to smother a whimper as kisses began to cease, foreheads pressed flush together. John’s breathing is a touch labored, hot breath pluming over your features, bones aching with desire.

“I want you,” Your confession makes his brain short-circuit, trapped within a haze of desire. You’ve nearly forgotten about everything else, allowing it to simply diminish into the background. “John, please.” A low moan echoes from your mouth.

John tries to curb the smugness, but it’s swiftly replaced by his hunger for praise, validation. His mouth climbs toward your throat, beard burning your flesh, but the sensation is borderline intoxicating.

He’s getting a little rough, but you don’t care, hips erratically urging themselves into his thigh, friction tingling against your cunt. “Mind if I leave marks?” John grunts, pearlescent teeth scraping over the column of your throat.

“Please, please.” Gasping, he’s quick to take your sensitive flesh between his lips, suckling a hickey into your neck without a second thought. A muted buzz surges through him, muscles coiled, cock throbbing incessantly.

The grizzled scratch of his beard prickled against your neck, goosebumps icing your spine, filling you with anticipation. He’s still rocking you into his leg, mouth a tempest as it storms over your throat, teeth nipping at your flesh.

Dizzying moans slip past your lips in noisy droves, feathering beside his ear, hands gripping your haunches like a vice. A hoarse ‘Jesus’ hisses beneath his breath, a subtle noise that you nearly miss.

An urgent ache throbs within his cock, which continues to strain with obvious need against his pants. Between the friction of clothed bodies and wandering hands, John is wanting to take it further.

A sharp gasp penetrates your lungs when his mouth roughly sucks another mark into your jugular, laced with exhilaration and an excitable zeal. His communicator buzzes in his pocket; he ignores it.

Your hands are crawling over his chest, one palm dropping to the rather obvious bulge. Insistent, your hips urged in a rhythmic dance, grinding yourself still against the taut muscle of his thigh.

Lips momentarily collide in a messy kiss of tongue and teeth, the both of you clawing for one another, succumbing to baser instincts. Throaty whines escape you, consumed by his kiss, one that ached with desperation.

He stops, only to press kisses over the freshly-formed hickeys, visage dropping to your throat, lavishing your skin in endless kisses. There was something raw about him, exuding strength, caging you in over his lap.

“Jesus.” John groans, low and heady into the hollow of your throat, feeling one of your hands fist at his blonde tresses. The other kneads against his cock, ripping another grunt from his chest.

A coil pulls taut within his abdomen, an intensity that he had become acquainted with, lips parting as he continues to let you ride his thigh. “Want you inside of me.” Through a strangled whine, your words make his jaw tick.

It’s as if you’ve reached into his being and turned on some primal switch, feeling his grasp grow tight against your thighs. Undeterred, your hand grinds over the swell once more, as if tempting him, goading him into taking you then and there.

A shadow passes over his stare, cerulean hues eclipsed by desire as he shifts his thigh, muscle making contact with your core. A hitch forms within your throat when his hands fist at your dress, hastily dragging it towards your hips.

Admittedly, you were just as pent-up as he was, desperate to feel him inside of you. Arousal began to coalesce between your thighs, an incessant ache that spread throughout your belly, a fire that demanded to be extinguished.

In a frenzied clash, your lips were on one another again, feeling his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties. Teeth knock together, moans swallowed through greedy kisses, fabric being manhandled past your thighs.

Hands fumble for his belt, and he’s grunting into your mouth like some feral animal, cock throbbing incessantly when you unzip the front of his pants. John doesn’t waste a second — neither of you have the time to spare.

Time has slipped your mind, but you estimate that it’s growing slim, hands steadying themselves against the nape of his neck. You hovered, soft palm guiding his length to your slick cunt. John inhaled — a sharp, poignant noise that signaled relief.

Intermingled sighs of passion float between faces, hot and wanton, your thighs twitching when you sink onto his cock. The sensation makes you dizzy, muscles shaking with the sting of exertion.

“John,” A gasp is pulled from your throat, raw and hoarse as he fills your cunt, hands tensing over the swell of your hips. “You feel so good.” You moan, unabashed, heat licking over your flesh as if you’re feverish.

The praise makes him keen, mouth pressing a kiss to your jaw, beard scratching ragged over your soft skin. He’s gripping you like a vice, strong enough to guide you effortlessly onto his cock, friction bristling when you roll your hips.

It was a sluggish start, agonizingly so, bodies finding moments to grow accustomed to one another, finding familiarity. You drew yourself up, his cock filling you in such a pleasant way, nothing discomforting about it.

John shuddered at the feeling of your cunt, tight and warm around him, clenching around his cock with each roll of your hips. You took him perfectly, as if you were made for him, molded together; the pace begins to increase.

Neither of you hear the communicator thrumming; though in John’s case, he doesn’t seem to care in the heat of the moment. Each urge of your hips is drawn-out, intended to savor. “That’s it,” He husks, caressing your hip. “That’s my girl.”

It’s innocuous, the nickname — simple, but it sets off a catalyst within you, a furnace of heat that blankets your bones in fire, wasting away to ash. You’re moaning beside his ear against, fingers fisting at his blonde tresses.

The way in which you milked him, moved agonizingly slow, allowing him to feel your cunt tighten around him — it was nearly overwhelming.

Calloused, careworn palms rubbed circles into your hips, wishing that he ripped your dress, instead. Regardless, John’s trapped in the same desirous haze that you are, chests brushing together, bodies leaving no scrap of distance.

Skylights pool in through darkened windowpanes, blanketing you in some euphoric glow. He thinks you’re beautiful, and some small part of him wonders why you’re indulging him like this, but John’s quick to push it aside.

His smug swagger and bravado seems to dissipate when he’s buried himself into your cunt, as if it’s nearly shut him up completely.

“So good at this.” You breathe, knowing how it sets him off. John kisses you, fleeting, hips jolting against yours as one hand leaves your hip, shifting to the coalescing warmth between your thighs.

If it weren’t for the mission, he would’ve fucked you right into the mattress, maybe break the headboard, but he’s restraining himself. Even then, you look so pretty in his lap, riding his cock as if you’re made for him.

A whimper of bliss bubbled from your lips as you became invigorated in your pace, rocking yourself up and down along his cock, aided by the sudden pressure of his thumb against your clit. It draws another moan from deep within your diaphragm.

Your pace was tantalizing, nothing too swift to let it feel sloppy and rushed, yet fervent enough to make his head swim with the haze of desire.

A familiar coil of heat began to unfurl within the pit of your stomach, just as it did his own. A sharp inhale inhabits your lungs, one of a dizzying surprise as he circles over your clit, sending tingles through your spine.

Thighs twitched, the action alone bringing you closer to the precipice of your release. His cock throbs inside of you, nearly kissing your cervix with each downward movement.

“Christ,” John huffed, countenance focused yet wrought with ecstasy, muscles in his stomach tightening up. “You close?” He grunts, voice low and gravelly, itching something lascivious within your brain as you clench around him.

With a disheveled nod, you don’t stop, maintaining the same pace, a steady rhythm that’s winding the both of you up. His groans make your stomach turn with exhilaration.

With a brief jolt of his hips, he bucked up into you, cock hitting new depths, toying with your pearl as you squirmed within his lap. Gooseflesh ices your spine, mind clouded with a salacious haze, bringing you closer to an ecstatic oblivion.

Even as he crescendoed into his own release, he continued to circle your clit, lips peppering themselves along your exposed collar. A string of murmured expletives escape him.

Nails dug into the nape of his neck, a choked sob wracking through you as you clung to every shred of friction. John huffs, letting your hips stutter into more of an erratic rhythm as you soar toward your orgasm.

Euphoria crashes into you, white-hot and blinding, the tension unfurling from you in one wave. The coil snaps, cunt clenching around his cock, evoking another low groan from his mouth.

Stars floated across your vision in the wake of your release, a moan of ecstasy rippling through your chest. John’s name spills from your tongue over and over again, as if it’s the only word you know.

The pressure between your thighs begins to wane as he holds steadfastly to your hips, chest heaving with labored breaths in the afterglow. It’s hushed, save for your ragged breathing as you come down from your peak.

Fingertips gently shift his blonde tresses back into place, sweeping over his hairline. John adjusts your position enough to pull out, heartbeat beginning to climb down from its exhilarated pace.

“You okay?” John asks, watching as your head bounces in a brief nod. A smile crosses his features, faint, as if it’s only reserved for you, lacking the usual sarcasm.

“We should clean up, before …” With a click of your tongue, you gesture to his GPS, sluggishly climbing from his lap with wobbling legs. The both of you need to be prepared, and that includes getting your suits on.

“Right.” A twinge of disappointment stirs within him, wishing that it would’ve lasted longer; or that you were both back at the Tower. The facade of your false marriage fades; you’re back to the mission.

Before you depart, you plant a chaste kiss against his lips, as if to remind him of your affections.

John watches as you grab your duffel bag, making for the bathroom with a bit of a spring in your step. He’s getting soft, wanting to pursue a relationship with you, but there’s fear prevalent, still.

He’s ditching the suit-jacket and slacks, exchanging the suave outfit for tactical pants; kevlar and body armor that feels more comfortable. John follows after you, nearly dressed, and you’re perched along the rim of the bathtub, wrestling with your boots.

“Need help?” He offers, and you’re moderately embarrassed, still fumbling with the knots in the laces that won’t come apart.

“Yeah,” Defeated, you’re losing the fight with your boots, ripstop fabric thick enough to stop knives, perhaps a bullet or two. “I didn’t expect to have trouble with the knots.”

The purple dress is pooled on the floor, forgotten, but the memory will be burned into your mind for weeks to come. John steps closer, crouching down between your legs, shoulders broad, marred by indents of your nails.

He’s quick at unraveling the knots and tangles in your boot-laces, glancing up at you from his kneeling position. “When this is all over, I’m taking you out.” John states, matter-of-factly, as if you’re both in agreement.

Bewildered, you fight to smother your smile, but it appears, still curling at the corner of your mouth. “It took you long enough to ask.” You hummed, fingertips reaching to caress over his bearded jaw.

With a sardonic huff, John’s mouth twitches into a smirk, cerulean hues glittering with a humorous gleam. He’s so handsome, smug; he’s grown on you to the point that he’s covering you like ivy.

“Wouldn’t be a good husband if I didn’t.”

[runawrites-blog]

How about something smutty for the Thunderbolts headcanons 😳 Like how each of them would react to you making them cum in their pants

thank you so much for requesting and feeding my hyperfixation!! below you will find four separate baby blurbs for bucky, john, yelena, and bob. each section will have it's own summary, warnings, and whole lotta smut! enjoy :D

BUCKY BARNES X READER — you're with him in wakanda when he's cured of the trigger words in his head. he's able to touch you for the first time without feeling scared of himself. (established relationship, post-cacw | 1k words)

Bucky Barnes can’t remember the last time he felt this free. Maybe sometime in 1942, he guesses — before he got drafted, before Hydra captured him, before they put those goddamn words in his head. It feels weird that they’re gone now; to be without the dark cloud of impending doom that, at any moment, someone could utter the words and he’d just snap. 

But now, freshly cured and living on the Wakandan countryside, he can touch you for the first time without being terrified of himself.

“You’re so pretty,” he mumbles as his vibranium hand trails up the expanse of your bare back. He keeps his flesh one on your thigh, smoothing his thumb over the plush skin there, and tilts his scruffy chin to smile up at you. He’s got you straddled over his lap, barely clothed and bathed in golden candelight, like some kinda angel brought to life.

“You’re pretty,” you correct with a lovesick grin, raking your hands through his silky, growing locks.

Bucky leans instinctively into your touch. “Don’t make this about me,” he says, squinting.

“It is about you,” you remind him with a giggle, ducking down to kiss his neck. “I’m supposed to compliment you—” Your lips brush his pulse in a chaste kiss. Bucky fights back a shiver. “—Supposed to make you feel good.”

“You do,” Bucky sighs a contented moan, pulling you further into him. “You always do…”

His vibranium hand curls up your back and towards your shoulder. His other one holds tightly to your hip. You wrap your arms tighter around his neck until your bare chest is flush with his scruffy one — until your clothed cunt brushes his cock, half-hard and throbbing within the confines of his boxers.

A moan rumbles in Bucky’s throat. You feel it against your lips when you press them to his adam’s apple. “Do you want to?” you murmur against him, voice low like honey. “‘Cause it kinda seems like you want to.”

Bucky’s head is too clouded to respond properly to your teasing. He just nods his heavy head and flexes his hips beneath you in a desperate attempt to relieve the pulsing ache in his boxers. You let him, and with his consent, begin to rock slowly over his lap. 

“Say it,” you whisper in his ear.

“Want it,” he pants in yours. “Want you.”

“You have me, Buck,” you slur, trying to peer at him through the haze in your vision. Your panties drag over his stiffening cock and leave a damp spot at the center of them. You find yourself chasing your high just as much as Bucky’s. 

You snuck a few sips of alcohol to quell your worry before watching Ayo recite the wretched words back to the man haunted by them. You feel the consequences creeping up on you now and find yourself rambling before you can stop it, half-deluded with pleasure. 

“‘M already yours. My pussy’s already— shit,” you whimper in time with Bucky’s groaning when your clit drags over his lap. Through pants, you beg him, “Say you wanna fuck me. Please. Don’t wanna cum ’til you’re inside me.”

“Oh, fuck,” Bucky whines, face screwed and eyes shut tight. He tries to form the words in his head, but all he can think about is how wet you are — and how his leaking cock has left a damp spot in his underwear — and how the combination of both makes the friction between you so dizzying. “I wanna… fuck—” 

“Uh-huh,” you tease with a slow nod when you sense he’s getting close. “You can do it, Buck. C’mon. There you go.”

He can’t tell if you’re trying to coach him into saying the words or push him headfirst into an orgasm. He hopes it’s the latter, ‘cause he feels himself bursting into his boxers a second later.

“Fuck!” he blurts when he cums, half-muffled and half-whined, like it pains him. 

He holds your hips in both hands, keeping you still above him in a crueler grip than he means to. The quiet bedroom fills with the sound of crackling candles and his groaning. He tilts his face to the ceiling and moans into the golden darkness with his eyes squeezed shut. The sudden orgasm racks through his body in so many shivers up his spine, three warm ropes spit into the confines of his boxers.

“‘M sorry,” he pants when it’s done, still slightly airy from the aftershocks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t— Didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay,” you promise with a soft laugh as your own building pleasure begins to subside. You cup his scruffy face in your palms and try to kiss him through the smile on your lips. “You deserve it, Buck,” you whisper against his mouth, between your delicate kisses. “You deserve everything.”

Bucky shakes his head between your palms and smooths his fingers over the bruises he unknowingly stamped into your skin. “Don’t care about everything,” he murmurs lowly. “Just you.”

Your eyes narrow in a sarcastic squint, though you can’t hide the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Do you think we can get Shuri to erase the cheesiness from your brain, too?”

“Sure,” Bucky scoffs, smiling still, as he shoves you playfully onto your back. You giggle when you hit the mattress, caging your smile between your teeth as the man crawls back between your legs. He lies flat on the mattress, face-to-face with your clothed pussy. “I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You nod, obviously sarcastic. “Mhm. Very much.”

“Maybe I’ll just go get her then,” Bucky murmurs, punctuating his quip with a kiss to your inner thigh as he spreads them apart. You shiver when his scruff scrapes your delicate skin. “Tell her to put me back under the ice—”

Your feet lock behind his back to keep him against you. Bucky laughs and curls his arms around your thighs as you prop yourself on your elbows to shoot him a death glare. “You’re not going anywhere, Sergeant Barnes.”

And, truth be told, Bucky’s exactly where he wants to be.

JOHN WALKER X READER — john hates when valentina pairs the two of you on missions together. until he doesn't. (enemies to lovers, pre-thunderbolts, cw for brief mentions of injuries | 0.8k words)

John Walker can’t stand you most days. You’re too reckless, too impulsive, too quick to put yourselves in situations that might kill you. He hates that Valentina paired you together just as much as he hates that he cares so much about your well-being.

He knows it’d be easier to let you get yourself killed, to have one less thing to worry about, but he somehow ends up kissing you instead.

“I can’t fucking stand you,” he grumbles through labored breaths, with your spit still shining on his swollen mouth. He cages your body between his larger one and the unforgiving wall behind you. The men guarding the vault outside surely won’t mind the sexual tension rising inside it, seeing as they’re half-dead already.

You smile in the face of his anger until the fresh cut on your mouth starts to sting. “But you can fuck me?” you pant, eyes glazed over as they dart back and forth between his dilated ones. “I mean, you want to, right? ’S why you locked me in here, isn’t it?”

“I locked you in here because there were three guys outside trying to kill you, if you forgot.”

“Two,” you correct in a witty deadpan. “I killed the third one.”

“And I killed the other two, who gives a shit—”

“You’re obsessed with me, Walker,” you grin, pulling him close by the belt loops on his suit. 

Despite his near palpable rage, he melts into you with ease. The blonde man stumbles closer until he’s towering over you — hair messy from his helmet, face bruised, ocean eyes staring daggers into you.

“Well, that’s very presumptuous of you,” he gripes.

“I don’t think it is,” you lilt lowly and nudge his clothed crotch with your thigh. 

You watch the words of an argument form and dissolve on his tongue all at once. John exhales hard through his nose as his eyes go glassy. He hadn’t realized how hard he was until you pressed yourself against him — how sensitive he was — how long it had been since he’d had any sort of release.

“Admit it—” you whisper, pulling him closer until his stiff cock is pressed between your bodies. He smells like cologne and copper pennies, likely from the blood darkening his navy blue suit. You’re almost sure you’d be able to feel his racing heart from here, if it weren’t for the thick layers separating you. “—You love me…”

“I hate you,” he corrects, though his dark eyes cloud with lust.

Your smile widens. The cut on the corner of your mouth begins to weep all over again. John reaches for your jaw without thinking, cupping his palm there and swiping the crimson away with his thumb. 

“No, you don’t,” you coo with a shake of your head. The room goes quiet then, filled only by John’s heavy breaths and the clinking of his belt as you undo the buckle. You keep him close with one hand around his belt loop while the other creeps around the front of him. His breath catches in his throat when your fingers dip beneath the hem.

You don’t think he realizes how he’s rocking himself against your thigh. Or the way he subconsciously shakes his head in agreement. 

“You’ve always thought about this, haven’t you?” you continue mercilessly, grinning when your fingertips meet the coarse thatch of hair above his cock. 

John nods his heavy head and leans further into you, propping himself on the wall as his eyes flutter shut. He deserves this, he tells himself, for saving your ass a hundred times over. You owe him one, really.

“I know you have,” you whisper in his ear. “I bet you’ve gotten yourself off to the thought of me a thousand times.”

Again, John nods in response without ever really noticing it. Just like he doesn’t really notice the release building within him — like a creeping hand up his spine, or a tightening knot in his lean stomach. He just keeps rubbing himself against you, chasing a high he barely knows is there.

“But I think when you imagined me making you cum…” you trail off and smile when John moans against your pulse. “…You always thought it’d be inside me.”

John tenses at the thought of fucking you. He’s left trembling above you as a sudden orgasm racks through his body. The quiet room fills with his poorly heldback groans and your giggling while he cums in his pants. He feels the evidence, warm and wet, blooming in his boxers — just like the red-hot embarrassment exploding in his chest. 

He pulls away to find you grinning like the devil.

“Told ya,” you monotone and pull your hand from his boxers, only slightly mourning the fact that you never actually got to touch him. “You’re obsessed with me.”

John scoffs, like he has any room to be ambivalent after humping your thigh like a dog. He zips up his pants, belt buckle clinking as he fastens it again. “You ruined my suit,” is all he can think to say as you walk past him.

You roll your eyes and wrench open the heavy door to the vault, stepping over the bloody bodies littered on the other side of it. “Bill me,” you call over your shoulder.

YELENA BELOVA X READER — yelena is full of adrenaline after a mission, and you only know one way to calm her down (established relationship, post-thunderbolts, cw for very brief mentions of injuries | 0.8k words)

Yelena Belova has you flat on your back. The rest of the Avengers tower is dark, quiet, and asleep — each of you recovering from the latest mission in the sanctuary of your bedrooms. The blonde Russian girl is too full of adrenaline to rest, though, never mind how much she could probably use the sleep. She’s a relentless force on top of you — because of the adrenaline, of course, and not because she nearly lost you.

She tugs your pants down your legs with a pair of merciless hands, bruised knees digging into the foot of the mattress across from you. The mattress squeaks with each of your movements, and you fight back a laugh. “Be gentle, Belova!” you scold in a whisper. “Walker’s gonna hear.”

(John had the misfortune of his bedroom being one story below yours. And the floors were surprisingly thin. Or so he says.)

Yelena scoffs, face screwed. “I don’t care,” she mutters, voice accented and low like honey. “Let him hear.”

She makes a big show of climbing back over your body, moving much more violently than normal over the worn bed frame, so it creaks louder beneath her. “Yelena!” you snap quietly through gritted teeth, but hold her gently by the hips when she straddles you just the same.

“What?!” she exclaims, louder than necessary for the late, late night, as she tugs her shirt over her head. She throws the fabric to the side, discarding it with the rest of your pajamas littered on the floor — leaving both of you in mismatched sets of old, cotton underwear.

“God, you’re such a child,” you grouse and cross your arms beneath your head.

Yelena grins. “Stop flirting with me,” she lilts lowly and ducks down to kiss you.

Your eyes flutter shut when her plush lips trail from your jaw down to your neck. “We should rest, Lena…” you tell her, sighing when her teeth scrape your pulse. “We’re gonna be sore in the morning.”

You feel her mouth curl into a smile against your skin. “I hope so.”

“Child,” you repeat.

Yelena gets relentless rather quickly, feral in a way only a previous world-class assassin could be. She forgets about the exhaustion and the bruises that ache to the bone, littered across both your bodies. Her head fills only with thoughts of making you feel good, touching you like it could be the last time she ever gets to.

“Lena, Lena, Lena—” you echo, reaching for her wrist where her hand’s shoved into your panties. “Slow down,” you laugh.

“Why?” she whines.

You find her pretty face contorted in a girlish pout when you cup her cheeks in your hands. “Because we have all night,” you coo, smoothing your thumbs over her flushed jaw. “We don’t have to rush.”

Your words strike something deep in her chest. She refuses to let the vulnerability show. 

“I know that,” she scoffs, trying to look unbothered as you smooth the top of her tank top down her chest. You tuck it beneath her breasts, and her pink nipples perk when the cool air hits them.

“Good,” you hum, lifting your head to take her left breast in your mouth.

“I just— I wanted to make you feel good—” she whines in her low Russian accent, voice cracking when you nudge her clothed cunt with your thigh. “—Oh…”

You smile into her chest, teeth scraping her sensitive nipple. Yelena keeps you pressed against her with a hand on the back of your head. Your arms curl around her back to keep her flush to your thigh. You feel the warmth of her cunt against your skin, and the wet spot slowly forming there.

The stubborn girl turns into a puddle above you, in more ways than one. You feel her shuddering as she buries each of her moans in your hair. Your mouth leaves her nipple with a quiet pop, and a thin string of saliva threatens to connect you when you pull away.

“Are you gonna cum, Lena?” you coo, swollen mouth curling into a soft smile. “I’ve barely even touched you—”

Her fingers tighten in your hair. “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” she pleads in a broken voice.

You return to her chest, sucking on her sensitive nipple until she keens. She exhales a hoarse moan above you, flexing her hips over your thigh to keep her clit flush to your skin. She lets out several pretty “Uh, uh, uh”’s before tensing suddenly above you. 

Yelena holds her breath, grips you tight by your shoulder and the back of your neck, and begins to tremble over your thigh. “Oh, shit…” she moans, then sighs. “Oh, shit—” 

It comes out more disappointed the second time, as she pulls back from you to flash you a girlish pout. “What?” you laugh, mouth shining with spit, as you smooth a rouge blonde tendril behind her ear.

“I was supposed to make you feel good,” she whines, Russian accent sounding deep in her mouth. “I had it all planned— I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing we’ve got all the time in the world, right?”

Yelena’s frown curls into a more devilish grin at your words.

Neither of you get any sleep that night. Walker, included.

ROBERTY REYNOLDS X READER — a year after the void nearly destroyed new york, you're still teaching bob that it's okay to feel good (new-ish relationship, post-thunderbolts | 1k words)

Robert Reynolds is still getting used to touching you. He’s spent nearly every day with you since you found him — learning how to use his powers for good, how to touch you without hurting you, how to be human again. It’s been a year since then, and he’s starting to get the hang of it. But sometimes he thinks you have more faith in him than he does in himself.

You kiss him hard enough to bruise him on the center of the living room couch, with Sunset Boulevard playing quietly on the large TV behind you. Bob’s anxiety is only partly quelled by the rest of the Thunderbolts’ absence, but he’s still slightly scared of himself — what if The Void returned and swallowed him whole again? Who would be there to stop him from hurting you if it did?

You don’t seem half as panicked about the whole thing as your lips stamp wet kisses up and down the expanse of his long neck. “You’re so pretty, Bobby,” you murmur into his warm skin. “Such a pretty boy…”

Bob swallows hard at your praise, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He shifts uncomfortably beneath you on the sofa when he feels his cock twitching in the confines of his sweatpants. There’s a need for release inside of him that he can’t ignore, but he cares more about keeping you safe. Safe from himself.

You pull back, mouth swollen from your assault on his neck. “Can I…?” you smile and trail off, hands sliding down his clothed, lean chest to the waistband of his sweatpants.

Bob doesn’t know what you’re planning. It excites him as much as it frightens him. His mouth opens and closes like a fish until he finds the words. “Oh. I— I don’t— I don’t know,” he stammers through an awkward chuckle.

You shrug despite the pang of disappointment in your chest. “It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to—”

“It’s not that!” Bob blurts, rushing to hold you by the waist when you threaten to move off him. (He forgets, for maybe the first time ever, to be scared of touching you.) He swallows hard at the look you give him, blinking wildly with glassy eyes. “I just… I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You’re not gonna hurt me,” you assure him with a pretty laugh. “You don’t even have to touch me.”

Bob’s brows furrow. “What?” he wonders aloud.

You don’t answer him with words. You just flash him a mischievous smirk and shift on the couch until you’re no longer straddling him. You press your lips to his — once, twice, and then a third time — in a silent reminder to relax before your mouth trails down his neck once more. 

You move past his jaw, to his pulse, and down towards his collarbone, sinking further onto your knees as you kiss down his body.

Bob exhales a shuddering breath and tilts his heavy head towards the back of the couch. He feels his hands start to ache with the urge to touch you. He balls them into fists, instead.

“Relax, baby,” you murmur between the kisses you press to his clothed sternum. “Let me make you feel good.”

Bob tenses beneath you when your hands brush his cock, growing harder in his boxers by the second. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to ignore the need swelling inside him. “Um… Maybe we should…” he stammers, voice shaking. “Maybe we should, like, slow down?”

He covers his desperate plea with a wavering half-smile.

You nod, now fully on your knees between his spread thighs, and give him a kind, tight-lipped smile in return. “‘Course. I’ll go slow. Promise.”

You feel Bob trembling beneath your hand when you lift the hem of his shirt. Your fingers brush the fine hair sprinkled on his lean stomach as you press chaste kisses to every inch of revealed skin. He takes in a shaking breath, burning red hot under your touch. 

He doesn’t know how to tell you how sensitive he is — how, if he thinks about you and your soft touches for too long, that he’ll explode. So he doesn’t. He just squeezes his eyes shut and tries to think about anything other than the way you’re making him feel just now.

“I’ll take care of you, Bobby. I promise,” you slur between languid kisses, holding his shirt up with one hand while your other teases the hem of his boxers. “I’ll make you feel so good—” Your lips brush the coarse hair peeking from his waistline. You flash him a pair of glassy, mischievous eyes. 

“And maybe—” A kiss. “If you’re real good—” Another, a bit lower this time. “I’ll let you fuck me—”

Bob face twists. His brows furrow, his eyes shut tight, his nose scrunches at the bridge. He makes a strangled noise in his throat, growing so tense beneath you that it makes him tremble. 

You just freeze, frightened that you might’ve done something wrong. You did just promise to take it slow, after all — and here he is now, cumming in his boxers. 

He feels the warmth of his orgasm wetting the plaid fabric and sticking awkwardly to his skin. He fails to stave off the pang of embarrassment searing his chest.

“I’m sorry,” both of you blurt at the same time.

Bob’s eyes snap open, still slightly glazed over. “You’re sorry?!” he gapes. “What are you sorry for?”

You falter for a moment. “I don’t know,” you answer and start to laugh. 

The pretty sound fills the quiet tower, and Bob can’t help but laugh along with you. He tilts his heavy head back against the couch as you rise from your knees, straddling him once more and avoiding the sensitive mess in his pants. 

“Did it feel good, at least?” you ask, smoothing your palms over his trembling shoulders.

Bob nods and swallows hard. “Yeah,” he mumbles, then clears his throat. “I haven’t— Haven’t been with anyone in a while, so… I guess you could say I’m… a little out of practice.”

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” you coo, ducking down to press a chaste kiss to his mouth. Even with his eyes closed, he can hear the smile in your voice as you whisper, “I’ll whip you back into shape in no time, Reynolds.”

[runawrites-blog]

In My Head

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Sunshine reader is always seen as sweet and innocent to the team, always happy to use her healing magic wherever possible. Bucky, touch starved and in love, discovers reader is not as innocent as she seems.

Word count: 8.2k words <3

Plus size reader safe! All body types are safe in this fic! Everyone loves Dom! Bucky I do too but good god I need whipped Bucky who will do anything for Reader. This is the longest piece I’ve written in so long! Enjoy and leave a note<3 I’m in my marvel era again so feel free to request anyone! I didn't proof read (i finished it at 1am)

Tags: There is a plot! (porn with plot lol) AFAB reader, The smut is pure FILTH tbh, Smut, Pining Bucky, no use of Y/N.

Smut warnings: Sub!Bucky, soft dom! Reader, use of ‘Good boy’, Bucky has a praise kink, pussy eating (lots of it), Needy/touch starved Bucky, Bucky has an Edward Cullen moment, Oral (female/reader receiving— THREE times hehe) penetration, Buck likes his hair pulled, Bucky dry humps, Reader squirts (third oral sequence so skip that part if you wish) needy creampie.

There were things in the modern world that baffled Bucky, Bubble tea, new terms for prejudice ending in 'phobia', babies with Ipads in their faces. And you. The first time he laid eyes on you, you gave him a blindingly sweet smile, and held your hand out for him to shake. When he didn't take it you didn't judge him or look at him funny, you smiled like you understood. From then on, you respected his boundaries and he began to feel safe. It made sense to him that someone like you had the power to help and heal others.

You’d always bring them things; vitamins, water, those weird orange flavoured things that dissolve in water, something a little sugary for a boost, with that sweet, innocent smile he'd grown to adore. He would never- could never admit that though, someone like him wasn't worthy of you. He could settle for some longing and pining instead.

Bucky is lounging on the sofa with Steve, some 50s flick playing that Steve had insisted on, something about a painter in Paris- he wasn't sure. And then, you walk in, your sweet voice drifting into his ear.

“An American in Paris, huh?” you asked, gently teasing as you moved closer to the sofa, catching sight of the movie they were watching.

Bucky shifted a little, his gaze flickering to you, then quickly back to the TV. He tried not to look at you too much when you were around, not because he didn’t want to, but because every time he did, it felt like something in his chest tightened. It certainly didn’t help that it was a hot day today, you’d opted for a cute pink and white sundress that stopped mid thigh.

“Yeah, Steve’s choice,” Bucky muttered, trying to sound casual, but his voice came out a little softer than he intended. He knew that you liked these kinds of old movies, so maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

Steve grinned from the other end of the couch, catching the subtle shift in Bucky’s tone, but not saying anything about it. Instead, he glanced up at you with a friendly smile.

“You a fan of the classics too?” Steve asked, gesturing for you to sit if you wanted to join them.

You walked over, the scent of your shampoo reaching Bucky’s senses. Vanilla and coconut, coincidentally his favourite fragrance, something that had changed not long after he’d met you… coincidentally of course, and the more you lingered around, the harder it became for him to focus on anything but you.

“Reminds me of my dad. Some are super sexist but I’m a sucker for Marilyn Monroe” you said, sitting down at the edge of the couch, right next to Bucky. Close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating off of you, but still with enough space to respect his boundaries. You always seemed to know exactly how to balance that, without even trying. It amazed him.

Bucky felt his pulse quicken as you sat beside him. You were so close. Too close. Not close enough.

He grunted in agreement with your statement, nodding, though his eyes stayed fixed on the screen. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to you—he just didn’t know how. What could he say that wouldn’t make him seem awkward or broken? Besides, talking might make him reveal just how badly he wanted to be near you, and he couldn’t afford that.

But then you spoke again, your voice soft and gentle, like you were speaking just to him. “How was training today?”

He cleared his throat, trying to push away the thoughts clouding his mind. “Same as always. Steve still hits like a truck.”

Steve laughed from the other side, “You’re the one with the metal arm, Buck.”

Bucky shot him a look, but there was no real bite to it. Just a distraction. He was grateful for it.

You laughed too, and that sound—it was like a melody that settled right under Bucky’s skin, making him feel warm in a way he hadn’t in a long time. He stole a glance at you again, just for a second, and you were looking right at him. That smile on your face, the one that had been seared into his memory from the moment you’d met.

“Let me guess,” you said, eyes twinkling, “you didn’t let him win this time either?”

Bucky’s lips twitched, almost into a smile, but he stopped himself. “Nope.”

“Good,” you replied, your voice soft again, almost as if you were relieved. “Can’t let Cap off easy.”

It was such a simple thing to say, but it hit Bucky harder than he’d expected. You cared. Not just in the way you handed out snacks and drinks after training or smiled when they passed by, but genuinely cared. For him. For Steve. And maybe, just maybe, that meant you’d be willing to see something more in him than he saw in himself.

The silence between you wasn’t awkward, but it was thick with unspoken words. Bucky could feel it. He wanted to reach out, say something—anything—but the words lodged themselves in his throat, like they always did when it came to you.

For a moment, Bucky let himself wonder what it would be like—if he could let himself believe he was worthy of you. Of someone so full of light and warmth, when all he felt was the shadows of his past.

But then the doubt crept back in, and he looked away again. He couldn’t let himself get too close. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. It wasn’t much, but it was all he could manage without giving too much away.

You didn’t push him, though. You never did. You just smiled again and settled into the couch beside him, watching the movie like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And for a fleeting moment, Bucky let himself pretend that it was.

The training room echoes with the sharp sound of fists hitting metal, the rhythmic thud of boots against the mat, and the occasional grunt of exertion. Bucky and Steve were sparring again; the same routine they'd run through countless times. It usually helped Bucky clear his mind, focus his energy on something physical, something he could control. But today, it was different.

“Come on, Buck, focus,” Steve says as he circles around, hands up and ready. His movements were fluid, precise. He was always like that—disciplined, unshakable. Bucky was too, usually. But not today.

His thoughts kept drifting, unbidden, back to you.

He couldn’t stop thinking about how close you had been on the couch last night, the way your voice had softened when you’d spoken to him, like you saw something in him that no one else did. That smile. It was haunting him in the best way.

As if to taunt him farther, his mind flashes with the image of you in your sundress, the way it swayed around the soft skin of your thighs.

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice cut through his reverie, but not fast enough.

Distracted, Bucky moves just a second too late. He swings wide, and Steve, quicker than ever, ducked under his arm and swept his legs out from under him. Before Bucky could react, he hit the mat hard, air leaving his lungs in a sharp gasp.

“Damn it,” Bucky growles, more at himself than at Steve. He stays on the floor for a moment, trying to shake the thoughts of you from his mind. He shouldn’t be getting distracted like this. Not during a sparring session. Not ever.

Steve stands over him, offering a hand, his brow furrowed in concern. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky grumbles, accepting the hand and letting Steve pull him back to his feet. His ribs ache from the fall, but it wasn’t anything serious. It was more the embarrassment that stung. Bucky didn’t like feeling off his game, and lately, thinking about you was doing just that.

“You weren’t focused,” Steve says, stepping back into position. It wasn’t a question.

Bucky wiped the sweat from his brow, shaking out his arms as if that could somehow reset his mind. “I’m fine. Let’s go again.”

Steve hesitates for a second, then nods, getting back into stance. He could tell something was on Bucky’s mind, but he wasn’t going to push. At least, not right now. Steve knew when to back off, and when to press—though Bucky had a feeling that conversation would come soon enough.

They start again, trading punches and dodges, but Bucky couldn’t shake the lingering thoughts of you. The way you made him feel—safe, seen. The way you’d praise him. God… the way you’d tell him he did a good job after training or a mission,

Just for a second, his mind drifts again— Your pretty eyes, the way they’d look at him like he was something amazing, the smile you’d give him and then he wonders what your face would look like as he dives down deep between your thighs-

Steve’s fist came in fast, and though Bucky manages to block it, he doesn’t account for the follow-up. Steve's knee connects with his side, hitting just below his ribs with enough force to knock the wind out of him.

Bucky staggers back, holding his side with a grimace.

“Whoa, Buck!” Steve stops immediately, hands out in concern. “You good?”

Bucky clenches his jaw, nodding, though his side throbbed. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth.

“You’re not fine,” Steve replies, taking a step forward, but Bucky waves him off, frustrated with himself more than anything.

“I said I’m fine,” Bucky snaps, turning away for a moment to catch his breath. He hates this. Hates how easily you get into his head, how much he let himself think about you when he was supposed to be focused. It wasn’t like him to get distracted, especially not in a fight.

Steve gives him a long, knowing look. He wasn’t pushing the subject yet, but Bucky could see it in his eyes—Steve had noticed something. And knowing Steve, it wouldn’t be long before he asked about it.

Steve lets out a sigh, shaking his head. “You need to go get that checked out.” He motions to the cut on Bucky’s cheek and his ribs.

“I said I’m fine,” Bucky mutters.

Steve doesn’t budge. “Buck, if you don’t get that cleaned up, it’s going to get worse. You’re already bruised, and that cut—” He gestured to Bucky’s face. “—needs to be looked at.”

Bucky was about to argue again when Steve adds, with a pointed look, “Go see her.”

He blinks, his heart suddenly beating faster in his chest. “What?”

“Go see her,” Steve repeats, his voice calm but insistent. “You know she can patch you up. She always does.”

Bucky opens his mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. You always did take care of them after training, offering vitamin drinks or snacks, your touch gentle and your presence calming.

“I don’t need—” Bucky begins, but Steve cuts him off with a significant look.

“Buck, you’re hurt. Let her help you. Besides, we both know she’d want to,” Steve says, his tone softening as he rests a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “She cares, man. And you’re not doing yourself any favours by pretending you don’t need her.”

Bucky clenched his jaw, his chest tight with a mix of frustration and something else he couldn’t quite name. The truth was, he did want to go to you.

With a heavy sigh, Bucky nods, finally relenting. “Fine.”

Steve smiles, patting him on the shoulder. “Good. Now go get cleaned up. I’ll finish up here.”

Bucky hesitates for a second before turning to leave the training room, his side still aching from the hit.

All he knew was that when he saw you, when you smiled at him with that gentle, understanding look in your eyes, it was going to make it that much harder to keep pretending he didn’t feel anything.

Bucky’s footsteps echo softly through the hall as he makes his way to the infirmary. When he reaches the infirmary door, he gives a soft knock before stepping inside.

You’re there, sitting at your desk with one thigh crossed elegantly over the other, your attention focused on some paperwork in front of you. You’re dressed in your usual professional attire—a fitted dress that hugs your form just enough to hint at your curves beneath your white lab coat. The subtle click of your black heels against the floor when you shift is a small, but noticeable, sound that makes Bucky's heart beat a little faster.

You look up when you hear him enter, that sweet, welcoming smile appearing almost instantly. “Bucky,” you greet warmly, your voice soft. “What brings you in? Did you and Steve go a little too hard today?”

For a second, Bucky just stands there, distracted by how you look. His heart skips a beat as he takes in the sight of you. He notices, maybe for the first time, how the hem of your dress rides up slightly when you cross your legs. He forces himself to look away before you catch him staring.

“Uh, yeah,” he mutters, gesturing vaguely to the cut on his face. “Just a cut… and maybe some bruised ribs.”

You arch an eyebrow, your smile turning a little coy. “Only maybe bruised ribs? Sounds like you need me to take a closer look.”

Bucky blinks, heat creeping up his neck as he tries to decide whether he’s imagining the playful tone in your voice or if it’s actually there. He clears his throat. “Yeah… probably.”

With that, you uncross your legs and stand up, heels clicking softly against the tile floor as you walk over to him. Your movements are graceful, confident, and Bucky feels his pulse quicken as you draw closer. There’s something about the way you carry yourself today—calm, collected, but with an air of subtle suggestion that makes him feel off balance.

You stand just inches away from him, reaching up to gently tilt his chin up so you can inspect the cut above his eyebrow. Your fingers are cool against his sweaty skin, and Bucky freezes, his breath catching in his throat.

“It’s not deep,” you murmur “But it’s a little more than a scratch. Seems like you need my magic touch~” you wiggle your fingers and Bucky bites back a groan at the subtle implication.

Before Bucky can respond, you place your hand gently over the wound, and he feels a soft, warm tingling sensation spread across his skin. Your healing powers are subtle but effective, and within seconds, the pain is gone, the cut already closing up beneath your touch. He’s experienced your abilities before, but every time he feels a spark from your touch, it’s a simple move but he craves more.

“There we go,” you say softly, removing your hand from his face. Your fingers linger a little longer than usual, trailing down his jaw ever so slightly before you step back, your eyes locking with his for a brief moment.

Bucky swallows hard, trying to shake off the heat rising in his chest. He’s probably imagining it—just reading too much into things. You’re always sweet, always kind and innocent.

Your gaze drops to his side, and you gently brush your hand over his ribs. “Lift your shirt for me?” you ask, your voice light but carrying a tone of suggestion that makes Bucky’s heart skip a beat.

He hesitates for a second, then does as you ask, pulling up his shirt to reveal the dark bruise spreading along his ribs. You make a soft sound of sympathy, a small pout forming on your lips as your pretty eyes lock with his for a moment. You look back down, your fingers grazing his skin as you crouch slightly to get a closer look.

“You really got hit hard,” you murmur, your tone carrying a note of concern but it switches up subtly as you carry on: “Good thing I can take care of you.”

Bucky’s breath hitches. Did he hear that right? Is there something more in your words? You were just talking about the injury right? The way you said it, the way you moved—it feels almost sinful in a way he’s not used to, at least not from you. He tries to keep his focus, but with you this close, your fingers trailing lightly over his bruised skin, it’s damn near impossible.

You place your hand gently over his ribs, your touch soft but firm as you close your eyes for a moment, focusing on healing the injury. Bucky feels the familiar warmth of your powers again, spreading through his body like a gentle wave. The pain begins to melt away, the bruise slowly fading beneath your hand.

“There,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “All better.”

But your hand doesn’t move right away. Instead, it lingers on his ribs for a second too long, your fingertips brushing the edge of his abdomen in a way that makes his breath catch. Then, just as he’s about to say something—anything—you pull away, turning to your desk, palms flat and bending as if you’re looking for something. Bucky’s mind flashes to pulling up your dress and fucking you senseless then and there, his metal hand clenches and he shakes the thought away.

Bucky exhales slowly, trying to calm the sudden storm in his chest. He has to be imagining it, right? You’re just being your usual caring self- but that touch felt different. Everything you’re doing feels different. More intentional. And the way you’d looked at him just now—

He notices you didn’t actually pick anything up from the desk after you’d bent over it a little.

“Alright, just one last check,” you say as you come back to stand in front of him, a small, almost playful smile on your lips. “Let me make sure everything else is fine.” You reach up, your hand lightly brushing against his neck as if you’re checking for tension or soreness. But then, your fingers linger—soft and warm against his skin, trailing slowly down to his collarbone. The touch is innocent enough, but there’s something in the way you do it that makes Bucky’s entire body tense.

You meet his eyes, your expression still sweet and professional, but there’s a hint of something more—something almost teasing in the way you hold his gaze. “Hmm, seems like you’re all healed up,” you murmur, your voice soft but suggestive in a way that makes his pulse race.

Bucky swallows, his throat suddenly dry as he stares at you. For a moment, he can’t move, can’t speak—stuck between the need to figure out if what he’s feeling is real or just in his head. He tries to convince himself it’s all innocent, but the way your hand lingers on his neck, the way your eyes flicker to his lips for the briefest of moments… it leaves him wondering if you aren’t quite as innocent as he thought.

You finally step back, that same sweet smile on your face as if nothing happened. “Take it easy, alright? Don’t push yourself too hard next time.”

Bucky nods, his voice hoarse when he finally speaks. “Yeah… thanks.”

You tilt your head, your smile widening just a little. “Anytime.” You sit down on your chair again, crossing one thigh over the other, it seemed deliberate.

You rest a pencil on your lower lip, teeth grazing it just slightly, pretty eyes on him. Bucky draws in a breath and feels a problem growing between his legs. He spins around to the door, hoping you don’t notice.

As Bucky begins leave you call out once more: “Let me know if you need me Bucky~ you can always come to me”

As Bucky leaves the infirmary, his mind spins. He came in with injuries, but now he has a different kind of problem, he attempts to calm down, the hardness in his pants making it hard to think. Something has shifted between you two, and whether it’s real or just in his imagination, Bucky can’t help but think back to it all. Did you want him too?

That night, Bucky stares at his ceiling, mind flashing back to you at your desk. Why didn’t you pick anything up? Did you forget what you were looking for? The look in your eyes told him you must’ve known what was going through his head.

He groans and pushes his face into his pillow, he thinks back to something that had happened a few days ago. You were giving out some sort of vitamin pill to everyone, when you’d leaned in, lips near his ear as you whispered:

“I saved you the last cherry flavoured one, don’t tell anyone” before winking slightly.

He shivers at the memory; he could smell every inch of you when you leaned in.

He grunts and pushes his face farther into the pillow. Why did you always save the good things for him? Was it on purpose? Whenever you baked you’d give him first pick- he thought you were just being nice, the sweet girl they all know. But the more he thinks about you the more he notices those little things.

Before he had even registered what he was doing, he was standing and making his way to your rooms. You did say he could always come to you. Bucky freezes outside the door when he realises where he was and what he was doing. Was he crazy? How could he come up with an excuse for being at your door at eleven at night? Before he can change his mind and turn around your door opens. There you stood wearing nothing but a pair of sleep shorts and a tank top- with no bra.

Bucky freezes, his breath catching in his throat as his gaze locks on you. The soft glow of your bedside lamp spills over your frame, highlighting the way your sleep shorts hug your hips and your tank top clings to your chest. His mouth goes dry.

You blink at him. “Bucky?” your voice is soft, a hint of curiosity laced in your tone. “Is everything okay? F.R.I.D.A.Y told me you were stood outside my door.

For a moment, all he can do is stare. He knows he should say something, anything, but his mind is scrambling for an excuse—an explanation for why he’s standing at your door in the middle of the night. His thoughts drift back to your touch earlier, the brush of your hand on his neck, and the memory of your lips near his ear just days ago.

You tilt your head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips, and Bucky swears there’s something teasing in your expression. You step aside, opening the door wider as if you’re inviting him in. “You didn’t have to knock, you know,” you say with that same sweetness. “You can always come to me.”

His heart pounds in his chest, loud enough that he wonders if you can hear it. He swallows, trying to push down the tension, but something in your eyes—something about the way you're looking at him—has his feet moving before his brain catches up.

He steps over the threshold.

Bucky steps inside, the door clicking shut softly behind him. The room is dim, and the soft scent of your perfume lingers in the air, teasing his senses. He watches you as you turn back toward him, your smile still warm, still innocent—at least on the surface.

“So…” you say, your voice soft as you walk a little closer to him, “What brings you here so late, Bucky?” There’s a hint of playfulness in your tone, like you already know the answer but want to hear him say it.

He shifts awkwardly, his eyes darting away from yours. “I… uh, I couldn’t sleep.” His voice comes out rougher than he intended.

“We both know my healing powers can’t help you sleep Bucky. So what’s up with you coming to see lil’. ol’. Me.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but no words come out. His mind is racing—unsure if you're playing a game or if he’s just reading too much into it. His eyes flick down to your tank top, the way it clings to you, the coolness from the hallway had made hard peaks appear on your chest he then glances back to your face. You’re watching him carefully, that same playful glint in your eyes.

You tilt your head slightly, voice soft but teasing. “You’ve been thinking a lot lately, haven’t you?” Your fingers brush lightly against his arm, sending a shiver through him. “About me?”

Bucky feels his pulse quicken. He’s certain now—there’s no way he’s imagining it.

“I—” He swallows hard, trying to find the right words. But before he can, you step even closer, your body inches from his now, your hand lingering on his arm.

“You think I didn’t notice?” You ask sweetly

Bucky’s breath hitches as your words sink in, and his chest tightens, the space between you suddenly feeling far too small. His mind is racing, but his body is rooted in place, drawn to you in a way he can’t explain. He tries to speak, to form some kind of coherent response, but his voice fails him.

“You think I didn’t notice?” you ask again, your voice low, sweet, but with a teasing edge that makes Bucky’s heart race. Your hand is still resting lightly on his arm, your touch burning through his skin despite the fabric of his shirt. The warmth of your body is so close now, and Bucky is overwhelmed by the scent of you—intoxicating, pulling him deeper into the moment. He can feel himself grow hard at the simple touch, he want’s your hands all over him. He just needs to feel you touch him.

He stares down at you, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the way your lips curve into that soft, knowing smile. You tilt your head up slightly, your eyes locking with his, and for a moment, everything else fades away. It’s just the two of you, standing impossibly close, the air between you thick with tension.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, but Bucky hears every word. “I notice where your eyes go when I wear a skirt or dress, if I bend over or wear anything even remotely low cut.”

He swallows hard, his pulse pounding in his ears. He wants to say something, to explain himself, to apologize, but he can’t—because the truth is, you’re right. He has been looking at you, watching you, craving your presence without ever fully admitting it to himself.

You shift even closer, your chest almost brushing against his, and Bucky’s breath catches as your fingers slowly trail up his arm, lingering at his shoulder. His heart feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest, and he’s not sure how much longer he can keep control of himself. The way you’re looking at him, your lips parted slightly, your eyes holding his like they’re daring him to make the next move…

He’s losing it.

“You don’t have to hide it,” you whisper, your voice laced with that same soft, teasing edge. Your hand moves up to his neck now, your fingertips brushing the sensitive skin just below his jaw. “You can tell me what you want, Bucky…”

He whines.

Before the embarrassment can hit him you let out a low groan at the sound. “Fuck…”

Bucky’s breath comes out in a shudder, his self-control hanging by a thread. He feels the warmth of your hand against his neck, the way your touch lingers just a second too long, and it sends a wave of heat rushing through him.

He opens his mouth to respond, but you’re already moving, closing the last bit of space between you. Your eyes flicker down to his lips, and Bucky’s resolve crumbles. He can’t hold back anymore.

His hand reaches out almost instinctively, fingers gently curling around your waist, pulling you closer. He leans down, his breath mingling with yours as he hovers just inches from your lips, his heart pounding in his chest.

“You…” His voice is low, strained, as if he’s barely holding on. “You’re driving me crazy, doll.”

You smile, and the look in your eyes—soft, teasing, and just a little wicked—sends him over the edge.

Bucky leans to close the gap but your finger presses against his lips. A frown forms on his face, and then you speak.

“ah ah ah” you shake your head “we ask for what we want”

Bucky mentally scolds himself for not asking, he was in the moment.

“May I kiss you?” he asks.

“Say please” there was an unexpected dominance to your tone, completely wiping out the innocence.

Oh fuck.

Bucky feels himself grow harder at the tone. He’s momentarily stunned. Your pretty eyes are on him, feigning innocence but there’s something sinful hiding in them. His beautiful blue eyes look down at you, filled with need.

“Please?”

You let out a moan at the word, your body heating up, your core dampens your shorts.

“Fuck… Bucky…” You say breathily before you pull him down a little to reach your height and kiss him. It’s gentle, as though you’re teasing him, giving him a glimpse to what he can have. He just needs to ask politely.

“Doll… please… I…” He struggles to get his words out, brain fogged over from all the sensations hitting him at once. You run your hands along his abs and he whines again. The whine shoots straight through you. Bucky Barnes, the worlds most accomplished assassin is whining for you.

“Please what? Good boys use their words.” You say in a sinfully soft voice that sends a shiver down his spine.

“I need… more… please” He whispers your name at the end and you hum, satisfied. You grasp his hand and it feels so good to him. Too good. He follows you as you pull him towards the bed.

“Sit there. Lean against the headboard” you hum and he immediately does as he’s told. Sure, he was a super solider who could overpower you in a second, you were both aware. But you were both also aware that he didn’t want that. He needed you to guide him.

You plant yourself in his lap, straddling him, before letting out a soft hum as you feel his hardness push against your core over your sleep shorts. Bucky lets out a moan at the contact but you’re quick to swallow it with a deep, heated kiss. His hands claw at your hips and you gasp slightly as the metal of his hand touches your skin. He’s quick to pull it away but you’re quicker, gripping his wrist and shaking your head, guiding it back in place.

You continue the kiss, before taking his lower lip in between your teeth. You open your eyes to see his blue ones are locked onto your own in what can only be described as the hottest, neediest way, his pupils dilated. You lick over his lip before your hand snakes around the back of his neck and up to his hair. You gently tug, its light, testing the waters and his lips part, head nodding. You pull his hair back a little harsher and he moans. You laugh, the sound dark and sinful in Bucky’s ears.

Your lips kiss his earlobe. “You like your hair pulled? Dirty boy~”

He moans again and nods, hands gripping your hips a little harder, pulling you down to grind on him. You make a ‘tsk’ sound and he freezes, quickly remembering your rule.

You get off him and he groans at the loss of contact, his needy eyes falling onto you. You slowly pull down your shorts, revealing your core to him. His breathing quickens, cock twitching and straining against his sweatpants.

“Take your clothes off, honey” your sultry voice fills his ears and he does so immediately, stripping off his shirt first, exposing the honey toned abs with numerous scars here and there. He is beautiful and you let it show on your face. He drags down his sweatpants leaving him in his grey boxers. There’s a dark damp spot on them from his arousal, pre-cum weeping through from the tip. You make a gesture for him to keep going and he obliges, dragging the boxers down. He stands there, glorious cock hard against his abdomen, looking at you, waiting for your next command.

“What do you want? You just need to ask” You inquire, goading him to tell you.

He swallows, looking down at your dripping core and then back to his cock. You fully expect him to ask to fuck you based on his expression, but he shocks you.

“Can I taste you please?”

Your eyes widen briefly, stunned at his choice.

“I’m sorry— if you don’t want—“ He begins to speak but you cut him off with a finger to your lips and standing up. You slowly peel off your shorts, leaning against the wall.

“You asked me so nicely.” You beckon him and the speed in which he’s on his knees in front of you has your legs weak. His hands skim over your thighs, leaving Goosebumps in their wake. “Is this what you want?”

Bucky looks up at you with desperate eyes, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “Yes, please” His voice is hoarse.

“You wanna make me feel good?” You coo.

Bucky groans, his hands gripping your thighs a little. “More than anything” He confirms.

You nod, giving your permission and he settles in between your thighs. He grasps your ass, pulling you up so your legs are over his shoulders, his head cradled by your thighs. You’re momentarily stunned, briefly forgetting he’s a super soldier with insane strength. The thought goes right to your core. Your back is against the wall, his hands still firm on your ass, keeping you in place. Bucky’s breath ghosts across your core before he looks up at you. The sight was nearly enough to make you come. With a firm squeeze on your ass, he dives in, licking a stripe up your lips, making you gasp and weave your fingers through his hair. He groans and begins to lap at your clit like a man starved. He occasionally moans and groans, letting you know how much he’s enjoying being between your legs.

“Bucky— oh my god” You moan out. This only drives him more, he focuses his tongue on your bundle of nerves and you see stars.

He is good at this.

Really fucking good.

Too good?

It doesn’t take you long to come at all, you grasp his hair tighter, thighs squeezing around his head in a way that makes his cock twitch against his abdomen. He rides you through your orgasm until you’re squirming and too sensitive.

He pulls back, holding you up still, and looks into your eyes. The lower part of his face is sinfully wet, he gives you a charming smile, eyes still betraying his neediness.

“You did so well… so good for me…” You breathe out and a strangled noise escapes him.

A praise kink.

“You did so so good for me Bucky~ You deserve a reward” You coo, getting off his shoulders and standing up. You tilt his head up with your finger. “You want a reward baby?”

Bucky lets out a breathy noise and nods.

“What do you want? I’ll give you whatever you want”

Bucky Looks up at you, standing up. He shocked you again.

“Please doll… sit on my face… if… you want…” He adds the last part, unsure. All he knows is that being in between your thighs, hearing you, feeling you, giving you pleasure is all he wants right now.

You bite back a groan and nod, watching him scramble to the bed, laying on his back. He’s gloriously naked, thick cock incredibly hard and standing to attention. You crawl up his body, making sure to brush up against his length to hear those delicious whines from him. His hips buck a few times against you and then you’re settled just above his face. You look down at him and he looks ravenous— His desperate eyes flicking from your core to your face. His hands keep flexing as he struggles, wanting nothing more than to pull you down onto his face and hold you there until he can’t breathe.

“You can touch me Buck” you say softly and his hands hesitantly settle on your hips. He pauses before it eventually becomes too much and pulls you down onto his face, groaning at the impact. You don’t move much, assuming he wants to take the lead when he speaks, muffled against your core.

You giggle and look at him innocently. “Sorry honey what was that? I can’t understand you~”

His eyes grow even more needy, looking up at you. He speaks, muffled again before he decided to lift you up just enough to speak.

“Move— please. Grind on my face. Use me to come please”

How could you say no to such a beautiful request?

You settle back down and rock your hips. His tongue moves with the same finesse and you can’t help but wonder if he’s tired. He doesn’t look tired. You move his arms so he’s holding them up and you entwine your fingers, using his arms to keep you upright, moving against him. His eyes are fluttering shut in pleasure and you groan. You make quick work of your shirt, leaving you both naked now.

“Eyes open Bucky~ I thought you wanted to see what you do to me?~” You tease.

His eyes shoot open again, pupils dilated, his eyes more black than blue now.

“Good~ So good to me” You breathe out and he moans against you, making you gasp and your hips stutter. You grip his hands tighter. His pretty eyes are begging you to come and you do, thighs once again squeezing around his head, making him feel dizzy. Your hips are bucking against his face not even thinking about his breathing— but that isn’t on Bucky’s mind either. You ride out your orgasm and get off him, falling on your back, breathing erratic.

Bucky lays there with the lower half of his face wet, stubble and all. His breathing is erratic and his cock is painfully hard against his abdomen.

“Holy shit Bucky” You huff out and a hoarse moan leaves his mouth.

He slots himself between your legs, kissing your shoulder, slowly moving down your body until he’s at your hip, kissing it softly.

“You are so beautiful doll” His eyes are sincere and your cheeks feel hot at the compliment. “One more time? Please?” He asks, eyes pleading.

Sweet mother of Jesus.

“You want— you seriously— you want to eat me out again?” Your eyes are wide.

Bucky nods, nuzzling and kissing your thigh before focusing on your face again. “And to fuck you with my fingers if that’s alright with you doll?”

Sweet. Mother. Of. Jesus.

Your brain short circuits for a moment at the words leaving his mouth and you mindlessly nod, your gaze heated and intense.

He runs a finger along your dripping core and he moans. Was he really getting this much pleasure? You hadn’t even touched him at all. He teases your entrance before sinking a finger in softly. He hisses at how tight it is, his cock twitching. You let out a soft breathy moan at the feeling, instinctively reaching for his hair. Bucky peppers kisses on your thighs before he begins pumping his finger.

It’s not enough.

“More” You demand, gripping his hair. Bucky is happy to oblige, pushing a second finger in, your toes curling. “oh god yes”

Bucky begins to curl his fingers, brushing up against your sweet spot as he increases his pace a fraction and you cry out.

“Am I doing good?” His husky voice asks, desperate for praise.

“So good baby, so fucking good. You’re so good to me” You moan out and he snaps, thrusting his fingers into you with a little more force and latching his mouth onto your clit. You’re so sensitive at this point you let out a whine, your words not coherent. You didn’t even know it was possible to come this many times before being fucked. The coil in your stomach feels more intense than you have ever felt before, you tighten around his fingers and before you could warn him, he pulls away, watching the liquid squirt from you in awe. You, on the other hand are glassy eyed and trembling afterwards.

Bucky gives you a few minutes to settle before he brings himself back up to your face, you pull him in for a messy kiss. His cock is settled on your thigh, Bucky whines into the kiss and you can feel him jutting against it. You grasp his chin as he kisses you, feeling his length as he desperately claims whatever friction he can get.

Bucky is surprised at himself. There has never been a time in his life where he has felt the need to dry hump a woman. But you have the best ways of bringing new feelings and actions out of him.

“Please” He says softly.

“Oh you’re so worked up honey. After doing such a good job. Take what you want Bucky” you coo, stroking his cheek and he leans into it before settling his hips between your legs.

“Can I… are you okay if I…” He begins and you nod.

“You’ve more than earned it” You rake your hands through his hair, nails scratching his scalp.

In an attempt to ground himself, He places his hands on your headboard, letting you guide his cock into place. He pushes in and groans, immediately shattering the headboard where his hands were.

Oh lord.

You squeeze around him and let out a breathy, aroused giggle. Bucky on the other hand looks mortified.

“Oh my god doll I am so sorry—“ He goes to pull out of you but you grasp his arms and shake your head. He doesn’t take much convincing before he pushes into you fully. He’s panting and rests his forehead on yours. Even with the fingers stretching you earlier, you need to adjust. The super solider cock is no joke.

You moan encouragingly in his ear and he pulls back softly before pushing back in. Your eyes flutter and Bucky has his trained solely on you and your reactions.

“Am I hurting you, doll?” He asks, breathily, stopping his motions.

You shake your head immediately. “Please don’t stop”

He keeps his strength in check, bracing on the half broken headboard again, his hands slotting into the Bucky sized hand holes in them. He uses a leisurely pace that does hit the spot, but it’s not quite enough. You could tell he was holding back for your sake but you needed to see just how much he needed you.

“Harder Bucky~ Fuck. I can take it— please”

The headboard crushes even more at your words, your legs were wound around his hips, he leans forward, wrapping his arms around you, his face buried in your neck as he desperately thrusts into you. It’s hard and fast, a string of moans and curses leaving your mouth as you can’t move in his grip, all you can do is take it. You’re seeing stars now, as Bucky is whining and muttering praises in your ear.

“You feel so good doll”

“I would do this forever… beautiful beautiful girl”

And lastly:

“Oh god thank you” He repeats the phrase a few times and your head spins.

He’s fucking thanking you.

You manage to moan out a few praises that are punctuated by his sharp needy thrusts. He pulls his face away from his neck when he’s close. You can see it on his face, begging you to come first. He slips his metal hand down to your clit, stroking the already sensitive bundle of nerves and your eyes widen at the coolness against it.

“Please come” He moans and it doesn’t take you long to oblige his plea, the metal hand on your clit, the whines from Bucky and his cock hitting you deep pushes you over the edge and you come, clenching him hard.

“You’re so beautiful” He says in awe. “Please can I come— please doll” Bucky’s thrusts are faltering.

“fill me up Bucky~” You moan and that’s all it takes, his thrusts become harder, your body jolting from the force, you’ll feel this in your hips in the morning. You could always heal it away. But you probably won’t. You place a hand over his neck holding it loosely, your other hand raking through his hair.

Bucky thrusts into you hard and deep, with hoarse moans of thank you as he comes inside you, filling you up. He simply stays inside you after, his body moving with his deep ragged breaths before he collapses on top of you, making sure to use some strength to stop him crushing you. You stroke his hair, muttering soft praises.

He rolls off you, his honey toned skin covered in a sheen of sweat that made him look godly. Your legs are jelly; you aren’t even sure you can use them for the next few days. Bucky stands and walks to your bathroom, giving you the perfect view of his sculpted ass and returns a few moments later with a warm wet cloth to clean you up with.

When the both of you are cleaned up, Bucky begins to wipe away the crushed pieces of headboard from your bed sheepishly.

“Sorry doll” He says quietly.

“It’s okay” You assure. “It was hot. Made me feel like Bella Swan” You joke.

Bucky looks at you, not understanding the reference.

“From Twi… never mind” You hum, helping to brush off the little pieces of wood. He lays back down and pulls you into his arms.

“Doll… I… I have never felt like that before. What did you do to me? I am under a spell when it comes to you.”

You yawn and let out a sleepy laugh. “You’re telling me. I don’t think I could sleep with a regular dude again after that”

It’s not long until exhaustion rushes through you. Super solider stamina is no joke. You drift off, head on his chest. Bucky watches the soft rise and fall of your chest, your soft snores filling the room.

And for the first time in what feels like forever; Bucky has a deep, dreamless sleep. His nightmares paused as he slumbers beside your soft, warm body.

It’s late when Bucky wakes up. Your side of the bed is cold. He glances at the clock on his phone, reading 11:07am, and a text from you, timestamped two hours ago:

‘Morning sleepy head. I didn’t wanna wake you. You looked too comfortable ;)’

He smiles at the text and looks for his clothes, only to find you must have taken a trip to his room to grab some fresh clothes. There is a towel on a chair with a new set of clean clothes and a pair of boxers.

When he’s all cleaned up and dressed he makes his way to the kitchen. You’re talking to Wanda, Steve and Sam.

“Bucky good morning!” Your sweet voice drifts over to him. “You slept in late. Are you feeling okay? Late night?” It’s an innocent question, no one bats an eyelash at it. You’re the healer of the team, and you’re concerned. But Bucky bites back a groan at the implications they both know is behind the sweet words.

Before Bucky can respond, Tony walks in.

“Hey Hippocrates” Tony calls out to you. “Why did F.R.I.D.A.Y tell me you needed a new headboard for your bed?

Oops.

-END-