#allcapsbingo2023

[holylulusworld]

Windfall

Summary: You are the last unmarried lady. A spinster.

Pairing: Royal!Stucky x Royal!Reader

Warnings: 30+ reader, modern royal au, old fashioned society when it comes to the age of unmarried women (kinda), polyamorous, throuple marriages are allowed in this world, mentions of rejection, the reader is a loner, bitchy ladies, established mlm relationship,

Square filled for @allcapsbingo: B5: Loneliness

Words: 940+

The ladies sneer when you pass them by. You don’t spare them a glance, aware that they do not like you.

People always fear what they do not understand. Like a woman who wants more in life than being her husband's arm candy.

“I don’t know why she holds her head high like that. She’s the last unmarried daughter. Even her younger sibling and almost every cousin are engaged to a gentleman. The last one will be married soon and the poor soul not getting the chance to marry one of the younger ones will settle for the windfall.”

The other women giggle at Lady Dorothy’s words. “You’re right. No one wants the old spinster. A man wants a young woman, a beautiful innocent blossom. Not a withering rose.”

You don’t take their words to heart. They are not wrong. All the gentlemen roaming your parents' house only came for your sister or the cousins your father took in after their parents passed away.

“Lady Y/N,” you sigh when Lady Sharon makes her way toward you. At least she’s kind enough to talk to you in public. “There you are!”

“My dear,” Lord Loki, Sharon’s husband greets you. He bows and presses a chaste kiss to your hand. He’s one of the few men seeing you as more than an old spinster. Loki appreciates your wit. “How have you been?”

“Fine, Lord Loki,” you reply. Unlike the other ladies in the room, you look him straight in the eyes. You’re not the kind of woman cowering in front of a man only because he has a cock between his legs. “I hope you are well too.”

“Very well,” he smiles at his wife. “My brother finally got engaged.”

“Again,” Sharon adds. “He’s a little fickle when it comes to courting for a woman. He should grow up and settle for one lady.”

“I understand him well,” you nod thoughtfully. “It isn’t easy to find the person you want to spend the rest of your life with. You should choose with your heart and mind.”

You barely escaped the nagging ladies and their gossip. Now you are hiding at the library to read another book. Loki and Sharon wouldn’t mind. They invited you to use their library when you are around and read as many books as you want to.

Nose burying in another book you don’t recognize someone sneaking inside the library.

“Stevie, you look so good today.” Your eyes flit up when you hear voices behind one of the shelves. “I can’t wait to put my hands on you.”

“Buck, we can’t. Not here.”

Frowning you listen closely. There is commotion behind the shelf, and you are sure, the men are up to no good.

You close the book and get up to find out what’s going on. If someone tries to steal Loki’s books, you will stop them at all costs.

Silently sneaking toward the shelf, you practice your speech in your mind. You’re not shy, but two men can be intimidating. Especially when they try to commit a crime.

You round the shelf, stopping in your tracks as you face the men. Your breath hitches in your throat because the men do not try to steal Loki’s books. No. They are kissing each other passionately.

You recognize the men. James Buchanan Barnes and Steven Grant Rogers. You heard rumors about them being in a relationship but never talked to them before.

You swallow thickly. What can you do? Say something? Tell them to not do such a thing at Loki’s library.

The only thing you can do is turn back around and walk toward the armchair to read your book. If you leave the library now, they will know you saw them. If you say something, they will get mad.

So, you sit back down, open your book, and start reading. You can still hear them kiss and moan but try to blend the noises they make out. It’s inappropriate to listen to their lovemaking. Not to mention sinful and forbidden.

You close your eyes and bite your lower lip. Their moans go straight to your lower half, the sacred garden you only touch at night, hidden in your bedroom.

“Aw, Bucky. Look at that pretty angel touching herself for us. Do you think we should help her out?”

Your eyes snap open as you feel eyes on you. You didn’t realize that the book slipped from your fingers and that you bunched up your skirt to slip your hand into your panties.

“I-no. I didn’t,” you lick your dry lips. “I wouldn’t… no. This is a misunderstanding.” You furiously shake your head.

The men watch you move your fingers, smirking as you cannot stop yourself from touching your clit.

“Doll, you are rubbing your sweet pearl for us, huh?” Bucky’s eyes are glued to your spread legs. “Tell me, did you like watching Stevie and me?”

You nod.

“Did it make your petals all wet?” Steve husks. “Did you touch yourself because you wanted us to touch you?”

You nod again.

“Stevie,” Bucky whispers lowly. “Do you know who she is? The angel no one dared to marry. It’s said that she’s a fiery little thing. Untamable and mouthy.”

“I’m not!” You grunt. “How dare you say such a thing!”

“Fiery and naughty, my beloved,” Steve cups his lover’s face to kiss him deeply. He moans into Bucky’s mouth, making you gasp loudly. “I guess she needs two strong pairs of hands to tame her.”

“Indeed,” Bucky smirks. “I bet her father will be so happy when she gets married to not one but two Lords making her an honest woman…”

Tags in reblog.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Jilted" - part 2

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Tags: boyfriend's dad au, left at the altar, father-in-law, hurt/comfort, forbidden attraction, silver fox Steve, age gap, size kink, strength kink, Dom/sub elements, daddy kink, fingering, oral sex, grinding, sex, dirty talk, cheating

Summary: You may be a jilted bride, but you don't feel like one for long when Steve soothes the hurt in unexpected ways.

Part 2 - "Taken to Bed by a Man" (Wait! I haven't read part 1 yet!)

Only hours ago, you were walking to the altar to marry a boy, and now you’re being taken to bed by a man—that very boy’s father. The reality of it becomes very clear as Steve walks into his bedroom with you in his arms and sets you down. Your toes dig into the room’s soft carpet.

“Turn around,” he whispers.

You obey, shivering as he steps in close behind. You can hear his breathing, can practically feel his desire for you. Somehow, he seems more tangible than he ever has before. More real, more solid, and you’re painfully aware of how close he is. “S-steve,” you breathe. “I—”

“You are so beautiful,” he murmurs, cutting you off. “I’m sorry I never told you. A woman like you should hear it every day.”

You want to say something, tell him that this is wrong, you can’t do this. He’s … he’s Pat’s father, decades older than you. He’s Captain America, for Christssakes. You shouldn’t want him the way you do. And now he’s got you doubting everything, every interaction you’ve ever had with him, every lingering glance, every brief touch, every polite word. From that very first time Pat brought you home to meet his father, the famed “man out of time.”

Steve doesn’t age normally, that much is obvious. You know about the serum, know that he was in his late twenties when they defrosted him back in the ‘nineties. And thirty years later, he doesn’t look as old as he should. His body and face are still those of a forty year old, betrayed only by the edges of his eyes, by the grey creeping into his hair and beard. He’s a total daddy, a thought that you’ve been shamefully repressing for the past two years. You’ve been so embarrassed by it, thought you were being such a creep, thinking about Pat’s father that way. Has Steve really been looking at you too all this time? You open your mouth to say something, offer some protest or reason why you can’t—

“Ask me to take your dress off.”

Your whole body clenches at how deep his voice is, how close he’s speaking to your ear. You tremble, able to feel the heat of his body behind you. “Steve, I …”

“Ask me,” he whispers, fingers skimming over your neck and shoulders. “Come on, Honey. Ask me. I promise I’ll only make you do it once.”

God. You manage to choke out an overwhelmed, “Please,” and thankfully it seems to be enough for him. His fingers find the laces of your dress and begin to delicately undo them. He goes slowly, almost like he’s relishing the act of removing your wedding gown. He peels off the dress that his son was meant to remove from your body that night, the fabric falling to the floor in a quiet ‘whoosh’, and his hands landing on your waist.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, sounding amazed. You whimper and try to move away, skittish, but he stops you, pulling you back firmly against his body with a tut. “You’re okay,” he soothes, arms wrapping around you to hold you close and calm you down. “Shhh. I got you.”

“S-steve,” you breathe, overwhelmed by how wrong this is, how turned on you are when he touches you. “We can’t, I shouldn’t.”

“Why shouldn’t you?” his hot breath fans out against your ear, then he starts kissing your neck and his hands slide covetously over your body. “Wanted you for so long, Sweetheart. Wanted to give you what you were aching for.” You whimper and try to pull away, but his hand slides over your tummy and pulls you back. “It’s okay. I’ve known. You think I didn’t know? Think I didn’t see you looking at me?”

“I – I didn’t …”

“Shh. There’s a girl. Let me touch you.” He’s so effortlessly strong and it feels so good to be held still by him. He rubs your belly and his other hand slides up your ribcage. “So beautiful.” He cups your breast, fingers dipping under the cup of your bra. “God, Honey. Look at you.”

You look down and exhale shakily, your cunt pulsing at the sight of his huge hand against your skin and the delicate lace of your bridal underwear. “Steve,” you breathe, shaking from nerves and arousal. “I want …”

“What do you want?” he whispers, lips trailing over your neck. He places a kiss on your pulse point, feels how fast your heart is beating. “Want me to take control?” he offers softly, almost kindly, like he can sense how overwhelmed you are. “I can do that, Sweetheart. Make it easy for you, make all the decisions. Is that what you want, hm? Want me to lay you out on this bed and do all the work?”

It’s pathetic, how fast you whine and nod, wanting that so badly. “Yes,” you say, grabbing at his hands where they’re feeling you up. “Please, Steve. Yes.”

He chuckles, low and with just a touch of condescension, the sound going straight to your core. You squeeze your thighs together to try and get some relief, but it doesn’t do any good. “Come on, then,” Steve says, moving you with capable hands. He guides you over and pushes on your shoulders until he’s got you sitting on the edge of the bed. You’re left staring at him, standing there in front of you in his tux, looking obscenely handsome, confident, and—oh …

His cock isn’t even fully hard yet, and it’s still a healthy bulge at the front of his slacks. You feel your cheeks heat as you can’t help but stare at it. It is right there, after all. You flush all the harder when he notices you looking and chuckles at you. One of those enormous hands brushes up against the front of his pants, and you nearly moan at the sight of him touching himself.

“Don’t worry, Sweetheart,” he purrs. “You’ll get it. But first …” he sinks down to kneel in front of you, reaching for the straps of your bra. You tense when he starts to pull them off your shoulders, moving to reach behind yourself and unhook the bra, but he hushes you and stills your hands. “Shh, no. Let me do it, Honey. I want to do it.” He gets your bra off and tosses it aside, groaning as he kneels in front of you and looks his fill. “God, you got no idea,” he murmurs, sounding distracted by what he’s seeing. “No idea how long I’ve been wanting this.” His hands make an abortive move, as if he doesn’t know where or how to touch you first. “Shit, lookit you.”

“How long?” you ask on impulse, surprising even yourself. His eyes shoot up to your face, and you swallow heavily under his stare. “H-how long, have you wanted to?” you breathe.

He smiles, then his eyes trail back down and he sighs happily. He reaches out and just sort of … pets the tips of your breasts, brow pinching with want as he watches your nipples harden into firm peaks. “Jesus.” He shakes his head, like he can’t believe he’s getting to touch you. “Oh, Doll ... Since I met you.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” he says distractedly, big hands cupping your tits, making them look small and delicate against his rough palms. You’ve never noticed how masculine his hands are …

“S-since—”

“Since the first time you came in my house looking like you do, yes,” he growls, giving your breasts a squeeze. “Shit.”

His soft cursing makes you flush, feeling warm and exposed and needy and seen. “Steve,” you say, voice warbling with audible worry. You wait until his blue eyes come up to meet yours—God, are his eyes ever blue. You swallow heavily.

“What is it, Sweetheart?”

You chew your lip. “If we do this …” you fret, thinking about the wedding, about Patrick, about how fucked up this is going to make your life.

Steve’s hands smooth over your thighs. “Do you really want him back?” he asks you—knowingly. He meets your gaze without doubt, shaking his head the barest bit. “No going back,” he murmurs. You whimper, and he hushes you. “I know, Honey, I know it’s scary. But you can trust me.”

Delicately, he reaches for the clips of your garters and begins undoing them, one at a time. You’re stuck watching, helpless, as he looks you in the eye and gently eases your stockings down your legs. They’re the real deal: silk, seamed, non-elastic, and a strange feeling rolls through you as you watch Steve’s fingers move over them deftly and you realize that he likely knows what he’s doing because these were the sort that girls wore back in his day.

“Don’t worry, Angel.” He kisses the inside of a knee. “This isn’t just for tonight. I have every intention of keeping you.” His eyes flash upwards again, and you feel heat course through you at his face being right there between your legs … And at his words. He sees your face pinch with doubt and he nods. “Yeah. I told you you’re mine, now. I don’t say things like that unless I mean ‘em.”

“But …” you falter, not sure what you’re even planning to say. But I’m supposed to be engaged to your son. But I’m supposed to be married to him. But people will know, people will—

He slides his hands over your hips and starts edging your panties down, maintaining that all-consuming eye contact as he does it. “But what?” he purrs. “You worried about what people will say?”

You shake your head in denial, but the truth is that you are. Buzzfeed and CNN had been at that cathedral, goddamnit, and there’ll be articles tomorrow about what happened. What on earth will the headlines say when word gets out that you’ve traded in Captain America’s son for the Captain himself?

“You worry too much,” Steve says, easing your panties down your legs and guiding you to let them slip from your feet. He lifts your calf and kisses the inside of your ankle, smirking. “I’m Captain America, Everybody loves me. And I’m allowed to have nice things.” His gaze slides down to the vee of your legs, and you watch as his eyes rapidly darken to something greedy and ravenous. He makes a gruff sound in his throat, utterly possessive, and the next thing you know he’s shoving your knees further apart and forcing his way in, arms hooking underneath your thighs and wrapping around to hold onto you.

You squeak as his broad shoulders push your legs apart and you tip backwards. You catch yourself on your hands and prop yourself back up in time to watch the inaugural press of his mouth against your sex. And oh, it feels almost as good as it looks. You inhale sharply and your hips jump up of their own volition. He’s only pressed a chaste kiss against you, right up high on your mound, but the sight of Steve Rogers’ face between your legs, his head of silver-blond hair and his dark lashes resting against his cheeks as he noses against your most intimate place … it’s enough to have you clenching hard on nothing, slicking up so much that you can feel it getting messy and wet.

You whimper in arousal and impulsively reach with one of your hands to try and hold his head. “Jesus, Steve,” you whisper, turned on beyond belief. It only gets worse when he looks up at you again. You exhale shakily, belly heaving at the way his eyes scald you in their intensity.

“Tell me,” he rasps. “Tell me what you want me to do with my mouth.”

Jesus fucking Christ, that’s not fair. You whine and pant down at him. “Nnn, Steve …” You can’t. You can’t.

“Come on, Sweetheart,” he coaxes, voice like sin. “I know what I promised. And I meant it. I’ll take control. I’ll make it easy for you, and so goddamn good you won’t remember your name.” He turns his face and kisses the crease of your thigh, so close to where you want it. “But I want to hear you say it, first. Please. Just do that for me, Babydoll, and then I’ll make you feel so good.”

You swallow thickly, turned on beyond belief and knowing that if you want him, you’re going to have to put your big girl panties on and do this one thing for him. So, despite the fact that most of your brain cells have liquified and run out through your ears at this point—and despite the fact that you are not one for dirty talking in the bedroom—you look him right in the eyes and croak out a breathless, “Kiss my pussy, Steve. Put your mouth on me and lick it, suck—ogn …” You cut off in a moan when he seals his mouth right over your clit and sucks hard. “Oh my god.”

“Mmhm,” he groans. He sucks your folds into his mouth and flattens his tongue, rubbing it firmly against your clit and working methodically at it until it’s puffy and swollen. “Mmm. Mmph.” His sounds of enjoyment only make it filthier, and you can’t hold back your own choked off little moans and gasps at the eager way his arms grab onto you and haul you in for more, the way he purposefully grinds his face against you and uses his nose to give you more pressure from above your clit.

You wind up sobbing and tossing your head back as you feel yourself gush, and for a long moment you don’t even realize how much you're humping his face, rubbing yourself off against him, trying to get more of that sucking mouth and that lashing, sinful tongue. “Oh, shit. Holy shit …”

You should be mortified by your own desperation, by the sounds you’re making. Maybe you would be, but for the way that Steve responds to it. He growls and jerks you in harder against him, grinding his face into your cunt, sucking and slurping and then hurriedly freeing up one hand to push his fingers into you.

You cry out sharply as he tries to start with two but quickly halts when he can tell that it’s too much. He softens and slows down, kissing your clit in gentle apology, slipping one finger inside your drenched pussy instead. “There we go,” he hums in response to the pleasured sigh you give and looks up at you while he works his finger gently. “That feel good, Sugar?”

You’re gonna die from the fucking pet names, and that is perfectly okay. You nod dumbly down at him, eyes glued to his gaze once again as he fingers you. “Y-yeah,” you say shakily. “Steve …”

He kisses the hood of your clit and drags his lips over it. “Has it been awhile?” he asks, with all the tender concern of a lover who wants to please.

It makes your belly swirl just as hard as his mouth on you had, and you whimper and nod, working your hips down a little against his finger. “I h-haven’t,” you stutter, “Nn … not, oh, not in a while.” You don’t elaborate, and you sure as shit aren't going to admit it now, but the truth is you’ve been avoiding sex with Patrick the closer the big day got; telling yourself that it was to make the wedding night more special, when in reality you suspect it was something else entirely. You whimper and shake your head shyly, and Steve seems to understand that you don’t want to talk about it.

“Shh,” he soothes, kissing your thigh again as he keeps working his hand against you so gently. “That’s okay. We’ll take it slow. We’re not in any rush, ain’t that right?”

You can only whimper and nod, and he coos and smiles at you and how you’ve gone nonverbal already. “Yeah,” he purrs, smiling. “Don’t even worry about it, Babygirl. Daddy’s gonna treat this pussy right. Gonna make you feel so nice, get you real good and relaxed, teach you things you didn’t even know you could do.”

You cry out at how excruciatingly intimate those words are, at the way he kisses your hyper-sensitized clit and changes the angle of his hand, finger dragging up against your walls slower and more purposefully and firm. Your eyes clamp shut and you toss your head back with a pitiful keen. “St-eve, oh, please, please …”

“Mmhm.” He keeps going, still gentle but picking up on what you like, figuring out what makes you get louder and squirm harder. He fucks you on his hand and nurses at your clit in a constant, pulsing rhythm—steady, steady—reading your body’s cues and committing himself to the task, breaking away every once and awhile just to murmur little things against your cunt:

“That’s it, Sweetheart, just like that. Such a good girl. Keep going baby, yes. Let it come, let it happen for me.”

When you get close he stops talking, sealing his mouth to your pleasure and humming his praise straight into your skin instead. And it’s so good, building and building, and he’s doing it just right, holy fuck …

You fall to your back on the bed, Steve following right after you as it makes your pelvis tilt up, never breaking contact, never faltering as your hands scrabble and claw at his hair and your cries get louder and sharper. He holds you down as you start to thrash, desperate for the edge you can feel so close, so close …

Your legs wind up around his head and your heels dig wildly into his back, and still he doesn’t falter, grunting and slurping against you, giving you what you need so good that you sob.

“Oh please, please, Steve! I’m gonna cum, I’m–I’m gonna … ohhh …”

He groans right along with you as it happens, keeping that same exquisite pressure and pace in such an ungodly competent way that you just about scream from how grateful you are. He’s perfect. You sob as the pleasure crests and wanes so sharply, leaving you trembling and gasping breathless little “thank you’s” at him over and over again as he eases off and climbs up your body.

“Shh, sh sh. There we go. Aww, I know, Angel, I know. It’s okay. Did that just feel so good?”

He coos a rhetorical litany of gentle praise at you as he climbs up and rearranges your body fully on the bed, telling you how beautiful you are, how good, how much he wants you. His hands are everywhere, attentive and comforting, petting your legs and smoothing over your belly and chest as he gazes down at you adoringly. It’s romantic, intimate, and like nothing you ever had with Patrick.

You sigh happily and whisper Steve’s name instead, which only seems to please him more. He sidles up alongside you and slots one thick thigh between your legs. That’s when you realize that he’s still completely clothed and you make a tiny noise of protest. Though there is something deliciously dirty about him clothed and you bare, the fabric of his tux over the firm muscle of his thigh pressing up against your soaked core, you still want to feel him. “Steve,” you breathe, pulling at his shirt impatiently. “You too, please.”

He chuckles and nods, hushing your protests as he continues to luxuriate in smoothing his hands over your body. “Hang on, Sweetheart. I will, I will. Let me do this. I’ve always wanted to. Always. Don’t make me rush.”

“Steve,” you sigh.

“Shhh. Good girl. Just let me have this first.” He continues on, heedless of his own body and fully intent on yours, keeping you on that cloud of hazy, post-orgasmic pleasure.

It’s as he’s hovering over you like that, pressing you into the sheets and kissing tender affection all over your face—worshiping you, for lack of a better word—that you realize:

He’s treating you like a groom treats his bride.

Epilogue imagine/outline

Masterlist

If you liked what you read and feel so inclined, please consider dropping a tip in the Kofi🍵 cup!

This has been a fill for:

@steverogersbingo

Card: #sb3088 - stark-contrast

Square D2: "I've always wanted to do that"

@allcapsbingo

Card: sarahyellow AC1105

Square: FREE SPACE (wedding night)

@marvel-smash-bingo

Card: sarah-writes-stucky

Square N4: daddy kink

[darsynia]

Hand(s) Off | Ch 2: Ecstasy

(Steve Rogers/f!Reader sex pollen-esque multichapter)

STORY MASTERLIST | STEVE MASTERLIST | PREV | NEXT

Summary: Steve's loved hearing about you from Bucky. He doesn't want anything to derail the progress his best friend has made toward being a whole person again, which is why he's going to use every ounce of his slowly-deteriorating willpower to resist touching you, tasting you, taking you. After all, he's just met you, and his own integrity, not to mention Bucky's trust, is important to him.

Neither of you are prepared for the catch.

Length | Warnings: 2,841 | Explicit sexual situations (they don't succeed in resisting, folks), MINORS DNI

Note: I want to make clear that I’m treating the issues of consent with sensitivity, as you'll hopefully see in this chapter!

Fill: Adoptable 'Pheremones’ from @allcapsbingo

Tags (please request!): @starryeyes2000 @munstysmind @ronearoundblindly @chickensarentcheap @themaradaniels @tiny-anne @deepbatched @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @wolfstar-marvelsfan @icequeen1371 @chibijusstuff @nekoannie-chan

Excerpt:

“I’m-- wow, this is intense,” you say next. 

There’s a little cry to the last word. You are clearly affected by Mistress too, and Steve feels both grateful and guilty about how relieved he is about that. This is a moral catastrophe, but you’re in this mess together, sort of. Anything less and Bucky would demand the right to kick his ass.

Hell, he probably still will.

“Take--” He stops himself. “Why don’t you take it off?” 

“Nice catch,” you praise, leading him to buck his hips up. “Only if you take your shorts off, too. Fair’s fair.”

“Nothing about this is fair,” he growls out, getting up. Steve takes everything off because, fuck yes, access is what he needs right now. It’s a testament to how ruled he is by the drug in his system that it doesn’t even feel wrong to be wearing just a shirt in the room with you.

Ecstasy

Steve had known about you for a while now. He had been picturing you as a gorgeous pin-up, a dream woman, someone who could bridge the gap between 1940’s Bucky and the shadowed self his best friend had become. With everything Bucky’s told him about you, that impression had been reinforced.

Now he’s looking at you, your eyes wide, body a shapeless mass under the blanket, and he can’t help but wonder what you’ve heard from Bucky’s stories, from the footage of the attack on New York, from interviews since. Do you think he stands for integrity, kindness, justice? Can any of that possibly survive the unbearable need he’s feeling right now?

“I’m going to cover my face with this blanket, okay? Two layers of it.” You do that, waving a hand in front of your own face to check that it’s fully opaque. “You came here to change out of those wet clothes, don’t let me stop you!” You’re right, but Steve simply cannot picture that. Not with you in the room. “I tell you what: I’ll-- I’ll hum one of the songs I’ve been practicing for this weekend’s set, okay? That way I won’t be able to hear you.”

You’d said ‘hum,’ but the sultry notes resonating from under your blanket shouldn’t be described that way. Steve wrestles himself out of the soaked button-down and undershirt and chooses a white tank top for comfort. His temperature has to be in actual fever territory, and without any… relief, that’s hardly going to change.

When he unzips his pants, the humming gets louder, and Steve can’t help it, he rubs himself with the heel of his hand. He wonders if you’re sitting under that blanket with your eyes shut, picturing him undressing. Recognizing his own lowered inhibitions, he hurries up, stripping down completely in favor of getting every ounce of the drug away from body contact.

He’s pulling on a pair of shorts when you stop.

“Oh, I wanted to say, Cap--”

“Use ‘Steve,’” he says quickly. “I don’t want memories of--”

“Oh, God, you’re right. Sorry,” you groan in interruption.

It takes all his self-discipline not to respond to the need in that groan, squeezing his wet clothes so tightly they drip onto the carpet. You can’t see him, so you’re already continuing. 

“I was going to say, you should bury those clothes in the hamper or a drawer or something, because I’m, uh, getting the equivalent of secondhand smoke, here.”

Steve distracts himself from that worrisome development by burying the clothes in his basket as if it were a mission. When he turns around, you’re standing, the blanket draped around you like a shield.

“Is this stuff dangerous at your dose? Should we break you out of here?” you ask, eyes wide.

“Breaking out would kill you.” He’d thought of that already. “The next level of security is enough nerve gas to incapacitate a super soldier. Today’s testing was to find out what’s safe.”

“At least they’ll get some data,” you muse. “Fuck, this blanket is getting hot-- I have an idea of how to survive this, but in case that fails, I’m sure Bucky already told you about my fifteen-minute adoring rave about your ass?” 

He cannot fathom why you would say that. “Uh…”

“Never mind,” you say, wiping sweat off of your chin with the back of a hand. It looks like you’re right about being affected by the drug; Banner had said it was capable of being aerosolized. “So, we’re trapped here, yes?”

“Yes, but I have no intentions of touching you,” Steve says, using his Command voice, as much as he hates the cross-contamination. To his surprise, your eyes grow fierce.

“Well, I have no intentions of being the bitch so unappealing that Captain America would rather die than touch her with Mistress in his system, so why don’t you hear me out?”

Stunned and slightly impressed, Steve puts his hands up. “I didn’t think of that. Go on.”

You pull the blanket closer around yourself. You’d said you were too hot, so this is vulnerability, and it makes him feel protective. That’s some cross-contamination too, but it can’t be helped.

“Okay, if we’re not touching each other then we’ll have to touch ourselves, and we’re in this tiny room.” You walk over to the bed and point to the floor on either side of it, saying, “I suggest we each pick a side, flip the light off, and talk each other through it. It’ll be less intimate without the visuals, and maybe we can each pretend it’s a phone conversation on speaker?”

“With the bed as a natural barrier?” 

“Yeah.”

Steve can already picture you seated on that blanket on the floor, head thrown back against the mattress, hands moving out of sight. It’s a compelling image. He clenches his jaw, pulling in too much air to give himself a different discomfort to distract himself with.

“Good thought. You stay on the door side. I’ll head over to the other side and stay there.”

“I don’t think you want to ‘soldier’ this, Steve,” you say, your voice softening to a whisper on his name like you have to force yourself to say it.

“Not sure I can stop,” Steve admits, propelling himself over to the wall on ‘his side.’ “Better get the light. This is…” he stops, needing to slow his breathing. All he can see when he closes his eyes is you slowly pulling the fabric of your dress up--

The light clicks off, plunging the room in darkness.

“Wow. I was expecting the darkness to feel comforting, but…” you say.

“Just sit down, shut your eyes,” Steve says-- and it’s all wrong. His voice is harsh, almost annoyed. He is annoyed. He should be better than this, but… “I’m sorry,” he says aloud. He’s apologizing to himself as much as to you.

“Me too,” you whisper, adding a little grateful noise that has Steve setting his forehead on the back wall. “Besides being very glad I can drop that blanket, I have no idea what I’m doing. Do we talk about ourselves? Each other?”

The taboo of the situation combined with the desire running through Steve’s body like wildfire weakens him to a kneel. This is the best outcome of a terrible situation, he tries to tell himself, but it doesn’t feel like that. Not with the prospect of that sultry tone of yours talking him through it.

“Steve?” You sound worried, alone.

“I’m here,” Steve hurries to say. “Got… distracted. Tell me what you’re doing, what you’re feeling? I still have to work on the command tone thing.” He moves to slump back against the side of the bed.

“You realize you’re still taking charge by not taking charge, yeah?” you say, more confident now, thank God.

“Would it help if you pretend we’ll die if one of us stops talking?”

“Spoken like a true Avenger,” you laugh. It’s throaty, affected, and Steve rests his hand on his lap, presses down. Yes. “Okay, I’m burning up. Inside and out. Even with short sleeves and a skirt.”

Steve makes a ‘Mmm’ noise without even meaning to, his palm rocking against his crotch.

“I’m-- wow, this is intense,” you say next. 

There’s a little cry to the last word. You are clearly affected by Mistress too, and Steve feels both grateful and guilty about how relieved he is about that. This is a moral catastrophe, but you’re in this mess together, sort of. Anything less and Bucky would demand the right to kick his ass.

Hell, he probably still will.

“Take--” He stops himself. “Why don’t you take it off?” 

“Nice catch,” you praise, leading him to buck his hips up. “Only if you take your shorts off, too. Fair’s fair.”

“Nothing about this is fair,” he growls out, getting up. Steve takes his underwear off too because, fuck yes, access is what he needs right now. It’s a testament to how ruled he is by the drug in his system that it doesn’t even feel wrong to be wearing just a shirt in the room with you. With some of the last logical coherence he has left, he grabs a tube of lube out of his bedside drawer.

There are condoms there too, but he won’t be needing them.

“No touching yet!” you call out, right as Steve slides a slick fist along his own length. It feels like the first time he’s ever done it right.

“Who’s giving the orders?”

“You don’t want to leave me behind, do you?”

“I don’t, I promise,” Steve groans. 

He collapses onto his knees at the bed, practically praying for release. The mattress shakes, and he can see the whole scene in his mind; you’re scrambling to pull the dress off over your head. He almost doesn’t recognize himself in his own thoughts, but that doesn’t stop them. Do your bra or panties have any lace? What color are they? 

“What color?” he rasps aloud, before he can stop himself. Despite what you said, his hand falls back to his cock, gripping but not moving. Even that is intensely pleasurable, but it’s the best he can do.

“Are you asking about what I took off or what I’m still wearing?” you ask.

Playful. Steve’s lost. He’s lost, because you sound joyful despite the situation. This is working, your plan, but he can’t help but feel like he’s trespassing. He should know so much more about you before getting to talk about your underclothes. That thought spirals, predictably, to the kinds of things women used to wear in his own time: hidden garter ribbons, the proliferation of skirts, the--

“Steve, if you’re going to ask questions like that, you ought to listen to the answers. It’s only polite.”

“You answered?”

“I described them. What were you doing?”

His hips jerk forward into his waiting fist, and it’s so sweet and hot and not enough that Steve gasps. “I think you know.”

“God, your voice is rough right now, do you know that?” you ask in a voice that’s rough too. “I’m sliding down the straps of my black lace bra so they pull on my arms.”

“Where are your hands?” One of his is moving slowly, deliberately.

“I’m--” The bedframe shakes slightly, and when you speak again, your voice is muffled like you’d thrown yourself face-first onto the bed. “I’m in flames, but it just hit me where I am and who you are!”

It strikes him that no woman will ever forget who he is ever again, not even in the throes of a mind-altering chemical.

“I’m just a guy, Dee,” he says, turning to sit on the floor again. “I always was. Just a guy who wants to help, to do good.” He’s not doing good right now, saying these kinds of things to someone he cannot drive away from Bucky, but those qualms are fuzzy and indistinct.

“I think I need you to talk now.”

Most of what leaps to mind is filthy, for all that his thoughts move as slow as molasses. “If you slide your hand inside your panties and cup yourself, will both sides of your hand be wet?”

“Fuck, what a question!” Your low groan makes him really want to taste its resonance on the outside of your throat. The mattress moves slightly, just enough to signal to Steve that you’re reaching down. “Y-yes.”

His own hand is moving faster, twisting, the heat of the drug in his system setting fire to every inhibition and replacing the ash with pleasure. “How do you like to be touched?” he manages to ask.

The words hang between the two of you for awhile. Finally, you tell him, using a breathy moan that makes clear that you’re acting out the actions as you speak. His orgasm strikes not long after, and Steve doubles over with the force of it, vocalizing in ways he usually never allows himself to do.

“I loved listening to that.” Your voice has a whine to it, a desperation he totally recognizes.

“It’s your turn,” he says, reaching over and grabbing his pillow to remove the case and wipe himself off with it.

“It smells like-- fuck, that’s so intimate, I--”

“I wish I could smell you,” Steve blurts out, feeling himself harden again. He’d expected that, maybe not quite so quickly, but he's a super soldier overdosing on Mistress.

You let out a gasp, and he leans back against the mattress to feel that it’s shaking, shaking with the rhythmic movements of your arm. You’re right, this is almost unbearably intimate, but right now that’s the best thing ever, with all the possible objections lost behind a haze of hot desire and the smell of sex.

Steve shifts so he’s kneeling at the bed again, his chest and one arm anchored to the mattress so he can enjoy the sensations as you stimulate yourself. “I can feel you move,” he says lowly-- and that’s it, he can hear the change in your breathing.

“Ahhhhhhhhhh,” you wail, the sound changing as you close your lips on the sound to change it to a ‘Mmmm.’ 

It’s almost enough to send Steve over again, but he’s greedy for every hitched gasp, every translated shove against the bed as you rock through it. Something tells him that reminding you he’s here will make you self conscious, so though each noise burns from his ears all the way across his body, he suppresses the need to vocalize his own resulting pleasure-pain.

Your next words take the edge off.

“You have to be kidding me!” you snap, sounding frustrated. “That felt great, don’t get me wrong, but there’s no relief! I am still using every single brain cell not to climb you like a tree.”

Steve unabashedly humps against the mattress a bit, at that.

“Yeah, see? You know what I’m going through,” you grumble.

“I never expected camaraderie,” Steve coughs out on a laugh. The levity lifts the musky pall of desperate need, but only for a moment. “I have no idea how long this will--”

“I figured,” you whisper. “That AI, does it have --ahh, I am just so warm and so, god, hang on-- night vision?”

It takes an annoyingly long time for Steve to figure out what you’re asking. “I don’t think so. It monitors everyone, so if one of us gets so hot we need medical attention--”

“Excuse me, but you’ve been that hot since the 40’s!” you interrupt, adding, “You mean you don’t have an override that comes with your rank, or…”

It’s absurd, the way he’s jacking himself off and holding a conversation. “I, ah, turned it off. In case I asked for something inappropriate while my thinking was impaired.”

You sound affectionately amused as you say, “Oh no! Steve, your thinking was already impaired!”

“Yeah, I’m seeing that now.”

“Oh.”

This new tone of yours goes straight to his cock, and Steve just leans over and thrusts into his hand a few times, the ecstasy from each squeeze washing over him in waves. It seems even better than before, but somehow not painfully so.

He recovers enough coherence to say, “What is it?”

“This is-- oh. We might have some data for your other Avengers, here.”

“It’s better now, isn’t it?” Steve pants out.

“Yes!”  

Your voice throbs with approval, and he throws out his free hand, grabbing at the sheet to hold on as another orgasm rocks through him. 

“Wow, did that send you over?” you ask, sounding impressed.

“It’s dark, but I still see fireworks,” he jokes, immediately wishing he his need-fuzzed brain hadn’t chosen that word. The number of ‘Captain America’ fireworks jokes he’s heard over the past year…

“You know the way to a woman’s ego, telling her you’re seeing stars and she hasn’t even touched you!” you say in an affected, sultry tone. “That’s, god, I’m such a mess. That’s my ‘lounge singer’ voice after I’ve had a few drinks. Don’t get to use it much.”

“So both of us have a not-so-secret identity?”

The bed shakes, presumably with your laughter, and that both sharpens and magnifies Steve’s arousal in the oddest way, more similar to the beginning, when he’d wanted to protect you as much as he’d wanted to touch.

“I hope you don’t mind, but my back is killing me,” you say. Steve doesn’t understand what you mean until your bare leg sweeps across his outstretched arm.

Immediately, instinctively, he clasps it, and both of you suck in a breath. The all-consuming pleasure he’d felt touching himself was nothing compared to this. Before he can realize what he’s doing, what it means, Steve’s climbing up onto the bed, following the contour of your naked leg up as he goes.

“ Steve,” you groan out, and the hint of hesitation in your voice fists his hand against your hip.

“Do you want me to stop?” he forces out through clenched teeth.

“Absolutely not,” you moan, your hand finding his and tugging.

Next chapter...

[duckybarnes1917]

18+ Only

Summary: Bucky hates you. Until he doesn't.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, mommy kink, sub Bucky, dom reader, oral sex (m and f), teasing, begging not cum, orgasm denial, p in v, unprotected sex, leather cuffs, color system

AN: My Valentine's Day fic this year also serves as my entry for @the-slumberparty week one I Spy challenge! I used the diamond necklace and leather cuffs. Also, this fic fills the enemies to lovers space (G3) on my @allcapsbingo bingo card!

Bucky had always hated you. Ever since you walked into the compound, showing off and flaunting all your assets. You were a good fighter; you didn't need to shove it in everyone's faces all the time. Every time he walked past the gym and saw you sitting on Sam's chest, pinning him down again, an ugly emotion coursed through Bucky. Your triumphant smile made him want to rip you off of Sam and show you a taste of your own medicine. But he always kept walking, doing his best to ignore you. 

He didn't think it was possible to hate you even more. But once again, you proved him wrong in that department. You were late. Very late. Bucky paced around the loft he had been living in undercover. He was dressed in a tailored black suit, his hair slicked back, perfectly in place. The mission called for him to pose as an art collector–with deep pockets and dark habits. He had been alone here for a month, slowly gaining the trust of the key players, and tonight was the night he was finally going to get the critical piece of information he needed. But there had been a hiccup. His mark, Zakaria Tate, had invited him to dinner. Not just any dinner, a Valentine's dinner. Date required. Bucky had begged Sam to send Yelena; her no-nonsense attitude would have made this super easy, but he declined. Bucky would have preferred that Sam himself joined him tonight over you. But Sam simply laughed and told him to suck it up. You were the only choice. 

Bucky rechecked his watch just as you burst through his front door, again proving him wrong. Because he hated you even more in the crimson dress that hung to you like it was your skin. 

"Don’t say it, Barnes. I know.” You pushed past him, heading toward the kitchen and pouring yourself a glass of wine. 

“You’re late,” Bucky said through grit teeth. He stalked over to you and ripped the glass from your hand. 

You rolled your eyes, taking a long pull from the wine bottle instead. “It’s not my fault. This ridiculous lingerie took way too much work to get into.” 

Bucky tensed, his eyes immediately moving from your face to scan your body. “Wh–why would you–”

You shrugged, picking up the gift box you had walked in with. “It helps sell the part. If we were really dating. And you were really taking me out for Valentine’s. And you were really giving me that gift over there.” You paused to point at the jewelry box Bucky had waiting by the front door. “Then I would really fuck you stupid at the end of the night.” 

You smiled at him as you walked past, stroking his arm lightly with your hand. 

Bucky swallowed thickly, turning to watch the sway of your ass. He hated how easily you made him feel like this. Like he would drop to his knees and do whatever you asked of him just for a taste. 

** 

To Bucky’s surprise, the dinner was going well. Zakaria loved you. That wasn’t surprising; everyone loved you except for him. But the character he was playing did–he needed to act the part. He swallowed his stubbornness and inched closer to you, wrapping his arm around your waist. You smiled at him before placing a kiss on his cheek. 

“Oh, there he is, my loving boyfriend. Thought you forgot you’re supposed to want to touch me.” 

“Sorry, I’m not that good of an actor,” Bucky muttered. 

You ignored him and turned back to the conversation at the table. Despite his snarky comeback, Bucky couldn’t help the shiver that went through him in response to your touch. Your voice low in his ear was something he could get used to. 

Fuck. 

No. 

But his body was already reacting, squeezing your hip to pull you closer. You nuzzled into his side and placed your hand on his big thigh. 

Bucky took a deep inhale; he could do this. He knew what you were doing and would not let you ruffle him. 

But as soon as he relaxed, your thumb began slowly stroking his thigh. It was innocent–if he didn’t know you better. He gave you a sharp warning, but you wouldn’t look at him. Such a simple movement should not have had him turning to breathing exercises to keep himself from begging you to touch him more. 

As if you could read his thoughts, your hand glided down to his knee and back, and again and again. It was becoming more challenging for Bucky to focus on what anyone at the table was saying and even harder to keep his eyes from stealing glances down your dress. He couldn’t help it, he had the perfect view, and he wanted to know what color your lingerie was–in the dark lighting, it looked red, and his cock swelled. 

Shit. 

“Baby–” you giggled when Bucky finally looked up from your tits. “Zakaria wants to see what you got me.” 

“Oh–of course.” Bucky shook the lust off and handed you the jewelry box. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.” 

God, his voice sounded like he had swallowed knives. 

Get it together. 

Genuine surprise flashed across your face as you picked up the glittering diamond necklace. Everyone at the table gasped in awe. That was the reaction Bucky had hoped for. 

“Go on, put it on her.” Zakaria urged. 

Bucky blushed as you turned your back to him and swept your hair out of the way. His hand was shaking as he drew the necklace around your neck; his fingers left a trail of goosebumps on your skin. Once he got it clasped, you turned to him and stuck your chest out. “How does it look?” 

Bucky’s mouth watered as he looked at the diamonds glittering against your skin. The necklace dipped into your cleavage, and Bucky could see your nipples pebbled through the thin fabric of your dress. He hated how hard you made his cock. Hated that you would never do anything about it. Hated that he was always destined to imagine you fucking him while he stroked his cock alone. 

Zakaria laughed, “I think our friend may be ready to leave our company.” 

Fuck, was he being that transparent? 

“Not before dessert,” you said, smiling mischievously. 

Bucky wasn’t prepared for your lips to collide with his. You did it so fast; he wasn’t sure what had happened. By the time his brain caught up and he registered the soft warmth of your lips, you were already pulling back to whisper in his ear. 

“If I liked you, Barnes–” you sighed longingly, the heat of your breath tickling his ear. 

Bucky stared at you wide-eyed and begged silently for you to finish your thought. He needed it–for later. 

The entire time you ate your dessert, Bucky could only think about what you had left unsaid. What would you do if you liked him? What did you want to do to him? 

You threw back the last of your drink and suddenly flopped into Bucky’s lap–pretending to be the love-drunk girlfriend you were playing. You giggled, and Bucky helped you sit up; you used his leverage to scoot yourself into his lap. Bucky froze as your eyes snapped to his when your ass felt his sizeable bulge. 

“Oh, you fucking wish,” you whispered against his lips, that glint that Bucky hated so much in your eyes. 

Your smile looked predatory, and as hard as Bucky tried to find the hate inside himself that would allow him to push you off or at least come back with a witty response, all he could do was swallow down a whimper. 

Your smile grew, and you pushed your chest against him while your fingers ran through his hair. “Is this–” you circled your hips to emphasize what you were referencing, “why you hate me so much? You just wanna fuck me?”

“Stop,” Bucky begged quietly; his grip on your waist tightened, but you kept squirming. 

“Be a good boy, and I’ll go easy on you the rest of the night.” 

Bucky couldn’t help himself, his hips pushed up against you, and he cursed under his breath. Your eyes darkened, and Bucky knew he had indeed given himself away now. Usually, a comment like that would have gotten you a death glare and probably an ugly name thrown your way. But it had all been a mask, all of it. Because he wanted this. Too much. 

Suddenly you stood up. “We’re leaving. Thank you so much, Zakaria. It was lovely.” 

You hauled Bucky to his feet, and the protest Zakaria had started to give died on her tongue when she saw the obvious reason for his quick exit. 

“Have fun, you two; don’t be strangers.” 

Bucky didn’t even care that he had got nothing out of this dinner other than a raging hard-on. He couldn’t think past how your hips moved as you marched out of the restaurant. You didn’t stop once you were outside, and Bucky worried that he had completely fucked this up and made a jackass of himself. 

“Wait! Where are you going?!” Bucky jogged to catch up to you. 

“Back to the loft. Can’t talk here.” 

Bucky kept his mouth shut and followed you. Maybe you had noticed something he didn’t–since you were actually working the mission instead of acting like a horny teenager. As he followed you, he replayed the night, searching for something he missed, but all he could remember was you. He didn’t even realize you were back in the loft until you slammed the door shut and pushed him up against it. 

“What the fuck, Barnes?” 

“Wh–what?” Bucky tried not to rut his hips against you but failed when your grip on his wrists tightened. 

“This whole time? I thought you hated me–”

“I do,” Bucky groaned. “Hate that I can’t have you.” 

Your brows furrowed. “So you just decided to be a dick?” 

“Had to,” Bucky said breathlessly. “If I didn’t pretend that you make me so unbearably horny, I would have begged you to fuck me every goddamn mission.” 

Bucky’s face fell into a pout when you let him go and took a few steps back. You were gonna leave. Probably laugh in his face first and then leave him like this, hard and desperate. 

“So do it. Beg.” You stuck out your hip and crossed your arms to emphasize your breasts. 

Bucky stood stunned for a moment, still not sure if you were being serious. 

You sighed, irritated, and started to move toward the exit. Bucky immediately dropped to his knees. He wasn’t going to let you go that easily. 

“Please.” 

Bucky licked his lips nervously, not really sure what else to say. Your brow rose, unimpressed and expecting more. 

“I’m sorry, please; I want you so bad.” 

“What do you want from me, baby boy?” 

Bucky finally looked up at you, and the view made him groan. This is how he wanted to be all the time, on his knees, looking up at you. He needed to answer you before you got mad, but he didn't know what to ask for first; he wanted everything. 

“Want you to fuck me,” Bucky hated how needy he sounded, but he couldn’t help it. 

You smiled and stepped forward, tipping his head back. “I’ll think about it.” 

Panic was evident on Bucky’s face, he knew it, but all you did was laugh before lifting your leg and placing it over his shoulder. 

“See if you can earn it.” 

Oh god. 

With a trembling hand, Bucky slid your short dress up your thighs slowly, mentally preparing himself for the sight of your coveted cunt. Nothing could have prepared him, and as soon as he saw your crotchless red panties, he whimpered and gripped your thigh harder. 

“Can I use my mouth?” He asked, eyes wide with hope. 

“Of course, you can, baby.” 

“Thank you, mommy,” Bucky stuck his head under your dress before he could see the shock and pleasure on your face. 

The sting in his scalp spurred him on as your grip tightened and you pressed him closer to your heat. His tongue moved urgently, and every time you made a pleasured noise, he moaned against your clit. 

“I’m close, baby, don’t stop,” your breathy sigh spurred Bucky to slide his hands up your thighs and grip your hips. He pulled you even closer, sliding his warm tongue into you over and over. 

“Fuck yes, baby boy, fuck me, fuck me.” Your hips moved frantically, using his nose to stimulate your clit. 

Bucky could have cried; this was fucking bliss. He quickly unbuttoned his pants and pulled the zipper down, desperate to stroke himself in time with his tongue. 

“I didn’t say you could touch your cock,” you said breathlessly, and Bucky whimpered. He was desperate for some kind of relief, but he was afraid to disobey you. Instead, he moved his hand out of his pants and gripped your ass hard, fucking you even deeper with his tongue. He didn’t stop until you came so hard he had to hold you up so you wouldn’t fall. 

Bucky tried to remain patient while you lowered your leg and patted his head condescendingly. He was still afraid you would leave at any moment. 

“That was good, baby.” 

Bucky blushed, looking up at you hopefully. His hands were clenched at his sides to keep from touching himself. 

“Go to the bedroom and take all your clothes off.”

Bucky scrambled to his feet, ignoring your chuckle as he raced to the bedroom, peeling his clothes off. 

Thankfully, you didn’t make him wait long; you walked into the room and only paused momentarily to check him out. 

“Help me out of this dress, baby.” 

Bucky slid the zipper of your dress down quickly, almost breaking it. The silk puddled at your feet, and Bucky growled, low and deep, at the sight of you before him. You moved away too soon for his liking, directing him to lie on the bed. 

“You never opened my gift.” 

Bucky held his breath as you crawled over him. You sat on his chest and opened the gift for him. Bucky’s eyes went wide as he looked at the black leather cuffs inside. 

“Originally, I bought them as a joke. But…”

“Yes. Please.” Bucky held his wrists out to you excitedly. 

“You know the colors?” 

When Bucky nodded, you kissed his wrists before placing the cuffs on him. 

“This is gonna be fun,” you smiled wickedly at him before sitting back so you could unhook your bra. You removed it slowly, enjoying Bucky’s gaze and how he worried his lip every time you almost removed it completely. 

“Mommy, please!” He finally whined, and you threw the bra to the floor. 

Bucky reached his cuffed hands out, but you moved out of his reach. “Should have thought about that before you said yes, baby boy.” 

You grabbed his joined wrists and lifted them over his head, putting your breasts in reach of his hungry mouth. 

It was hard, but Bucky resisted, thrusting his hips in the air as he groaned. “Please, can I?” 

God, his lips practically brushed against your nipple as he spoke. 

“Can you what?” You teased. 

Bucky squirmed, frustrated, and unable to think with all his blood now in his swollen, ignored cock. “Tits. Want–” Bucky groaned as you lowered yourself even more. “Wanna suck your tits,” he rushed out in one breath. 

“Go ahead, baby.” 

Bucky’s tongue flicked over your nipple quickly before he sucked it into his mouth. His hips pistoned into the air as he sucked. He moved to the next one, giving it the same treatment. 

“Is there something else you need from me, baby?” 

Bucky whined, your breast still in his mouth and his eyes watery. 

You sat up and ran your finger over his pouting lips. “What else do you need, baby? Use your words.”

“Need–” Bucky’s breath caught as he looked at you, naked except for the diamond necklace around your neck and nuzzled between your breasts. “Need you to touch me.” 

“Come on, you can do better than that.” 

Bucky frowned, a confused look on his face. 

“I know you’ve got filthy, dirty thoughts in that big cyborg brain of yours. Come on.” 

“Oh god, I–” Bucky closed his eyes, trying to find some confidence. “I need you to touch my cock. Put it in your tight pussy and come all over me. Need you to make me come, mommy, wanna come inside you, fuck.” 

“That’s better, baby.” You kissed his chest, slowly dragging your lips down until you reached his throbbing cock. 

You didn’t show it, but you were just as wound up as he was. It would be so satisfying to slide him inside you now. Fuck him fast and frantic until you both came way too quickly. Maybe next time. For now, you needed to make him work for it. And maybe pay him back for being such a dick to you. You let your saliva dribble over the crown of his cock and stroked him lightly to spread it. He was already so wound up that simple action had him thrusting off the bed. 

You couldn’t resist pushing him further, sucking on his tip while your hand moved faster, and you rolled his balls gently. 

“Oh fuck! Yes! God, don’t stop!” 

You didn’t, only removing your mouth long enough to ask him if he wanted to come. A resounding yes made you chuckle. Poor boy. 

“Do you wanna come, or do you wanna stick your fat cock in my little pussy?” 

You didn’t give him time to think as your mouth wrapped around his tip again, and his mind went blank. 

“Bucky, I asked you a question.”

“Both?” He tried but knew it was pointless. 

“Choose, or I’ll choose for you.” 

Bucky hesitated, your mouth felt so fucking good, and he had imagined coming down your throat so many times. He was already so close it would only take a few more strokes, and he’d be there. 

He groaned, sagging against the bed. “Want your pussy.” 

But you didn’t stop; you took him deeper in your mouth and sucked hard. 

“Want your pussy!” Bucky gasped as suddenly he was in your throat, and you were swallowing around him. 

Was this a test? He didn’t think he was going to pass. His balls were heavy with need, and your tongue was coaxing him to the brink faster and faster. 

“Please, mommy! I’m gonna come! Please stop,” Bucky gasped, hands clenched tightly as he fought the oncoming orgasm. “Oh,” he drew the word out long and needy. “Please, I’ll come; stop, please.” He was so close now he could almost taste the pleasure. 

That was when you stopped, pulling your mouth off of him slowly and giving his crown one more good lick. 

“You did so good, baby boy.” You straddled him, running your wet pussy over his dick before pushing his tip inside. “Let’s see how long you last inside me.” 

Bucky’s mind went blank as you slid down his length. You looked so perfect, perched on his cock with nothing but diamonds on your sexy body. He couldn’t breathe. 

Your ass met his thick thighs, and Bucky groaned. “So–good,” he sounded drunk. 

“Don’t come.” 

That was the only warning he got before your hands found his thighs, and you began fucking yourself on his throbbing cock. 

“You’re so big, baby. I’m gonna come so hard.” You threw your head back, working your hips even faster. 

Bucky tasted blood in his mouth; he was biting his tongue, trying his best to keep from filling you up. 

Your hand drifted down your body, and Bucky had to close his eyes when you started rubbing your clit. 

“Mommy, I–I’m gonna come, please.” 

“You’re not allowed.” 

“But–” Bucky groaned as you moved your hands to his chest and fucked him faster. 

“This is what you asked for, baby boy. You wanted to be balls deep inside me. Wanted me to fuck you.” 

Bucky couldn’t argue. So he squeezed his eyes shut and tried his best to hold back. Even as you came, moaning his name and squeezing his cock like a vice, he didn’t come. 

A tear ran down his cheek as you came down from your high. 

“Look at me, pretty boy.” You leaned forward and wiped the tear from his cheek. “You were so good for me.” 

Bucky sniffled as your lips brushed against his. “I’m sorry I was a jerk.” 

“Oh, Bucky,” you cupped his cheek and looked him in the eye. “I always liked you too. Only you. I’m sorry I was a pain in the ass.” 

You kissed him then, slow and deep. Bucky felt bad, but he broke out of the cuffs and gently moved you to lay on your back. He held your face as he kissed you back, stroking your tongue with his and holding you close. His cock throbbed angrily inside you, but you hadn’t given him permission to move. 

Your hand moved from his hair to his ass, grabbing it tightly. “Fuck me, Bucky.” 

Bucky’s hips punched forward. “I–I can’t. I’ll come.” 

He looked so disappointed. 

“I believe in you. Fuck me.” You spread your legs wide for him, and he dropped his forehead to rest on yours. 

“I hate you.” But you both knew now that he didn’t mean it. 

He kept you close while he moved his hips slowly, building up speed and keeping his thrusts as deep as he could. 

“Don’t stop,” you groaned when he started to slow down. 

“Gonna come,” he mumbled against your lips. 

“Haven’t earned it,” you huffed back. “Fuck me. Hard.” 

Gathering the little self-control Bucky had left, he lifted himself onto his knees and grabbed your hips, pistoning into you as hard as he could manage. 

He shouldn’t have, but his hand reached out to squeeze one of your bouncing breasts. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! Please, gotta stop.” 

You ignored him, arching your back and pushing your chest out. Bucky growled, quickly descending on your breasts with his mouth. Sucking one while he squeezed the other. His hips moved frantically, losing his rhythm. 

“Please, mommy, can I stop?” His voice was muffled against your chest. 

Your response was to wrap your legs around his waist tightly. He groaned, trying to think about something other than how wet and warm you were around him. You didn’t make it easy. 

“Fuck my little pussy, yeah, fuck, fuck, baby, mommy’s coming.” 

Your walls spasmed around him, and Bucky’s hot tears fell onto your chest as he held on for dear life, silently begging to stop before he spilled his seed inside you.

“Come, baby,” you said through deep breaths as your high faded. 

Bucky barely managed to ask where before he was pounding into you. When you said, “inside, come in my pussy.” Bucky’s hands moved to your ass, gripping it tight as he fucked into your warm, tight cunt frantically as if he was afraid you’d change your mind. 

“Thank you, thank you, mommy, pussy feels so good,” he whined, grinding deeper as his orgasm overtook him. He froze for a moment, gasping and groaning against your neck as he came harder than he ever had before. But soon, he was slowly fucking his come deeper into you, whispering praises against the column of your throat. 

Your hand ran through his hair, and he nuzzled deeper. 

“If I had known the serum kept you hard after orgasm, I would have let you come sooner.” 

“Fuck you,” Bucky groaned, punching his hips forward to make you gasp. 

“You liked it,” you giggled. 

“Fucking loved it, never wanna leave your pussy.” 

“Keep fucking me like that and calling me your mommy, and I’ll let you fuck me as much as you want.”

“Happy fucking Valentine’s Day to me,” Bucky whispered incredulously before moving you up the bed to start round two.

[nolanfa]

Illustration for sara_holmes 's fic I'll keep you safe here with me (read it it's very good) Here on AO3

fill for @winterhawkbingo's prompt "target practice" fill for @allcapsbingo's prompt "Clint Barton" fill for @anyfandomgoesbingo's prompt "first day" fill for @marvelartparty's bingo's "complete a WIP"

Title: barn - Pairing : Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton - SFW - Medium: digital art - Description: Clint shooting his bow while Bucky watches.

[duchessonfire]

New Hands on Deck - Stucky, Explicit, AU: restaurant, Chef Steve, Waiter Bucky

Some people might call Bucky a shameless flirt.

They would say that just because Bucky knows Chef Steve is attracted to him doesn’t mean he should lap it up and squeeze it for everything he’s got.

And maybe they would be right. Maybe spending two hours at the gym and running late for work every day just so that his uniform will hug every single one of his muscles is in bad taste. Maybe preening at the way Steve clearly favors him over everyone else in the restaurant is tacky.

Too bad Bucky doesn’t give a shit.

~~~

Veteran Bucky Barnes slowly adapts to his new life as a civilian in NYC when he gets a job working at one of the finest luxury dining establishment in Brooklyn. The restaurant staff quickly becomes an extended family to him, but his relationship with the handsome and heavily-tattooed Head Chef Steve Rogers is more complicated...

For the @allcapsbingo March adoptable: AU - Chefs

A huge thank you to @sparkagrace for betareading and helping me brainstorm this story :)

Read chapter 1/7 on AO3:

[nekoannie-chan]

Signals

Title: Signals.

Ship: Steve Rogers X Reader.

Word count: 436 words.

Rating: Teen.

Square: I1 Oblivious to lovers.

Summary: You love Steve and Steve loves you, none of you know each other feelings.

Warnings/Tags: Miscommunication, happy ending, fluff.

A/N: This is my entry to @allcapsbingo AC1078.

You can read it on Wattpad and Ao3 too.

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics to be posted on other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other's people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

Add yourself to my taglist here.

My other media where I publish:  Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter. 

If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @sinceimetyou  @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @navybrat817 @angrythingstarlight @shield-agent78 @charmed-asylum @pandaxnienke @real-fbi @smokeandnailz​ @white-wolf1940​ @tenaciousperfectionunknown​ @xoxonotme​ @bluemusickid​ @leyannrae​  @harrysthiccthighss​ @marvelatthisone​ @caplanbuckybarnes​ @sapphire-rogers​ @lizzieolseniskinda​ @notyourtypicalrose​  @hallecarey1​ @nana1000night​ @talia-rumlow​ @writingshae​  @daemonslittlebitch @chaoticcollectivenightmare​  @endlesstwanted​ @chemtrails-club​  @marigoldreamer​ @whiskeytangofoxtrot555​ @here4thefanfics​  @theestorm​ @patzammit​  @alexxavicry @azulatodoryuga

You offered Steve the biggest slice of the cake; you had saved it, especially for him. In fact, you had to give a few hand slaps to the others to prevent them from taking it.

He smiled at you when you gave it to him, although it could be a bit desperate that Steve didn't understand your hints regarding your feelings for him since, since you didn't dare to tell him, you showed them to him with small acts.

"Well, my advice is that you tell him, come on, Y/N, Steve is..."

"He is?" "If you know something, Natasha, you better tell me what you know, so I know whether I'm still trying or not."

"Just tell him how you feel; he's not the smartest person that way either, and I'm sure he hasn't figured anything out."

You arrived at your office; however, when you opened the door, you were confused to see the flowers on your desk. You hadn't put them there, so who had sent them?

You approached them and looked for the card; there was supposed to be one there, but there was nothing. You even looked under the desk; maybe it had fallen underneath; there was no trace of the card.

What struck you most was that they were your favorite flowers.

When Steve saw you, he smiled; it looked like you liked his gift, although he was disappointed that you didn't say anything about it.

You saw Steve eating the cookies you had baked for him, but he didn't say anything. You were starting to get tired of the situation, so you decided it was time to tell him that Natasha was right.

You wanted to solve the situation once and for all—to know if he loved you back or if it was better to forget about him.

You approached him and started to talk, but he didn't seem to understand anything, so you thought it was the right time.

"You know, Steve, I've had enough, so I'll just say it: I like you; I'm in love with you," you confessed; he looked at you as if he didn't understand; you sighed; maybe that was the answer. "Well, now that I've said it, I'll go."

You headed towards the exit, but he stopped you, putting one of his hands on your shoulder. "The flowers, I sent them to you, but I forgot to ask for a card," then he made you turn around and kissed you.

After all, neither of you realized that you were in love, but you were glad you had taken the first step.

[badartmada]

Title: Happy Birthday Steve! 🎊

Square: AC1057 || N3 - Free Space & MRP-068 || N3 - Free Space

Summary: Celebrating the birthday boy

For: Steve!!! but also for @allcapsbingo & @marvelrarepairbingo

[controlofwhatido]

fic: happy accidents (steve/bucky)

Title: Happy Accidents Author: controlofwhatido Artist: @auntiesuze Rating: Explicit Archive Warning(s): No Archive Warnings Apply Tags: Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Steve Rogers, Omega Bucky Barnes, Mpreg Summary: Bucky sleeps with one superhero one time and now he’s pregnant. Fuck. Good going, James B. Barnes. One unmated omega father, coming right up. Top that off with his metal arm and he’s really going to be an outcast.

Notes: Written for the 2022/23 @stuckybangs​!  Art is embedded in Chapter 5.

FIC IS COMPLETE: READ ON AO3  

(@stuckybingo​ O3: Writing format: Present Tense, N5: Kink: Heat/Rut, G5: Arnie Roth,  | @allcapsbingo​: I1: Captain America Steve Rogers, O1: Pining, B1: Courting, O2: Rebecca Barnes Proctor | @mcukinkbingo​ N5: Coming Untouched )

[cobrafantasies]

You Make Me Feel Alive 

SamBucky | Rated M | 4,262 words | Complete | AO3

Written to fulfill square I2: Vibranium for All Caps Bingo 2023, Round One, from @allcapsbingo!

Summary: When Bucky is gifted his new arm in Wakanda, he thinks it’s malfunctioning when Sam arrives. Eventually, he discovers his arm is trying to tell the whole world he’s got his first crush in seventy years.

Excerpt:

Bucky glides his vibranium hand across the surface of the water. It’s cool and wet. He can’t get enough of how when the water is cold enough, it’ll send a shiver through his skin. Telling his whole body what he’s touching on his left side. So he touches the water, then waits, letting the metal warm under the sun. Then he dunks his hand under the water again. Feels the shiver.

He hears footsteps approaching behind him. It could be a number of people but it’s not a Wakandan because the sound of heavy boots digging into the sand sounds as the person walks. Regardless, Bucky’s in no rush to turn around. He’s sitting on the sand, his hand in the water, still appreciating the cool sensation under his fingertips.

“Hey.”

The voice is familiar and Bucky recognizes it as fast as his heart skips a beat. His gaze snaps around, he hauls his hand out of the water and feels it drip onto his thigh as he drinks in the sight of Sam Wilson.

Bucky’s on his feet in the next second. His heart feels like a kick drum in his chest because why is Sam visiting him? He’s never visited before.

“Hi,” Bucky says.

Sam smiles and it’s enough to make Bucky’s almost lungs give out. That’s when the first whirl echoes from under the plates of his arm. Bucky ignores it, the prosthetic has made minor sounds from time to time.

“You in the middle of something?” Sam’s smile turns to a smirk and he points to the body of water.

Read on AO3

[cable-knit-sweater]

If it feels right (then it must be)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word count: 2.1k

Rating: E

Tags: Dom/sub, Dom Bucky Barnes, sub Steve Rogers, cockwarming, face fucking, dirty talk, facials, daddy kink, come play, memory recovery, flashbacks

Summary:

He’d stared up at him. “What did you call me?” Bucky asked, a little nonsensically. “What did I… Buck?” Steve had a lopsided smile on his face as he made his way into the room. “I call you lotsa things,” he said, but whereas usually, he’d say something like that with an amused voice and a shit eating grin, Bucky could just hear worry shine through. “No, I meant,” Bucky shook his head, trying to find a way to explain, to ease Steve's worries, “before, what did you call me before.” “I really don’t-” “Before,” he said, trying to infuse his words with as much meaning as he could. “Before, when we were together, when we'd-” He could see understanding slowly dawn on Steve, his frown easing. “Oh.” A light blush started to cover his cheeks. “You remembered?” he asked, voice soft, eyes hopeful.

In which Bucky remembers what Steve used to call him, and Steve starts calling him it again.

Read on AO3

Written for @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer || Week 2: June 8th - June 14th || “What should I call you?” || [Daddy | Alpha | Sir] and @allcapsbingo card AC1005 || Square: G2 - Facial

[abitnotgoodiebag]

title: person of the year

rating: g

square: the only power I have is that I believe we can do better

for @allcapsbingo

art only under the cut

[sparkagrace]

Avengers... Assemblé

Avengers... Assemblé | @sparkagrace

fills: @stuckybingo B3: team cap | @allcapsbingo B5: au: ballet tags: moodboard, steve x bucky, team cap, ballet au, brief mentions of racism and abusive practices word count: 460 words credit: @cable-knit-sweater for the title! ily bb 💘

Welcome to Team Cap Ballet Studio, a contemporary ballet school in the heart of Brooklyn run by married couple, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. They're joined by Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson, Wanda Maximoff, Clint Barton and Scott Lang.

Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes

Once primos in their own respective ballet companies, the two dancers fell in love but grew frustrated by the lack of inclusion and diversity in the industry. They tried in vain to push for performances where they could have Swan Lake with two male leads or Giselle with two female leads instead of the traditional stories. As they neared retirement, and now married, the two began serious discussions about creating their own studio where they could push the boundaries of their art and find a space for other like-minded dancers to join. 

Natasha Romanoff

Natasha was the rose of the Red Room, but they were notorious for creating an unhealthy environment for their dancers, most of whom were extremely young and vulnerable. Unable to keep dancing for a company who did not respect their dancers, Natasha blew the whistle and was blacklisted by the stalwarts of the industry almost immediately. Thankfully, Bucky got in touch with her and offered her a teaching position at Team Cap. Not only is Natasha a creative director, but she also ensures that the dancers have a safe and open environment.

Sam Wilson

Sam Wilson is one of the best dancers of his generation. His elegance and technique is impeccable, as well as being one of the nicest and most personable athletes in the business. Unfortunately, the industry is too traditional and conservative to give him the leading roles that he deserves. Time and time again he's been passed over for lesser dancers, and it's not hard to understand why. Jaded and disillusioned by his treatment, he almost hangs up his ballet shoes only for Steve to reach out and ask him to be Team Cap's primo.

Wanda Maximoff

A young prodigy, Wanda’s grace on the stage is unrivaled. Trained in the Red Room, she was made to dance over and over again until she was perfect. Thankfully, Natasha took her under her wing and brought her over to Team Cap, where she’s thriving in an environment that looks after her. As a result, she’s been positioned as one of the best prima ballerinas and wanted by every company. However, her loyalties lie with the studio that saved her.

Clint Barton and Scott Lang

Clint and Scott found out the hard way that the industry looks down on those who don't conform to their standards. Despite being great dancers - agile and strong - they haven't been given the chance they deserve because of criminal records from youthful indiscretions. It didn't matter how much they had worked to put their pasts behind them, they felt shunned by the business all the same. That was until Steve and Bucky brought them into the fold. Now they teach ballet and dance to kids in similar positions to help give them tools and show them that there's always a way out and proof that their past doesn't dictate their futures.

[darsynia]

Hand(s) Off | Ch1: Agony

(Steve Rogers/f!Reader sex pollen-esque multichapter)

STORY MASTERLIST | STEVE MASTERLIST | NEXT

Summary: Bucky Barnes is the most important person in your life. When he confesses to you that he lives at the Avengers tower, and the 'Steve' you've been hearing about for months is actually Steve Rogers, you think that nothing can top that revelation-- and then you find yourself trapped in Captain America's bedroom getting a second-hand dose of NYC's favorite new aphrodisiac, Mistress.

Length | Warnings: 3,271 | None this chapter; story will contain explicit sex descriptions and situations, MINORS DNI

Note: I want to make clear that I'm treating the issues of consent with sensitivity. This is not even a dubious consent story in my eyes; the choices these characters make are kind, as clear-eyed as possible under the circumstances, and respectful.

Excerpt:

“You grew up with Captain America?” you ask, impressed. Bucky Barnes can really keep a secret.

“Not at all. I grew up with Steve. Skinny, brave Steve. Never backed down from a fight, and now he doesn’t have to. C’mon,” he says, nodding toward the Avengers tower that’s visible in the distance.

There’s something in the back of your mind that’s important, something-- “Oh my God, Bucky!” you gasp, almost stumbling in your shock. “I dragged you to that trivia night, and you did so badly on the Avengers questions! You let me answer the all Captain America ones myself! I totally went on and on about how wonderful and handsome Steve Rogers is. I talked about his ass-- and he’s your best friend?”

“You squeak any higher you’re going to start catching the attention of every purse dog in the city,” Bucky teases gruffly. You shoot a look over, noticing that he’s trying not to grin.

“You jerk!” you say, nudging his right arm with your left elbow. “Were you feeling me out?”

Bucky starts cough-laughing. “You’re going to have to define that one for me.”

Chapter One: Agony

He’s falling and you can’t do anything about it.

Bucky’s shirt catches on a stub of a branch on the way down. You, the child whose balloon he was retrieving, and the kid’s mother all rush over when he lands in a heap.

“Oh my god, are you--” the mom starts to say.

“Here you go, kid. Hold tight, I’m not going after it again,” Bucky interrupts, hauling himself to his feet. 

“Wow! That looks like it didn’t hurt at all!” the kid says.

“It hurts. Everything hurts. I’m just trying to impress her.” He nods in your direction.

Even though it makes you crack up (because he’s absolutely not), this seems to do the trick. The mom takes a minute to tie a more secure knot in the balloon string before smiling nervously at the two of you and leading her son away.

“I’m sorry,” you wince, taking a picture of the hand-sized rip at Bucky’s armpit that reveals the metal of his arm underneath. You’ve never seen the whole thing, but you’ve felt the arm through his sleeve a couple of times.

“Why are you sorry? You told me not to do it.”

“I’m sorry to have been right?”

“Yeah, okay,” he says grimly, scowling at the phone you handed him and reaching around to feel the edges of the tear. “It shows the join, doesn’t it?”

You’ve been trying not to look, because, yeah, it does. The skin edging the metal graft looks burned and painful, definitely not appropriate for your museum plans. Bucky takes in your uncomfortable nod and his jaw clenches.

“We don’t have to go,” you offer.

“We’re going. I just have to…” He trails off, twisting the shirt around to get a better look. The two of you had decided to take the long way through the park. There’s about an hour before the interactive exhibit opens, but it’s the last day. He wouldn’t even tell you how he got the tickets.

“Okay, what if we swing by a corner store so I can grab a sewing kit--”

Bucky interrupts in a firm voice. “No need to waste the money. I’ll head back home to change; we can get a taxi from there. It’s a bit of a walk.” He shrugs the shirt back into position and starts back the way you’d come.

You have to jog to catch up. “That works.” There are a million things you want to say, but it’s Bucky who speaks first, after fifteen minutes of silence. The two of you reach a crosswalk, and he stops you with his left arm, which in your opinion is a choice.

“Spit it out.”

“You were keeping things separate. You shouldn’t change your mind unless you want to,” you say quietly. He’d said he wanted to keep this friendship to himself for a while, with no connection to the past, and no expectation for the future. You’d found that unexpectedly refreshing at the time, and you still do.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Bucky says. “It’s time. I probably would have sat on it for another month anyway.”

It’s been a six month journey from friendly to friends to close friends for the two of you, and it’s only been two months since he’d opened up about his agonizing past. You don’t know everything yet, and that’s okay. You might never know. As long as Bucky knows he can trust you, that’s what matters.

The light changes, and he guides you across, his body language more relaxed now. Still, you want to make things as easy for him as possible.

“I can wait in the lobby--”

“Shit. That won’t help,” Bucky says, coming to a complete stop in the middle of the sidewalk. “Did you ever look me up?”

“No! You asked me not to.”

He looks at you like you’re some sort of rare creature for a minute, and a slow, appreciative smile grows on his face. You get it-- when he’d told you his actual birthdate, that he’d gone missing in the 40’s, you’d been tempted. But… when someone with a medically engineered metal arm asks you not to poke around in his past, you don’t. Not if you care about him.

“There was a good reason for that, I’m assuming?”

Bucky’s chuckle is deep and amused. “Yeah. I ah, live with the Avengers. Steve’s last name is Rogers. Steve Rogers.”

You’ve heard all about his best friend Steve, enough to feel affection for the man without ever having met him-- but this is not what you were expecting. At all.

“You grew up with Captain America?” you ask, impressed. Bucky Barnes can really keep a secret.

“Not at all. I grew up with Steve. Skinny, brave Steve. Never backed down from a fight, and now he doesn’t have to. C’mon,” he says, nodding toward the Avengers tower that’s visible in the distance.

There’s something in the back of your mind that’s important, something-- “Oh my God, Bucky!” you gasp, almost stumbling in your shock. “I dragged you to that trivia night, and you did so badly on the Avengers questions! You let me answer the all Captain America ones myself! I totally went on and on about how wonderful and handsome Steve Rogers is. I talked about his ass-- and he’s your best friend?”

“You squeak any higher you’re going to start catching the attention of every purse dog in the city,” Bucky teases gruffly. You shoot a look over, noticing that he’s trying not to grin.

“You jerk!” you say, nudging his right arm with your left elbow. “Were you feeling me out?”

Bucky starts cough-laughing. “You’re going to have to define that one for me.”

“--stop by, that’s all I ask. Redwing would love it,” Sam grins as he opens the door to Tony’s lab.

“I’ll try, but did you have to say it like that?” Steve groans before heading into Dr. Banner’s workspace right next door. A new street drug named Mistress has been causing concern, and with SHIELD still in transition, the government has called on the scientific wing of the Avengers to help figure out how to combat the substance. 

Mistress is an aphrodisiac, a potent one. Banner’s preliminary tests show that it’s likely not of Earth origin, which has slowed down their testing considerably due to safety concerns. That’s where Steve comes in; Bruce thinks his fast metabolism could be the key to figuring the stuff out without putting too many others at risk. That and his lack of a romantic partner. 

Apparently the drug enhances a person’s desire to have sex to a strong need, strong enough that there’s no data on what happens if they don’t. The stuff reportedly burns through people, causing dangerous fevers that have officials fearful that someone’s going to get dosed and killed, not to mention the consent issues.

“Hey, Steve,” Banner says. “I don’t know if you’ve met Doctor Lyonne?”

“I haven’t. First or last name?” Steve asks the attractive female doctor.

“Oh, nice one. ‘Lyonne’ is my married name, though. Sorry to possibly disappoint,” she says easily.

Banner smiles at Steve’s wave-off gesture and says, “I’ll leave you two experts to the interpersonal stuff.” He ignores them in favor of a large glass jar with a bunch of warning labels stuck to it. The liquid inside is clear, and all signs point to it being the drug in question. “All right,” Bruce finally says, stepping away and scratching out about four things on his clipboard. “The plan is to expose you in measured doses and observe the results. It’s pretty volatile-- works if ingested, soaks into the skin, and we think it’s capable of being aerosolized under certain conditions. Drinking it will be the most controlled method, so Dr. Lyonne is setting up dosing cups for me. She’s got a class to teach in about forty minutes, so--”

“That’s his delicate way of saying I’ll be out of your hair and unable to observe anything you’ll be going through over the course of the tests,” Lyonne interrupts.

The door that joins the two labs swings open before Steve can respond, and Tony leans his head in. He’s wearing one of his Iron Man suits. “Before you ramp up Icy Hot here, can I show you my new toy?”

“This is a segue to a sex toy joke, Steve. Retreat, retreat!” Sam calls out from behind Tony.

“I’m wounded!” Tony says, muttering, “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that first.” He walks in and grins, holding up his left arm. “Check it out. Nav is still a little spotty, but--”

Steve watches as a shape lifts up from Tony’s bicep area on the suit, similar to Redwing but oval and smaller. 

“Tony, I’d be happy to look at it pretty much any other time, but--”

“You have the whole rest of the day blocked out, Bruce, just give me this!”

The friendship between Stark and Banner always makes Steve nervous. They are the closest aligned in terms of work ethic and smarts, but farthest apart in temperament-- and that’s before the Hulk is brought into play. Steve inches closer to the large glass jug of Mistress as Tony gesticulates wildly, sending the drone careening around the room.

It starts beeping.

“Shit!” Tony shouts. “Uh… apparently something I did set the self-destruct?”

“Why does your drone have a self destruct, Tony?” 

Bruce sounds incredulous and angry, and Steve doesn’t have his shield. As though Tony had set up the whole situation for maximum drama, the thing is headed straight for the jug. Steve lunges to protect it as Bruce maneuvers himself to take the explosion for the team. Someone screams for JARVIS to lock down the building.

Steve lifts the drug container high, meaning to leap out of the way with it, but there’s nowhere to go. The drone’s explosive impact brings forth the Hulk-- which sends Steve and the jug flying backwards into the lab equipment.

Things turn a bit surreal when you enter the tower. Bucky takes you to a secret side entrance (to avoid the press, he says) but when he gets into the elevator, he seems confused when he can’t talk to it. You’re just about to make a Star Trek joke when he explains there’s usually an artificial intelligence that runs the building, but it’s not responding.

You’re used to pretty much anything apartment-related being out of order, so you’re not fazed. Once inside his apartment, you point out that there’s a sticky note on the opposite side of the door, and Bucky grabs it, his brows furrowing as he reads.

“Shit,” he grins, holding up the note. “Stay here? You’re not authorized for this area.”

“Better hurry!” The tickets for the exhibit are for 1:30, and it’s already 12:50. With a nod, he jogs back into the hallway toward the elevator, and just like that you’re alone in Bucky’s apartment.

It is immediately apparent that he doesn’t live here alone. Underneath a coat rack with multiple jackets is a shoe tray with at least five pairs of shoes in two different sizes. The living room is cozy and lived-in; you see the familiar sight of a bottle of Bucky’s favorite beer sitting on an end-table-- right beside a coaster.

You’re about to reach for it when an alarm sounds, accompanied by an urgent voice.

=Tier One protection activated. Retreat to an interior room and wait for further instructions. Attention: Tier One protection activated. Retreat to an interior room and wait for further instructions.=

You freeze in fear for a few seconds, but when the instruction repeats a few seconds later, you hear a grinding noise in the wall. It’s frightening enough that you dart into the hallway and inside the first open door. The reason for the sound becomes terrifyingly clear a few seconds later as a metal panel encased in the doorframe slides down, too quickly for you to slip out underneath it.

The room turns pitch black in the space between one frightened breath and the next.

After taking a minute to listen for danger, you make your way by feel to the far wall, looking for the light switch. On the way, you trip over something that turns out to be a pair of men’s slippers. You’re glad to let your eyes adjust to the light as you put them back, but when you straighten up, you immediately feel like you’re trespassing somewhere you do not belong.

The room is neat as hell, the kind of tidiness that must come from enjoying a clean space rather than a sense of obligation. However, you soon reassess: this is lived in, less frighteningly neat than well-designed. Everything has its place. It’s different from the easy chaos that Bucky has shown on the few times he’s slept over after movie marathons, so you’re pretty sure this isn’t his room. That, and the white cat plushie you gave him that he swears lives on his dresser? Isn’t there.

Instead, the tray with grooming materials in front of a small mirror are the only objects on the dresser top. There’s a low bookshelf next to an easy chair whose footrest has a worn-in divot. The nightstand is equally neat and functional, with a slightly askew sketchbook hinting that the room’s occupant is an artist.

Unfortunately, these observations are making you more nervous, not less. An intrusive thought that the alarm could be about a fire and there’s literally no way out sends you into a frenzy of banging on the inexorable metal slab. 

“Hello?? HELLO!? Please let me out, please, please let me out!” you scream, slamming your fists against the damned barrier until your hands hurt. You’re crying and frantic and yelling, and suddenly there’s someone else on the other side of the door also yelling, and in the next few minutes everything happens at once. 

You can’t see anything through your tears and fear; all you know is the feel and sound of strong hands and a soothing voice that isn’t Bucky but it should be. That thought sends you into more frightened tears, because he’ll be worried, he’ll be upset, and it might send him into a spiral like the one from a few months ago when he finally explained about his past.

Then, awfully, the grinding sound is back and the warm hands are gone.

You hear several shouted, imperative commands before the man falls silent. He’d set you down in a huddle on the bed wrapped in a blanket, and you kind of… drift back into awareness surrounded by the strong scent of coconut, with a not-unpleasant buzz of awareness deep in your gut.

You pull the blanket closer before you recognize it. You’d been working on it during the first few movie nights you and Bucky had shared, and he’d bought it as a gift for his best friend. That’s what brings you fully back to yourself: you’d handmade the thing that’s warming you up. You’ll be able to tell Bucky that. It’ll help, when the time comes.

Taking in a long, deep breath, you look around, expecting, since you’re no longer alone, to see anything but a metal panel completely covering the door. You’re wrong. There’s damage to the frame, as though someone had pried the previous slab out of the way-- but there’s once again a solid-looking metal barrier between you and freedom.

“Are you okay?” It’s Captain Am-- Rogers. Steve. Bucky’s Steve.

The unreality of your situation is fully hitting you now.

“That’s what you’re going with? Not ‘who are you?’ or ‘funny story about the door…’”

Rogers says, “I did. You were too upset to answer.” He’s tense, clearly uncomfortable, and his clothes are soaked. You wonder if that’s the source of the strange fruity smell. 

“Dee. I’m Dee.” It’s short for Chickadee, your stage-name-turned-favorite-nickname. You think you see recognition in his eyes. “Bucky needed to change his shirt. I didn’t mean-- you have to believe me, I never would have come in here, but he said he would just be a minute, and then a voice told me to hide and…” You’re babbling, but you feel like you’re out of your mind. Of all the people in the world, you’d probably pick Captain America as the one person you’d want to know that you’re eating your vegetables and being polite to your elders, that you wouldn’t invade someone’s private space. “Did something happen to the building?” you ask in a small voice.

“No, this--” Rogers winces. “Bucky asked for extra security or he wouldn’t move in. To slow him down.”

“The Soldier,” you whisper, closing your eyes tightly.

He makes a noise of understanding, then a louder, angry sound. “Everything has gone the exact worst-- I’m sorry,” he grits out. “I’m sorry.”

The depth to his voice prompts a heated curl of attraction that warms you from the inside out. It’s unexpected and strange, given the fear and confusion that’s ruled your reactions in the past minutes.

“I think I should be asking if you are okay.”

Rogers is looking at the floor now, his hands fisted in his pockets. “I was exposed to a… chemical. Tried to do everything right: activated security protocols, set the apartment Dark so I didn’t say or do anything I’d regret before the brain fog set in.”

“What happens when the brain fog sets in?” you whisper, sensing that the answer is what has this man’s body stiff as a board, in contrast with his broken and worried tone.

“How close are you with Buck?” Rogers lifts his head and the intensity in his eyes shoots you with an arrow of concern.

You lift your chin. “Truthfully? I consider him my best friend, why?”

“There’s nothing… more?”

There have been times, multiple times, when you’ve thought about it. But Bucky Barnes is a multifaceted man, and you don’t want to sully his progress towards becoming whole again by making things complicated.

“No,” you say, feeling heat in your chest from the look of understanding in his eyes. Your pause was unintentionally illustrative. “Why?”

“It’s important that I be honest with you: the building is on lockdown, its governing AI is too busy monitoring the Hulk to get us out of this room, and the chemical I was exposed to is Mistress.” He sounds like a soldier reciting battle parameters.

The name sounds familiar, but you can’t place it. Suddenly, you feel too vulnerable on the bed, his bed, so you slide over to the edge in preparation for getting up. The action bares your legs to mid-thigh, and Rogers immediately turns his back on you and hits the wall with the flat of his hand. 

That’s when you remember where you’d heard that name. Mistress. The aphrodisiac is the reason many women have flocked to your cousin’s restaurant to hang out, instead of at bars. Many establishments are offering complimentary test kits so their customers can ensure there’s no residue in their food and drinks. It’s become fashionable to carry around your own cups, just in case. Some bars are actually trying to skip requiring women to pay a cover charge, desperate to return to the status quo. Drinks containing coconut aren’t even served anymore, thanks to the scent association.

“Shit, I’m sorry!” you blurt out, rushing over to the easy chair and covering yourself with the blanket. Jesus, the whole room reeks of coconut. He’s practically steeped in the stuff. “What can I do?”

Steve Rogers’ voice is husky, but pained. “Don’t let today be your first impression of me.”

Next chapter...

[smutconnoisseur]

♡ Cherry Claimed ♡

Pairing ♡ RetiredCap!Alpha!Steve Rogers x Baker!Omega!Bucky Barnes

Word Count ♡ 4.5K

Rating ♡ E

Read On Ao3

Tags ♡ Diner AU, Non- Traditional A/b/o, Shrunkyclunks, Older man/younger man, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Gratuitous use of Cherries, Explicit Sexual Content, Everything Is Beautiful & Nothing Hurts

Summary ♡ Steve has been a simple man since he retired. Goes to the same small-town diner ‘Barnes, every day. He’s not the best cook, and it’s the warm home-cooked meals he’s missed out on.

Initially enticed by the sweet aromas drawing him in by his nose past the front bell. The family-owned restaurant is friendly staffed. But it’s the smell of sugar, ripe sweet cherries, and homemade dough that he wants. Every day he orders the same burger at the same booth.

Every day he asks for the dessert special, and every day he doesn’t get what he wants.

Square + Prompt ♡

Ⓝ ⓶ + Oblivious Pining | All Caps Bingo | Card # AC 1094 | All Caps Bingo Masterlist @allcapsbingo

Ⓝ ⓷ + Retired!Cap (Free space) | Stucky Bingo | Card # R40101 | Stucky Bingo Masterlist @stuckybingo

Ⓘ ⓶ + Accidental Scent Bonding | AFG Omegaverse Bingo | @afgomegaversebingo

Ⓝ ⓷ + Diner AU (free space) | AF AU Bingo | @anyfandomaubingo

Ⓖ ⓷ + Claiming Marks | Sebastian Stan Bingo | @sebastianstanbingo

Ⓝ ⓷ + Rimming (free space) | AFG Kink Bingo | @anyfandomkinkbingo

Author's Note ♡ Mood-board made myself 🍒/ The wonderful art in this fic is made by : @buckymilf | graphic credit : @firefly-graphics | Masterlist | AO3 |

[nolanfa]

Illustration for sara_holmes fic I'll keep you safe here with me (it's the fourth and last one I had planned for that story) fill for @winterhawkbingo's prompt "mission gone wrong" fill for @allcapsbingo's prompt "good plan gone horribly right" fill for @marvelartparty bingo's prompt "complete art for an event"

Here on AO3