#bucky x joaquin

[late-to-the-party-81]

The Look - Chapter One

AN: Welcome all to my first entry for Hot Bucky Summer. I’m picking up where I left of last year, with a return to Bucky and Joaquín from You bring me closer to God @kingofsorrow20 jumped at the chance to beta this, so gets all my thanks.

Buckyquín sluts - Assemble!

Likes are loved, reblogs are golden

Mood board by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics

Join my tag list here

Master list | HBS Master list

Summary: Now that Bucky and Joaquín are proper boyfriends and not secret FWB, they don’t have to sneak around and have sex in out of the way, but semi-public spaces. However, when Joaquín voices that he misses that aspect and comes up with a solution, Bucky finds that he can’t keep his hands off his baby, just thinking about it.

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Joaquín Torres

Word Count: 2k

CW: Mean Dom Bucky Barnes, Sweet Sub Joaquín Torres, Domesticity, Developing relationship, Discussions of exhibitionism, exploring fantasies, Bucky’s dirty talk, Joaquín’s oral fixation, hand job, cum eating, cum as lube, spit as lube, masturbation, facials, dacryphilia, Bucky obsessed with how pretty Joaquín is, dirty pictures, aftercare

Bingos and Challenges: HBS - Week 1 - “Louder, let everyone hear you”/ Screaming or Noisy sex/ Gangbang/ Exhibitionism.

Every so often it really hit Bucky about how much things had changed since he and Joaquín had actually started communicating. Take the present situation, for instance. They were in his Brooklyn apartment, having gotten home from a mission just as the rest of the world was starting its day. After the debrief at the compound, they could have gone to their shared quarters onsite to recover, but together had decided it was worth staying awake a little longer to have the relative privacy later. Admittedly, Quín had dozed - complete with drool - while Bucky had driven, but once they’d gotten to his apartment they’d collapsed into bed and slept for seven hours. They both woke up mid afternoon and, still feeling exhausted, settled down with takeout on the sofa, while RuPaul’s Drag Race played in the background. The show in question was Quín’s guilty pleasure and Bucky found it cute whenever his boyfriend started shouting at the TV. Three months ago, such a scenario wouldn’t have even been on Bucky’s radar as something he might want, but now he’d realised all of the ‘boyfriend stuff’ he’d been missing out on, he couldn’t wait to catch up with it. 

Speaking of cute, despite the fact that Quín had moved in a stash of his belongings, - the look on his face when Bucky had cleared a drawer for him was priceless - he was still cosied up in a pair of Bucky’s sweatpants and one of his large hoodies. And although Quín wasn’t skinny - far from it - when the young army lieutenant put on his clothes it high-lighted just how much broader - thicker - Bucky was. Looking at him, Bucky couldn’t help but lick his lips.

The thing that had really surprised him though, was how much better the sex had gotten. Before ‘the talk’ they’d only ever fucked like animals - rough and dirty - and while they did still do that - boy, did they do that - they now also made love. There was something about teasing Joaquín softly - slowly -, until he cried those pretty tears, that turned Bucky even more feral. And Quín, the beautiful boy he was, would cry out about how much he loved Bucky, never once getting frustrated that Bucky hadn’t yet said it back.

On that note, Bucky knew that he cared deeply for Quín - had done for a while, even before he could admit it to himself - but those three words? He wanted to say them, he really did, but he also wanted to be sure he actually meant them and it wasn’t just lip service. There were days however, when Sam would catch him watching his boyfriend and roll his eyes and tell him to stop making goo-goo eyes at his protege in public. Moments like that made Bucky smile, and he was smiling a lot more these days. 

“Bucky?” Quín’s soft voice, complete with a note of worry? - concern? - embarrassment? - pulled him from his reverie. 

Bucky shuffled across the sofa and wrapped his arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders, drawing him close with a kiss to the top of his head. “What is it, baby? Got something on your mind?”

Quín squirmed a little and picked at some fluff stuck to his thigh. Bucky waited, giving him the time and space to voice whatever it was that seemed to have him a little twisted up. “You know how before,” he eventually started, “we were always… you know…”

”Fucking?” Bucky supplied, with an arched brow and a quirk to his lips.

”Yeah,” Joaquín confirmed, with his own small smile. “How we were always fucking in not so private spaces?”

The memories of trysts in store cupboards and dark corners of the quinjet jumped to the forefront of Bucky’s mind and made his dick twitch in his pants.

”Well, I was thinking that that wasn’t necessarily something we had to stop, just because we aren’t having to keep it secret any more.” Quín looked at Bucky with a sideways glance, obviously trying to check his reaction.

”You wanna go back to sucking my dick in janitors closets?” Bucky tried desperately to bury his amusement - this was obviously something that Quín wanted to discuss, and he owed it to him to take it seriously.

”No, not that,” came the tentative reply. “I was kinda thinking about… in front of other people. In a place where that sort of thing is acceptable. Like a kink club.”

”Oh,”said Bucky, glitching slightly as he tried to process his boyfriend’s request. “You want to be put on display in front of other people and let them see you?”

Quín bit down on his lower lip, stifling a moan, and a grin broke out across Bucky’s face. “Oh, sweetheart, my little exhibitionist slut, you want it so bad don’t you?” He dropped his head and nosed along Quín’s throat, feeling the fluttering of his heartbeat. In an instant, he turned his lover and pressed him back onto the sofa, looming over him. A pathetic, needy whimper left Quín’s lips.

”Would you want them to see how sweetly submissive you are? Let them see how you’ll do anything I tell you? Imagine me making you kneel, and spanking that perfect peach of an ass until it was throbbing in time with your cock? You’d have to count for me, and be loud. I’d want everyone to hear you, so they’d know exactly who was in charge of you. I wonder what else I could do to you?”

“Anything,” Joaquín whispered breathily as he rolled his hips under Bucky’s larger frame, getting lost in the fantasy. “I’d let you do anything.”

Bucky slid his right hand down between them, cupping the bulge in Quín’s - his - sweatpants and his slutty baby gasped at the harsher than necessary pressure. “You’re being very needy, sweetheart. What if I left you like this, all wanting, until I got round to arranging it? It could be next week - it could be a month.” Quín’s eyes fluttered closed and his hips rolled again, likely unconsciously this time. “You’d do it though, if I told you to, wouldn’t you?” Bucky continued. “You’d hate it, not coming, not having my touch, but you’d do it all the same. To be a good boy.”

“Yesss.”

Bucky let go of Quín’s crotch and trailed his hand up his boyfriend’s toned body, sliding it under the hoodie and tee shirt underneath, to tweak at his left nipple. With a gasp, Quín’s eyes shot open again, his body acting as though it had been shocked with electricity. Bucky pinched him again. Harder. Crueller. He could see Joaquín’s eyes start to water, but he didn’t safeword. His baby loved this type of treatment. With the thumb of his left hand, Bucky swiped at an errant tear that had broken free and started to trail down quín’s cheek.

“You gonna cry those pretty tears for me? Pretty tears on a pretty boy?”

The question was entirely rhetorical. Bucky didn’t even give Quín the chance to respond as his left hand then slid further down his sub’s face, and Quín’s lips immediately parted to accept two of Bucky’s fingers into his mouth. His boy immediately began to suck on the metallic digits and Bucky returned his right hand to Quín’s crotch, this time moving it under the sweats and underpants to circle his stiff cock. Joaquín let out a garbled moan and his hips thrust upwards.

“Greedy baby,” Bucky cooed, voice full of condescension. “Fucking my hand and sucking my fingers. How naughty. If you’re like this with just me touching you, imagine if I let other people play with you. How many do you think you could manage? How many loads of cum? Splattering these pretty lips, all over your tits.” He smirked as Quín whined at his words “I don’t think I’d let them have your ass though,” he mused. “That’s all mine.” Quín nodded in agreement around the fingers in his mouth.

Bucky continued his onslaught, his right hand jerking Quín’s cock methodically with a little twist to his wrist that he knew made the younger man see fireworks, and his left hand sawing between Quín’s dusky, puffy lips, pressing down on his tongue and testing his almost non-existent gag reflex. He felt pride well inside him at just how good his boy was being - taking everything he dished out. However, he was also only human, and Bucky knew all his lover’s buttons and how to push them. It wasn’t long before his body started to twitch, pleasure obviously threatening to overwhelm him.

“Open your eyes”, Bucky commanded and the sight of Joaquín’s dark lashes, clumped together with tears, along with the unfocused nature of his gaze almost undid him. “You wanna come, sweetheart?”

Quín let out a loud whine, which Bucky took as a yes. “Such a good boy, waiting for permission. And if I said no, could you hold off?” He knew he was being cruel as his hand continued to move, because he was making Quín wait, just not obviously. Another garbled whine and an accompanying nod, let Bucky know he had his boyfriend just where he wanted him.

“Such a good boy,” he purred. “You can come then. Show me how pretty you are.” He pulled his fingers from Quín’s mouth just so those wonderful noises wouldn’t be muffled. He hadn’t lied before - he loved it when Quín was loud in his pleasure, and he didn’t disappoint. As he came he shouted and garbled in both Spanish and English, his abs tensing and cock spurting out thick white ropes over the sweatpants that Bucky had only pulled down enough to give him access, as well as Bucky’s fingers.

Bucky looked down at his boyfriend - cheeks flushed, brow sweaty, looking totally fucked out - and he sucked his fingers, enjoying the salty, musky taste. His own cock twitched in his pants, refusing to be ignored any longer. He changed his position from kneeling between Quín’s legs to straddling his waist, and pulled his dick from his own sweats. “Just lay there for me, baby,” he commanded and Quín smiled lazily back at him.” Bucky began to strip his cock, his hand flying up and down its length, eased by the mess of saliva and cum still covering his fingers.

“God! Such a beautiful, submissive slut, and you’re all mine, aren’t you? Can’t wait to show you off. Let everyone else see what they’re missing out on.” He could feel his orgasm building in his gut, his balls twitching and drawing closer to his body. “Open your mouth for me, sweetheart. Stick that tongue all the way out.” Once again, Quín obeyed him, and with a loud groan, Bucky let his orgasm flow through him and he pumped his cum into Quín’s waiting mouth and over his lips. “Hold it, baby. Don’t swallow yet.” He dug into his pocket with his left hand, clumsily opening the camera and aiming it to take in Quín’s completely fucked out state with his eyes closed in a state of bliss and face painted with Bucky’s spend. With the moment immortalised, he let Quín know he could swallow it all down, and felt another jolt of lust when his boyfriend's tongue came back out to reach the cum that had missed his mouth. He couldn’t help but swipe at the remaining globs with his thumb and press it between Quín’s lips, making sure he got all of it

“How are you so perfect?” Bucky questioned, voice full of wonder, as he clambered off the sofa and scooped Joaquín up in his arms. “Now, let’s go have a bath and get you cleaned up, and then in a bit we can talk properly about this club idea of yours.”

Chapter 2

Tag list: @christywrites, @doasyoudesireandlive, @endlesstwanted

[babygirl-diaz]

Does anyone else ship Buckquin? I am just curious.

[buckyismybicycle]

Title: Spoil Me Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Joaquin Torres Rating: Explicit  Tags: Silver Fox Bucky Barnes, Age Difference, Daddy Kink, Top Bucky Barnes, Light Dom/Sub, Light Bondage, Face-fucking, Degradation, Pet Names, Gagging, Orgasm Delay, Hole Spanking, Torres is living my best life Summary: 

“Follow me around like a good little puppy.” That was Bucky’s command, and he’ll be damned if he’s made it almost the entire night to just fail now. Obediently, he stays put, a respectable distance from Bucky that hopefully doesn’t scream I’M TRYING TO GET RAILED BY THIS MAN.

                             READ ON AO3

For @allcapsbingo​: O4: "Falcon Joaquin Torres" | G3: "Daddy Kink" | N4: "Hole Spanking"

For @mcukinkbingo G5: “Wearing a Sex Toy in Public”

[morsmordre-writes]

this must be fake - masterlist

Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Summary: After a year of being gone, and you finally deciding to move on, Bucky is back in town and trying to win you back. Can he win you over before you fall for someone else? Can his actions be redeemed? Will your friends get you committed for insanity? Maybe!

Warning(s): slow burn, bucky starts off stupid and ends up, well probably more stupid!

masterlist | twitter profiles

[1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12][13][14][15 & epilogue]

[buckysmischief]

no strings attached - 1

Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Summary: "No strings attached" was always a trap, you should have known your situation wouldn't be any different. Falling totally in love with Bucky would only end one way: tragically. So you handle it the only way your self destructive tendencies will allow.

Warnings: adult themes 18+ , reader makes dumb decisions

masterlist | series masterlist

[madlittlecriminal]

MADLITTLECRIMINAL'S MASTERLIST

hello! welcome to my masterlist! this is the new & improved version as I figured the other ones that i had were getting old and frankly long. anywho, i hope you find this one easier to navigate! happy reading! :)

RULES

KO-FI

Criminal Minds:

Spencer Reid Masterlist

DC Universe:

Bruce Wayne/Batman Masterlist

Dick Grayson/Nightwing Masterlist

Jaime Reyes/Blue Beetle Masterlist

Jason Todd/Red Hood Masterlist

Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow Masterlist

In Time:

Raymond Leon Masterlist

Kingsman (2014 & 2017):

Gary "Eggsy" Unwin Masterlist

Lucifer:

Lucifer Morningstar Masterlist

Marvel:

Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier Masterlist

Charles Xavier/Professor X Masterlist

Eddie Brock/Venom Masterlist

Erik Lehnsherr/Magneto Masterlist

Hank McCoy/Beast Masterlist

Hobie Brown/Spider-Punk Masterlist

Jake Lockley Masterlist

Joaquin Torres Masterlist

Layla El-Faouly Masterlist

Marc Spector/Moon Knight Masterlist

Matt Murdock/Daredevil Masterlist

Miguel O'Hara/Spider-Man 2099 Masterlist

Miles Morales/Spider-Man Masterlist

Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow Masterlist

Peter B. Parker/Spider-Man Masterlist

Peter Parker/Spider-Man Masterlist

Scott Summers/Cyclops Masterlist

Stephen Strange/Doctor Strange Masterlist

Steven Grant/Mister Knight Masterlist

Peaky Blinders:

Alfie Solomons Masterlist

Thomas Shelby Masterlist

Sherlock:

Mycroft Holmes Masterlist

Sherlock Holmes Masterlist

Star Wars:

Kylo Ren/Ben Solo Masterlist

Poe Dameron Masterlist

Triple Frontier:

Francisco "Catfish" Morales Masterlist

Santiago "Pope" Garcia Masterlist

Video Games:

-Alejandro Vargas Masterlist

-Astarion Masterlist

-Gale Masterlist

-Halsin Masterlist

-Karlach Masterlist

-Kyle "Gaz" Garrick Masterlist

-Leon Kennedy Masterlist

-Peter Parker (Spider-Man) Masterlist

-Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra Masterlist

[tom-whore-dleston]

the three of them

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f. reader, Joaquin Torres x f. reader, Sam Wilson x f. reader

This fic contains: angst, multiple situationships, implied poly!reader, long distance, implied infidelity, poetry format

Notes: This is my submission for this week's @flashfictionfridayofficial theme: Great Expectations. The dating life is currently all over the place and I just wanted to dump all my feelings towards the relationships I have in a poetic way.

“What do you want?” They ask.

Isn’t it obvious?

You want Bucky.

But you also want Joaquin. 

And then there’s also Sam.

In a perfect world, you would have all three of them. 

Maybe even more if you wanted to.

Your heart is big enough to love them all the same.

Bucky feels a strong connection with you, yet he has Natasha.

It’s so confusing to both you and Bucky.

But Bucky makes you feel oh so good.

More than any other man has in your life.

Joaquin also wants you, but the distance between you both is greater than the yearning you have for one another.

Joaquin admires your artistic abilities and your passions.

He sees himself in you, hence why he loves you the way he does.

Someone said they see why you and Joaquin click.

Because you and Joaquin don’t take life so seriously.

You both know how to have fun and be silly.

You met Sam amongst the storm that is Bucky and Joaquin.

He is a safe haven for you. 

But this safe haven will be shipped off to the other side of the world before you know it. 

You have all this love in your heart that you’re ready to give.

But is now the right time?

Perhaps, there is another man, maybe woman, that is Bucky, Joaquin, and Sam combined.

They could be out there in this world.

It’s up to you if you want to explore that possibility.

But you’re not ready to let go of Bucky, Joaquin or Sam yet. 

You suppose that’s okay.

Until those dreams manifest into nightmares.

What do you want?

Who will you choose?

In the end, you must choose yourself, no matter what or who you want.

Navigation | Fanfic Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist | Joaquin Torres Masterlist | Sam Wilson Masterlist

[writing-for-marvel]

For the Stardust Reblog Challenge: Summer Edition hosted by @liraketo

These are all the fics I've read in July. Please go show all these amazing writers some much deserved love! Also please remember to read the warnings for each individual fic

��� - smut | 💗 - fluff I 💧- angst | 😈 - dark

Dividers by @saradika

Bucky Barnes

🔥 Live Now (series) by @world-of-aus

💧💗🔥 Is It a Crime? (series) by @crazyunsexycool

💧 Time After Time (series) by @intrepidacious

🔥😈 Devour (series) by @buckets-and-trees

🔥 Headstrong by @flordeamatista

🔥💗 Be Mine by @/flordeamatista

💧💗 Protecting What’s His by @jobean12-blog

🔥 Can’t Keep My Hands to Myself by @/jobean12-blog

💗 Make A Move! by @/jobean12-blog

🔥 Travelling For Pleasure by @bluehourbucky

💗 Bumblebees and Honeybees by @venusstorm

💗 BeWhat? by @rocketrhap3000

💗🔥 Touch by @mickeyhenrys

💧 You’re not as bad as everyone says you are by @fandoms-writings

💗 Imagine celebrating Christmas with Bucky by @espinosaurusrexex

🔥 Off to the Races by @kittybeansbarnes

💗🔥 Missing You by @nickfowlerrr

💧 Lachrymose by @rookthorne

💗 Cuddles by @theeleggymeggy

💧💗 Not Ur Groupie by @sweetsbfreex

💗 Barbie by @buckyalpine

Steve Rogers

💗 Glitter by @sarahwroteathing

💗 America’s Ass Passes Gas by @/jobean12-blog

🔥 The Sweetest Thing by @wint3r-h3art

😈 Sweet as Cherry Pie by @navybrat817

💗 A Million Reasons by @brandycranby

💗 Beautiful Stranger by @/crazyunsexycool

🔥 Brace Yourself by @atomwritez

🔥 Music to my Ears by @royalsweetteaa

💧💗 Whisper by @redgillan

Stucky

💗🔥 Loving You Means Loving Myself (mini series) by @late-to-the-party-81

🔥 See You Next Shift (series) by @witchywithwhiskey

🔥 Under Covers by @sagechanoafterdark

🔥😈 Fringe Benefits by @biteofcherry

💗 Call Your Boyfriends by @/intrepidacious

Joaquin Torres

💗 A Shared Bond by @blackbat05

💧💗 Home is Wherever I’m With You by @tom-whore-dleston

Andy Barber

💧💗 Andy Barber + nightmare by @babyjakes

💗🔥 New Louboutins by @sstan-hoe

💗 Intertwined by @/intrepidacious

💧💗 Lack of Standing by @/brandycranby

Ari Levinson

💗 What are you gonna do about that? by @worksby-d

💧 Forced proximity meets the one that got away by @/buckets-and-trees

💧💗 Morning After by @dc418writes

💧💗 Pick You Up by @holylulusworld

Nick Fowler

💧💗 A Second Chance (series) by @sebstanwhore

Multiple Characters

🔥 His Girls [Bucky Barnes & Natasha Romanoff] by @kinanabinks

🔥 Sweating in the Sheets [Bucky Barnes & Natasha Romanoff] by @urmommies--girl

[late-to-the-party-81]

Hot Bucky Summer 2024

Works created for the Hot Bucky Summer event organinsed by @buckybarnesevents

Key: 🥰 Fluff 😭Angst 🍆Smut 🍑WLW smut 🌑Dark 🩸Violence 🌶 Suggestive

The Look 1 2 3 4 🍆🥰

Bucky Barnes x Joaquin Torres

Love, Lies & Electricity 1 2 3 4 5 😭🩸🍆🥰

Bucky Barnes x Enhanced Female Reader

Who we are 1 2 3 4 🍆🥰

Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

[buckyismybicycle]

Part 3 (FINAL) of Spoil Me, Ruin Me, Keep Me

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Joaquín Torres Rating: Explicit Tags: Age Difference, Silver Fox Bucky Barnes, Daddy Kink, Top/Dom Bucky Barnes, Pining, Pet Names, Jealousy, Requited Unrequited Love, Love Confessions, Slight Angst with a very Happy Ending, Collars, Joaquin’s Slutty Internal Thoughts, Baby Falcon is actually Baby Slut, Summary: Joaquín hates how good they look together. Next to him, she’s so small and demure, looking like someone he could and would dominate. Their kids would have the bluest fucking eyes on the planet.He flies away before he has to hear any more of it or think about any further scenarios.

This is a last instalment of this series! Thank you to everyone for their kind feedback, support and sludging in this rarepair with me 💕

>>READ ON AO3<<

For @badthingshappenbingo  I2: “Insecurity”

[sorchathered]

Hey babies!!

Let’s have a sleepover tonight!

Feel free to send me Drabble ideas, smut prompts, any questions you have about the upcoming vampire series, etc!!

Come hang out with me!

Smut prompt list

Love prompts

Random prompts

[morsmordre-writes]

no strings attached - masterlist

Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Summary: "No strings attached" was always a trap, you should have known your situation wouldn't be any different. Falling totally in love with Bucky would only end one way: tragically. So you handle it the only way your self destructive tendencies will allow.

Warning(s): adult themes 18+, reader makes dumb decisions - it's for the plot just go with it, it's going to be a bumpy ride but happy endings like always I promise

masterlist | twitter profiles

[1][2][3][4][5][6][7]

[buckysmischief]

no strings attached - 2

Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Summary: "No strings attached" was always a trap, you should have known your situation wouldn't be any different. Falling totally in love with Bucky would only end one way: tragically. So you handle it the only way your self destructive tendencies will allow.

Warnings: adult themes 18+, reader makes questionable decisions

masterlist | series masterlist

[madlittlecriminal]

Request Rules

THE TOP OF THIS POST IS A WALKING TRIGGER WARNING!

if you would like to read the positive, scroll down until it's green. this is also a rewrite of my old rules since im trying to reorganize my blog

if you go on anonymous, please put an emoji or a letter as your signature :) i don’t care if you make a bunch of requests at a time, i lowkey just wanna put a name on my anons! however, don’t abuse this power or i will have no choice but to remove it whether you make requests on anonymous or not. emojis & letters that have been used: 🦈, 🦔, 💙, 😈, 🐍, 🐉, 🌺, 🐇, 🐰, 🦜, 🌈, 🪐, 🦩, 🤖, 👻, 🦋, ⚡️, ⭐️, 🍊, 🤍, 😎, K, 🎃, H, 🦑, 🪬, 💌, 🩷, 🌸, 🃏, 🧚🏼, 🦆

I only write x reader fics.

these rules involve things i don't write for. if you have questions, feel free to ask! :)

ABORTION: the request i got that featured this topic back in 2020 will forever trigger me.

ABUSE: if it's the character inflicting pain on the reader, no. talking about it for closure or for a better understanding of the person is okay. (mental, physical or emotional)

CHEATING: character doing it to reader or reader doing it to character is a no.

CONSENSUAL NON CONSENSUAL: i know it helps people with their trauma, but it doesn't help me. im sorry

DARK FICS/YANDERE: it makes me uncomfortable

HYBRID: I don’t know, man. i just can’t do it.

INCEST: nothing against people who write it, it just makes me uncomfortable

OMEGAVERSE: i don’t understand it to write about it.

RAPE/SEXUAL ASSAULT: mentions are fine, but description? no.

SOMEONE HAVING CANCER: lost my grandmother to cancer in October 2022 and it still hurts.

WHAT I DO WRITE FOR:

now, i started with triggers first because people apparently ignored them & still requested things that were a big no, but here's what i do write!

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE (AU)/FORBIDDEN RELATIOSHIPS: soulmates, professor/student, any idea that comes to mind, send them in :)

ANY GENDER/SEXUAL ORIENTATION: feel free to send requests with readers that are not strictly female :)

BODY MARKS: stretch marks, moles, freckles, beauty marks, birthmarks!

FAKE RELATIONSHIP: im a sucker for this trope

GLASSES: i feel like there isn't enough fics for us who wear them. reader does NOT have to be a nerd. im not a nerd, but i need them.

HEADCANON: they honestly get my gears grinding for writing

READER BEING A POC: yes please! :)

IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS, FEEL FREE TO ASK! :D

[ex0rin]

On the Job Training (E) - 4.5k

Secretary Bucky/ Intern Torres

Alternate Universe - What If...?, Alternate Universe, Secretary Bucky, Intern Torres, Head of Security Rumlow, Power Imbalance, Boss/Employee Relationship, Under-Desk Blow Jobs, Monica Lewinsky mention, Blow Jobs, First Time Blow Jobs, Bucky's Broken Dick, Grinding, Over the Clothes, Coming In Pants, Torres' White Shoes

“Speaking of, you need anything else from me? You’re looking kinda…” Secretary Barnes glances up again and Joaquín can’t quite tell if he’s annoyed or amused. “Rough?” his boss suggests and Joaquín winces, pressing his top teeth down against his lower lip to bite back anything else his mouth might want to say ahead of his brain, “You’re okay Torres. You’re not wrong, I am a little rough today. Lots to do ahead of the Insight launch.” “Can I help?”

OR: Torres has been Secretary Barnes' Intern for just a handful of months now and things are… getting interesting for sure.

READ ON AO3 HERE

[rqgnarok]

catalogue - sam wilson

fandom: marvel, the falcon & the winter soldier

wc: 4,368

warnings: implied smut, mentions of injuries and scars, blood and bruises. neutral pronouns, no use of (y/n).

summary: you and sam don’t get to see each other often, but when you do, there’s a ritual you insist on going through to deal with your time apart. 

masterlist / ao3 / ko-fi

You’re a sight for Sam’s sore eyes. 

He hasn’t seen you in over six months. It’s an occupational hazard, he knows, but it’s the worst. Being the Falcon made his personal life take a step back in his list of priorities, and becoming Captain America meant setting the list on fire and declaring Sam Wilson’s downtime practically nonexistent. As far as he’s aware, Sarah and the boys are the only exceptions to the rule.

It’s not all on him. You’re an Avenger, too, even if you’re semi-retired. Semi, because the new kids still look for guidance as much as they can and you still keep a room at the Avengers compound because of it, even if scarcely decorated. 

You make your entrance by scaring the shit out of him because of course, you have to. 

“Is this what you call watching your six?”

Sam puffs out a sound between a scoff and a laugh. It’s always an interesting mix of emotions with you, Sam has never felt so safe and yet unbalanced than when he’s in your presence. It creates a sort of vacuum in his belly that has him feeling like a kid with a crush, but he’ll die before he ever admits that to anyone. Especially you.

“You know you don’t have to sneak up on me every time.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you quip, raising your brows and extending a hand that Sam takes to haul himself back on his feet. You click your tongue. “Gotta say, though, it’s a little less charming now that you’re Captain America. Where does that leave national security?”

Sam rolls his eyes so hard he’s about to give himself a headache, dusting off his ass and giving you a quick once-over, taking advantage of your sudden closeness to do so freely. “Thank Jesus the world still has you, then.”

“Only half time,” you shrug, unaware that Sam knows you’ve spent more time at the Avengers compound than your own apartment lately. If he has a few eyes that check up on you when you’re there, well. It’s only cause he worries. “You and Barnes playing in the Big Leagues leaves a lot of unfinished business for little guys like us.”

“Says the little guy who’s been to space,” Sam uses the same argument he always does when you try to downplay your importance in the job you do. It’s like a script, these meetings of yours, always under the excuse of responsibility until it’s not– until the conversation flows into what Sam has been aching for since the last time he saw you. 

You roll your eyes like he knew you would. You’ve been an Avenger since before they had the name for it, so if anyone deserves the semi-retirement, Sam concedes, it’s gotta be you. He won’t pretend it won’t be a big hit when you choose to walk away completely, though. Whether that’s to the business or Sam’s life, well. That’s another conversation.

He misses you. It’s hardly a crime. 

“And they’ve still got us doing intel like we’re rookies,” you shrug, lessening your significance anyway. As if you weren’t up there in the cosmos chasing after freaking Thanos, but Sam won’t argue with you about this. You already spend so little time together to waste it building conflicts between you.

“Please,” Sam’s a professional, so he doesn’t make a bitchface and say girl with disbelief coating his tone, but judging from the amusement that glints in your eyes, you read through the lines with ease. “Like we’d let the children anywhere near this.”

“Okay, Dad,” you snort. “How are Torres and Barnes anyway?”

“The kid and his grandpa are fine,” he goes for annoyed but his grin is boyish and unrestrained. “Jealous they weren’t authorized to drop by. This is practically a vacation, you know.”

You shake your head, but all in good fun. “If your bosses have you thinking that then you desperately need some real downtime.”

“This is as close as it gets, these days.” 

Torres had flown him all the way to Switzerland just so Sam could go and spend a few weeks in a rustic, semi-abandoned town on the outskirts of the city where an old SHIELD safehouse still stood against all odds. 

Why he had to go to the other side of the world for some intel, he asked and got no answer. Now it comes to mind how he has no idea where you– his contact– have been stationed lately nor what kind of work you’ve been pulling for whoever it is you answer to these days.

You don’t tell him about it, and he’s quit on trying to ask. Whether it’s because you don’t think he’ll approve of what you’re doing or because it’s strictly classified, Sam doesn’t know. 

“Blink twice if they’re holding you hostage,” you say in all seriousness, and he peels his eyes at you without blinking, getting close to your face. You laugh, pushing him away. “Alright, alright, I get it. You’re one with the nation. Let me show you these files and see what Mr. America makes of ‘em.”

The physical files you actually bring with you are minimal, and most of the data you’ve been ordered to skim through is kept in a USB you hand to Sam as soon as the coffee has kicked in. Neither of you are exactly sure what it is you’re looking for so you’re stuck in the studio of the tiny, look-at-me-wrong-and-I’ll-crumble safe house for over three whole days before you finally start gathering some worthy intel.

“I was told we’d known when we found it,” you shrug, not visibly bothered by the fact that you’ve most likely been sent on a wild goose chase. “Or if we didn’t. We might go back empty-handed after all.”

It’s not encouraging but it’s what you’ve got, even if Sam isn’t sure he’s able to be out of commission for that long. He’s realized people get antsy when Captain America isn’t seen somewhere in the world after a few days, but despite how hard he tries he’s not able to be in two places at once.

“Yet,” he tells you when you take a food break and you allow him to rant about these troubles. “Haven’t figured it out yet, but Steve kind of managed it after a few years, right?”

“Steve was superhuman,” you remind him helpfully behind your coffee cup. You’d found some old whiskey at the back of a cabinet and doused your drink with it, so you make a face when it goes down. 

“You don’t think I’m super?”

“I think you’re something, alright.”

“Aw. That was almost a compliment.”

“Can’t let it get to your head, hotshot. Ego’s already too big for your body.”

It’s so fucking domestic Sam feels the ache of it in his teeth. You, sitting at the table in your tiny kitchen while he sits on the counter, each drinking your coffee how you like it as the sun sets through the window above the sink. Talking for hours until you realize you’re practically sitting in the dark as the afternoon flew by while you were taken with each other’s company. 

But then you go back to looking at intel until your eyes are burning and you excuse yourself to pass out on the couch. You do it almost half an hour to the dot before Sam gives up himself, and he’s pretty sure you know enough of his tells to know when he’s getting tired and make an early escape so he doesn’t take the couch himself. 

“You take the bed,” he’d offered the first night, having a little trouble not making it sound like an order. By how you’d raised your eyebrow, he’d failed by a mile. “God knows where you’re sleeping these days. It’s the least I can do after dragging you all the way out here.”

“You’re the one who keeps saying he’s on vacation,” you take your bags from his hands and drop them unceremoniously on the coffee table, marking the living room territory as yours. “And I’m sure the US government will kill me if I bring you back with a fucked up back.”

He almost suggested you could share. You have before, both out of necessity and leisure, but Sam’s sure that topic’s on the list of Things Not To Talk To You About. It might be the first one up there, in all caps and underlined with bright red. 

Sam has both held you down to fuck your brains out and held your bleeding body in his hands, pressing against a gunshot wound to keep blood flow to a minimum. It’s a fucked up type of intimacy he doesn’t share with anyone else, but he’s still hesitant to bring it up. Somehow both events keep happening whether he intends for them or not. 

It’s like he’s waiting for the shoe to drop, and it finally does on the fifth day of your assignment. 

You ultimately get a lead from the USB. It guides you to search for a random code you insist it’s on a file you’d read through already. You make a noise of victory under your breath when you spot it across the table and when you shift to reach for it, your breath hitches.

It’s a quiet thing Sam wouldn’t be able to acknowledge if he weren’t good at his job, but he is. 

“What is it?” he asks, suddenly alert, fingers twitching with the urge to hover over you worriedly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head. Whatever shadow of hesitance had fallen over you is pulled back into place, tucked away for Sam to blissfully ignore. 

You both know that shit won’t fly, but Sam thinks it’s cute you try anyway.

He stares at you and you avoid his eye long enough, face buried in the file, to know you know he’s noticed. It’s a silent request to let it pass. 

Tough fucking luck. Sam calls your name, admonishing.

“Sam,” you say right back at him in the same tone, still not looking at him. Sam grinds his teeth in annoyance, jaw tight. 

“Are you hurt?”

You shake your head. “I’m fine. You know how it is.”

It’s not a no. 

“I do know,” Sam agrees, but his mood’s a short fuse. “Are you grounded? Is that why you’re here? Because you’re hurt?”

Fucking jackpot. You exhale through your nose and tighten your jaw at the question but refuse to answer. You’re a couple of feet apart, divided by the desk filled with files and information, but somehow this is the closest he’s felt to you since you got here. 

You’d been hiding something since the beginning; taking the couch when you could’ve been sharing the bed from the start, touching him less than usual so things wouldn’t go further, and moving around the house with rigid, calculated movements.

“Manning the desk,” he says with a little too much bite, and he can physically watch your hackles rise; the annoyance in your eyes when they finally meet his, the biting of your cheek to stop yourself from rising to his sudden passive-aggressive hostility. “Handing me files, giving me intel. You’re flying halfway across the world to keep yourself out of the field.”

“Sam,” you say through gritted teeth. 

“You’re hurt,” he replies, not a question, nodding at your torso. It’s all suddenly painstakingly clear, the past week flashing through his mind like a movie from a different point of view. “And you’re hiding it from me, for some reason.”

“Is that all, Captain?” you ask, creating distance with the use of his new title in a way he despises and you know he does. You’re good at that, finding where it hurts and pressing methodically until the skin gives. Sam’s just not used to the trick being used on him. “Or is there something else about my person that you’ve figured out and have yet to enlighten me about?”

“Let me see,” he ignores you. It's easier than trying to match your level of cruel cleverness.  He stands to cross over to your side of the desk, staring down at you expectantly with arms crossed. “Come on, show me.”

“No,” you deadpan, but the way you wrap your arms carefully around yourself shows the defensiveness underneath your nonchalance. “Sam, come on, what the hell are you doing?”

“If you’re not hurt, then show me,” he insists but doesn’t reach to touch you without your permission. It’s a line he won’t cross. 

“Is that an order, sir?” you snap.

“I’m not your superior,” he replies, even though he is, technically, but not when you’re alone. Not when you’re hurt. “I’m your friend. And right now my friend is in pain, I’d like to be able to do something about it.”

“Like what?” you ask, and it’s as exhausted as it is conflictive. Thunder rumbles outside the house and inside Sam’s chest, two storms coming in. “Huh, Sam? What are you gonna do? It’s part of the damned job. Don’t tell me you’re injury-free right now.”

Sam isn’t. Both old and newer scars put a heaviness on his body he’s not supposed to carry, but he’s not the one hiding right now. 

“I can hold you,” he offers and watches the way you look away, imagining the sting in your eyes as they glisten with sudden tears. You very visibly refuse to shed them, tightening your jaw and passing saliva like it’s gravel. “If you’d let me. Let’s not pretend we haven’t done it before.”

“It’s different now.”

“Why?” he wonders, brow furrowing. He does his best to relax his stance and reaches to touch your tight fists where they lay on your lap. With his fingertips barely there on your skin, the tension bleeds out of them like magic almost against your will. “Because I’m Captain America? Because you won’t tell me where you’re stationed half the time?”

“It’s–”

“Classified,” he finishes for you, unmoved. “But you’re still you, and I’m still me. As far as I’m aware, that doesn’t change a damned thing.”

You close your eyes like the words pain you, resolve crumbling right before Sam’s eyes. “I don’t wanna fight with you.”

“Then don’t,” from Sam’s perspective, it’s as simple as that. “Let me see. Let me be with you, please. The last week has been torture.”

You let out a breath of a laugh that’s a little too miserable. “You’re telling me,” you say, and the slope of your shoulders falls from its tense, defensive curve. Sam takes it as the green light it is.   

You stand straighter as he kneels in front of you, his hands hovering over the hem of your shirt. He looks to you for permission and you give him a tight nod, staring at the wall instead of him, gulping down your anxieties.

Sam’s breath catches when he lifts your shirt and sees your torso, skin showered in black, blue, purple, and green bruises. “Jesus.”

“It’s worse than it looks,” you say automatically. Sam can’t see how that’s true. It looks like it hurts to even breathe, it’s unbelievable how you were able to hide it from him for so long. “Nothing’s broken, I swear.”

“What the hell happened?” he asks even if he knows you can’t– or won’t– answer. You sigh, and he watches blemished skin shake with the effort it takes. 

“I’m alright,” you say instead of the answer he wants, but your voice has softened and lost all fight response. It’s the most vulnerable you’ve been with him since you arrived and it has nothing to do with showing your skin. “Hey, I’m okay. That assignment’s over for good. I’m not going back there, I promise.”

The sigh of relief Sam lets out is shaky and doesn’t relinquish all the tension he’s been carrying. The possibilities of what must’ve happened are gonna haunt him long after this mission’s over. 

“I hate it,” he says, and he knows you know what he means. Not knowing where you are, spending more than half the year apart with zero contact, this unease between you that doesn’t let you be honest. 

You say, tired. “I know. Sam–”

Sam isn’t touching you– not yet. He’s careful so there’s no skin-to-skin contact, and you look at him with guarded eyes when he lowers your shirt back into place, standing up and towering over you. 

“What?”

You breathe air out of your nose, frustrated. “You know.”

A beat. “You sure?” he says, as plainly as he can with the tension that’s grown between you pulling him forward.

“Yes.”

He hums.

“Oh. You gonna let me touch you now, then?” he asks, still under the excuse of medical purposes only. But Sam can’t help the way his voice deepens, molten like honey. His eyes trail over skin that isn’t blemished: the curve of your neck, the lines of your arms, the slope of your fingers. 

You shiver under the attention, helpless to hide such a reaction to his voice. “Mmm? Honey?”

“Fuck you,” you say automatically, already opening your legs slightly for Sam to slip in between them, reaching for your jaw. You close your eyes at the touch, sighing away whatever tension remained in you. 

You’re too fucking easy, despite the fight you insisted on going through before letting yourself be touched, and something in Sam’s belly tightens at the idea of it being just for him.

Sam’s hands remain on your jaw and throat as he tilts your head up for a kiss, slow and deep, lingering. It’s not long before you open up for him, his tongue sliding into your mouth like it was always meant to be there, coaxing a whine from you while you search for steadiness and settle your hands on his belt. Not pulling, not searching for more– not yet– but keeping him close. 

The storm comes and goes and the files in the studio remain forgotten. Sam finally gets you on the bed and, better yet, with him in it. 

He’s a little too careful, hands cupping your ribs with extreme caution after finally getting rid of your shirt for good and laying you down against the sheets. You roll your eyes fondly and grab onto his wrists to direct him where you want him. 

He doesn’t complain as he takes your directions. The man will greedily take anything you give him in calloused, expert hands as he does his best to pull sounds out of you that are music to his ears. 

After it’s over, you both lay in bed, naked and breathless. You find a new scar on him and trace the ragged line of skin gently with your fingertip, touch featherlight, almost nonexistent. It’s been over half a year since you last did this, but only a couple of months since he got himself injured and stitched up by Bucky in the Brazilian jungle. “This one’s new.”

It had been a quick job, good enough considering the circumstances, which is to say Sam now has an ugly, uneven scar a couple of inches above his hipbone that saved him from bleeding out on his partner.

The memory holds no gentleness, but your fingers do. The haze of his previous orgasm leaves Sam pliant under your touch, melted against the sheets and uncaring of your scrutiny. “Barnes?”

Sam makes an affirmative noise, a valid enough question since sometimes he’s admitted to doing patchwork on himself for the sake of the mission, uncaring of how bad it hurts as long as it’s quick and efficient.

“Did it hurt?”

“Like hell,” he admits, feeling safe enough to do so in the cocoon you’ve built for yourselves. Sam runs a hand up and down your naked back as if trying to soothe the brunt of the memory. “Did the job, though. Got us out alive.”

At that, you lean to kiss the skin, only slipping a bit of tongue into it. Sam sighs, ignoring the prick of discomfort that’s trying to crawl up his spine and leaning towards the softer, more tender sentiment that takes over him whenever you get like this. It’s not easy for him to accept such gentleness, to let himself be cared for and lay there, unable to give something back.

He will, in a minute. But he knows you like him like this, and that alone pins him down in his place to let you work. It’d be hypocritical of him, he thinks as his hips twitch with renowned interest, to not let you fret after him when his own worry is what got you here in the first place.

After you’re satisfied, you trail the path Sam’s grown accustomed to, the very same you follow every time you sleep together after a terribly long amount of time: 

The knife scar under his pec from when they were chasing after Bucky, still the Winter Solider, superficial enough not to have caused concern at the time. The mark from when he got his appendix out, thinking nothing of the stabbing aches to his belly until he was doubling over in his bed and waking up half his platoon as he retched in the bathroom.

The dot on his finger where Riley accidentally stabbed him with a pencil once, sleep deprived and with two shots of whiskey on him. The wound had healed with ease but the mark made a permanent home on his skin, barely visible unless you leaned in close enough to look for it.

The scab on his knee from falling off his bike when he was six. Sarah had screeched bloody murder until their parents came out of the house to see what all the fuss was about. The scar left behind by a bullet on his right shoulder during his second tour in Afghanistan. 

The cut on his lip he got shaving for the first time is always last on your list. Sam has long stopped calling you out on it, how convenient it was that the cataloging of his scars always ended with a thorough, slow kiss to his mouth that usually bloomed into a second round. 

He found that you got skittish when he did so, pulling back into yourself and laying tensely in bed for a couple more minutes before you started looking around for your clothes, called out.

Now Sam only cups your jaw, tugs a little so it opens your mouth and he can slip in his tongue and steal a taste of your sigh. He wants you like this for as long as possible; vulnerable, unguarded, desperate to touch him and be touched back. Safe enough to know that you never have to ask for something he wants to give you so willingly. 

You always forget. The second you meet again, you have to start the whole dance over. Fish for excuses to meet each other in the middle, hoping for new scars to lengthen your time together. 

Sam isn’t a masochist by any means, and he’s not an adrenaline junkie asshat who chases the danger just to have proof on his skin that he can take all the grievances life throws at him.

But. But–

“We’re alright,” you say against his mouth, body warm and seeking on top of his. He’s mindful of your injuries but can’t help himself, the urge to touch you overrules any other instinct he owns. It makes him weak, on the field, but happy off of it. “Aren’t we? We’re gonna be alright.”

“‘Course we are, honey,” his southern charm pops out and you’re both parts equally pleased and unamused, a funny expression on your face that has him laughing as he cups the back of your neck to bring you in for another kiss. “What? What’s with the face?”

“Nothin’, pumpkin,” you imitate his accent and Sam focuses his ministrations on your jaw and neck, trying to get you to break character. “We’re gonna be just fine, sugar plum. You’re sure lookin’ very pretty tonight, peach fuzz.”

Sam splutters out a laugh. “Peach fuzz?”

“That’s what you sound like!”

“See if I ever call you something nice ever again.”

“You can’t resist me,” you say seriously, though a smile keeps trying to break your facade. “You literally lasted five days before taking me to bed. That’s on being weak, Wilson.”

“Some might say it’s a world record for me, baby,” he says, poking at your face until you show teeth, happy and at ease in his arms. “The six months before that were a little bit of a stretch, too.”

Your mood dampens a little but Sam won’t let it, nudging his nose against yours to catch your attention again. “Hey. What did I just say? We’re gonna be alright. Five days, six months, five years, it’s nothing. They mean shit when I get to see you again.”

The mention of the Snap unguards you further. He’d been gone while you tried to keep your life together, ignoring the Sam-shaped void in your surroundings. The first time you got together after he came back had been tainted by the grief of losing three of the best people you’d ever known, and he’d done his own reconnaissance of your skin as he took in new scars, new hurts that had happened and healed while he was gone.

You smile again, but it’s softer, fonder, a tender tilt of the lips for the man you managed to find in this chaotic line of work that became your whole life.

In another five days, you’ll once more be on opposite ends of the world without any idea of when you’ll see each other again or what new marks you’ll have on your skin that describe your time apart. You haven’t even put a name to this– this relationship that both of you are still too hesitant to define as such, but that’s okay. 

It’s okay. It’s more than enough. The path of scars will be there to take when you meet again, permanent proof that you’ve survived to find the way to each other over and over and over again. The map that leads to you, every goddamn time.

___

hi!!!

hope you like this one! i’ve been putting this fic on the back burner for almost a month now, but i’m so glad to finally have finished it! i hope to put out the tommy miller sequel for dial drunk next week before school starts :)

thank you for reading, liking, reblogging, commenting, etc.!

<3