#stan-soldier

[brunchable]

𝙄 𝘿𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙇𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙖 𝘽𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙁𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙 [ 2 ]

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: Friends to Lovers. SMUT: Touch Hungry Bucky, Kiss Hungry Bucky, Bucky just not getting enough of you, fingering, cunnilingus, Oral [M&F], unprotected piv, creampie. Just PURE making love, no kinks. Summary: It's only been a few hours since you've become official and Bucky want to show you just how much you mean to him. A/N: 2 of 2. And I must say. . . JAYSUS. BON APETITIDDIES.

Part One

You were stiff. You were sore. Your arm was asleep. And you felt fucking fantastic.

Maybe in the movies people woke up entwined in each other's arms after a night of spirited lovemaking, but for you, reality was much more awkward. Your head had somehow become wedged behind Bucky’s shoulder, and both his legs were about to slide off the couch altogether. You untangled yourself as best you could, looking down at him as you moved his limbs out of the way.

Bucky was sleeping peacefully, his dark lashes lying flat against the skin beneath his eyes. They fluttered slightly as you pulled free of him, and he stirred.

"Five more minutes," he mumbled, and turned over so he was facing the back of the couch, still caught in mid-slide towards the floor.

You tried not to laugh. God, he was adorable.

You sat up, arching your back to stretch out the sore muscles. Then your breath caught. What time was it? Holy hell, I’m going to be late.

You stood up quickly, and was seized by an ache between your legs so unfamiliar that you nearly sat back down again. Holy crap. It had been way too long. You almost felt like a virgin again. You rose again shakily, noticing that your whole groin felt sore, and so did your hips—probably from throwing your legs up around his waist. God, what a wanton hussy you were, you thought happily.

You went quietly towards the bathroom, checking the clock on the stove as you walked by. It was nearly eight-thirty. Crap. You were supposed to be at work by nine, or nine-thirty at the latest. you'd  have to make the shower a quick one.

You stood under the hot water, letting it pour over your sore muscles. You washed out your hair, lathered up your body and massaged your sore hips as random images from last night invaded your thoughts. Even now you weren't entirely convinced it hadn't all been a dream. Has it really happened? The soreness was real enough. And so were the images flashing through your mind.

Bucky’s body on yours, looming over you, holding your wrists, kissing you with abandon. Taking each breast in his mouth, teasing you with his fingers. Sliding into you, tilting your back and thrusting deeper, faster, harder.

Suddenly a blurry figure appeared on the other side of the glass door. The door slid open and he stood there, looking disheveled from sleep but adorably sexy. And naked, too.

"Hi," he said, a seductive smile curving his lips. His eyes traveled down your naked body, pausing at your breasts and then sliding down to the between your legs where rivulets of water coursed and ran together.

You flushed at the frank inspection but willed yourself not to try to hide from him. You shifted your weight, jutting your hip out provocatively and smiled.

His eyes returned to yours, desire glinting in them. "May I join you?"

You pushed the door back and invited him in. Bucky stepped in and crowded you, not unpleasantly, until your back was up against the tiles. He braced his hands on the wall behind you, and let the water flow over him as he leaned down and kissed you.

You opened to him and kissed him back, winding your hands around his waist and sliding them down his ass, squeezing appreciatively. He smiled into the kiss, enjoying your wandering hands, then pushed forward so your bodies were pressed together, the water slick and warm between you.

"So," he murmured in your ear, his voice barely a whisper above the sound of the water. "So much for that idea."

"What idea was that?" you whispered back, kissing his ear.

"The idea that we could ever be just friends," he said, catching your jaw with his lips as you turned your head. He covered your neck with slow, lingering kisses, trailing his mouth down your and cupping your breast with his hand.

"Oh, I don't know, I think it's a great idea so far," you said coquettishly. "Besides," you joked. "I do this with all my male friends."

He mocked a scowl at you, and gave you  that smile that had always melted you. "Well, that's going to have to stop. You're mine now."

He kissed you slowly, his tongue tangling with yours as he teased and tasted, enjoying your mouth.

You kissed him back, licking and tasting and enjoying him until you felt rather than heard a hum of desire, of pure carnal lust, vibrating through him. He was growing hard against your belly, his cock pressing against you urgently.

He lowered his head further and took your  nipple into his mouth, licking the soft nub until it grew hard beneath his tongue. Pleasure shot through you, and he turned to lavish the same attention on your other breast. You writhed against the cold tiles at your back, arching into him and sinking your fingers into his hair to hold him to you. He smiled as you moaned with pleasure, and laughed softly when he took your nipple between his teeth and made you suck in a sharp breath.

His cock was as hard as it had been a few hours ago, and it surged in your hand as he took your breasts. You gathered some suds into your palm and grasped him again, feeling the iron-hardness of him beneath the silky skin. You began to stroke, gliding fast and smooth, and he groaned from the pleasure of it, collapsing against you and kissing you between his soft, low sounds of pleasure and need.

You kept stroking and teasing, gliding over him in a steady rhythm, and felt yourself growing warm and slick at how hard he was beneath your fingers. You loved that you were doing that to him, making him want you so much. He groaned, his breath jagged and shallow. He tried to kiss you through his mounting pleasure but he had to break off to breathe, to lose himself in the sensation.

"God, baby," he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. "So good."

You tried not to focus on him calling you baby, knowing it was only his arousal talking. You focused instead on the intense pleasure that was making him say it. You continued stroking him, changing your hand position so that you pulled up with each stroke, teasingly pulling his skin up over the head each time and sinking down to the base, pleasuring every inch of him. Your other hand cupped his balls and caressed him, gently rolling him around in your fingers as he tensed and surged and seemed to fight against you, against the unbearable pleasure you were causing him.

After a few torturous moments he stopped your hand, his breathing so fast and ragged that he could hardly speak. 

“You—don't want—this to end too soon, do you?” he warned, kissing you in between breaths. “Because, my God, you could make me come in seconds if you wanted to.”

“That might be fun,” you said, kissing the edges of his mouth, licking at his lips and his tongue when he opened his mouth to you again.

“For me, yes,” he breathed, breaking away from you. “But I'm not nearly finished with you yet.”

He slipped his hand into your hair and held your head, kissing you with such raw passion, such naked need that you felt a surge of warmth flood between your legs in spite of the cooling effects of the water. He had wrung a soul-shattering orgasm out of you just a few hours ago and yet here you were again, eager for him again. Wanton hussy indeed.

"Do you remember that night, two years ago?" he asked, his voice low and deep. "At the party, when I played that song on the guitar for you, and you asked whether it hurt my fingers to play the steel strings?"

He was watching his own fingers trail over your breasts, over your tightened nipple, down past your navel, as the water trickled over you both.

"Mmm hmmm," you murmured, your eyes closed, lost in the sensation of the water coursing down your body and his hand moving over you.

“And you touched my fingertips…”

Of course you remembered; you'd run your  fingers over the roughened pads of his fingertips, and had watched in delight as he'd twitched a little, and then trembled, just a little, at your touch. You'd kept your touch feather-light and soft, drifting over his fingertips and down his fingers a little, feeling the shiver of heightened awareness in your  own hands.

Maybe you'd been a little too suggestive, a little too lingering, whispering-touching those parts of him that were supposedly hardened against such sensations—but you'd been unable to stop yourself. His hands had been warm and strong and eminently male, and when he'd stiffened and held his breath, as if willing himself not to react to your seductive touch, you'd felt that shiver of awareness deepen into an intense desire.

Such a seemingly innocent touch, just a friend examining the time-worn calluses of a guitar player's fingertips. . .and yet in that moment, even amongst their friends, even with the music playing loud and the laughter soaring above it, you'd felt like it had been just the two of you in that room, touching each other intentionally for the very first time, your hand tentatively reaching out for his, and his reaching to meet your half way.

“You drove me wild.” he said, leaning to kiss your neck. “I got so hard, I was afraid to move. And after that, I kept thinking of all the things I wanted to do to you with these fingers.” He slipped his hand between your  legs and caressed your folds, parting them gently and sliding inside you. “Like this, for instance.”

You moaned and leaned your head against his shoulder, letting him touch you wherever he wanted. His fingers explored you, caressed you, possessed you, expertly as though they, too, knew you were his.

“I just had to touch you,” you breathed against him. “And believe me, this is what I was thinking about too.”

“You stopped me last night,” he murmured, dragging his mouth along your neck. “I wanted to feel you come for me. To finish what you started that night.”

You groaned at the sound of his voice, so low and sexual, so heated with his own desire.

“Let me feel you come for me, baby,” he whispered into your ear, licking your  earlobe. “Please.”

He gripped your hip and lifted you up against the wall slightly, positioning you so he could slide his fingers deep inside you. He held you firmly around the waist, bracing you against the wall, and thrust into you gently, with first one finger, then two, sliding deeper and deeper each time, stretching you, mimicking the size and power of his cock. His thumb played over your clit, sending shocks of pleasure through you as he pressed his forehead to yours and gazed down into your  eyes. You gasped and cried out from the overwhelming pleasure of it even as you squirmed beneath his fingers and ached for more.

He braced you against his thigh and pressed against you while his arm steadied you from behind, holding you completely in his grasp. Bucky had such a way of holding you, letting you know that you were going nowhere, making sure you had no desire to be anywhere but in his arms. You felt safe, and secure, and above all, worshiped.

Bucky bent down and kissed you, sliding his fingers into your with a wild, sensuous rhythm that matched the increasing speed of his thumb as it stroked and rubbed and swirled around your aching clit. His hand was so strong, his fingers curving inside you to caress you, to find that super-sensitive inner spot even as he plunged and drove and took. With his thumb circling your clit in a relentless rhythm and his fingers deep inside you, stretching you, claiming you, you felt completely owned by him, by the hand that possessed every inch of you.

His tongue slipped into your mouth, matching the rhythm of his fingers, swirling, tasting, mutely revealing that he had had another  fantasy, too. The thought of his mouth on you, his tongue tasting you, torturing you, swirling over your clit as you writhed beneath it made you go weak in the knees.

Bucky broke away from the kiss and began trailing kisses down your neck, your breasts, lowering himself to his knees in front of you  while bracing your hips against the tiles with his strong hands.

"Did I mention what it did to me the first time your tongue touched mine?" he whispered devilishly.

He looked up at you so intently, his beautiful blue eyes blazing as the water streamed over his shoulder and down the contours of his chest. You gazed down at him, and for the second time this morning questioned whether  all this could actually be happening. This gorgeous, virile man gripping you, kneeling before you, gazing at you like you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. It couldn't be real, could it?

Then he lowered his lips to your and you knew it was.

Sensation tore through your touch, so delicately gentle at first, and you arched against the wall with a startled cry. You reached down and gripped his shoulder, steadying yourself on one foot as he brought you to your leg up slowly, gently and eased it over his shoulder. The sight of it alone nearly made you come. He moved so languidly, so sensuously, positioning you better so he could enjoy your all the more.

He closed his mouth over your clit and kissed it luxuriously, his lips moving as though he were kissing your mouth. His tongue swirled over you in large, sensuous circles and he groaned against you, tightening his grip on your hip as you moaned against the sudden overwhelming pleasure of it. The tip of his tongue darted out to flick against your  rapidly as he looked up at you again, watching your pleasure, his eyes smiling at you as if he knew precisely how good he was making you feel. Then he fell on you again, his tongue roaming over you, tasting you, luxuriating in your folds and dipping to lap at your entrance.

“Oh my, g-god. Bucky—”

You bucked against him and cried out as his tongue slipped into your and pulsed there, gently, savouring you. Your hand sank into his wet hair and as you gripped his head, you were rewarded with a muted chuckle and a more intense forward surge of his tongue inside you. He liked the moans he wrought from you. He liked being able to make your  cry out and seize him, your head thrown back in agonizing pleasure.

And fuck did you like it, too.

"Oh God," you breathed, your heart thundering in your chest. "My God, that feels so good..."

He withdrew from your and slid his tongue up to torture your aching clit, and just when you began to miss the feel of him inside your he gently pushed his fingers into your again and began to thrust.

Pleasure soared through you and you cried out even louder, and the leg draped over his shoulder began to tremble. His tongue circled your clit again, deliciously slowly, as his fingers slid into you over and over again, a sensual, primitive rhythm that made you  want to grind your hips against the pleasure.

“I'm coming,” you whispered urgently. “You're going to make me come…”

His fingers thrust deeper and faster and he began to lick you so quickly, with such a throaty groan of pleasure that you felt your  orgasm rise, terrifyingly fast and sharp, making you cry out in increasing, panting breaths until you shattered, coming violently around his fingers and that sensuous, irresistible tongue. You shuddered with an aching cry and trembled from the spasms he sent rippling through you. Your body curled forward as you gripped him tighter, your  fingers pulling on his hair from the pressure.

He removed your leg from his shoulder gently as you continued to shudder, feeling aftershocks of pleasure shiver through you. He got to his feet and helped you stand, pressing himself against your  and nuzzling your neck.

“Holy shit,” you whispered, your voice shaking. your  whole body shaking. “That was incredible.”

“That...was just the prelude,” he whispered, kissing you. “I haven't even started pleasuring you yet.”

God, he was going to kill you. Death by orgasm, you thought happily. What a way to go.

He leaned to turn off the water, but he stilled his hand. He looked back at you with a questioning expression, and then understood. You pulled him back towards yourself and he went willingly, stepping back under the stream of water, kissing you deeply, his hands roaming greedily over your  body.

You weren't done with him. He had made you feel like a goddess, worshiped, cherished, adored.

You broke off the kiss and began trailing your  lips down his neck, his collarbone and chest, enjoying the warmth of the water trickling past your mouth. His chest muscles tensed as you kissed them, and as you moved your  lips slowly down his abdomen you felt his whole body go rigid with anticipation. You sank to your knees in the tub and brushed kisses along his navel, his hip bones, and he put his hands on your shoulders to steady himself. Water coursed over both of you, and you delighted in it, closing your eyes against the spray.

“Baby,” Bucky said softly, barely audible above the water.

You opened your eyes and looked up at him. He was about to say something but you smiled and glanced away, focusing instead on the head of his cock, hard and urgent in front of you. He was thick and beautiful, and still as hard, maybe even harder, than he had been when you'd teased him with your  hands.

“I want to taste you,” you said playfully. “All of you.”

You leaned forward and gently licked the swollen tip of his cock. He inhaled sharply, his whole body tensing, and you smiled up at him, letting him know this was for your  pleasure as much as for his. You swirl your  tongue around the head, taking it into your  mouth and suckling gently, teasing it. The skin was soft and smooth, stretched deliciously tight from the hardness of his erection.

You let your tongue play over it, dipping into the opening, making him moan. You drifted your tongue along the ridge, and down to the sensitive skin just beneath the head, licking and tasting, nipping and kissing.

You looked up at him, and his dark eyes were wild with desire. You smiled, and ran your  tongue up and down the length of him, ending at the head and flicking at it delicately, teasingly. He moaned softly, his breathing starting to grow rapid. You rose up slightly to take the whole length of him into your mouth and sucked him, long and hard.

He let out a gasp and braced himself against the wall with one hand, his other  hand gripping your  shoulder.

“Oh fuck—Baby...”

You slid your mouth over his shaft, deeper, deeper, and slid back up the length of him. Your hands came around and gripped his ass, pulling him towards you. He staggered forward slightly as you took him into your  mouth again, luxuriously taking in his entire length, sucking, licking, tasting as you went. The sensation of him in your mouth was almost as overwhelming as his first entrance into your body had been, so unfamiliar but so right at the same time.

You caressed his balls with one hand as you played your tongue over his cock. He groaned, his breathing jagged now, his cock harder than ever. His hand moved from your  shoulder to sink into your wet hair, and he gripped your head with barely restrained urgency. Gently he guided your head closer to him as you sucked. You lowered yourself onto him and slowly sucked your way back up, your mouth gripping him, your cheeks hollowing, as your tongue slid over him with each pass.

His hips began to move as he started to match your rhythm, thrusting into you, meeting your mouth. Bucky gripped your head more firmly and held your head still, driving into you gently.

You let your hand fall and you sat back on your haunches, enjoying the feeling of him sliding in and out of your mouth, controlling his own pleasure, taking what he wanted, and what you were so willing to give. Yet you could tell he was holding back, wanting to thrust harder and faster but restraining himself and settling for a smoother, slower pace.

For you. Bucky was holding back for your sake. This passionate, soulful, virile man was holding back his own pleasure because he wanted to be gentle with you.

The very thought of it excited you, and you increased your own rhythm, encouraging him, moaning with pleasure as he drove into you. You sucked harder, faster, turning your  gaze up to him with an urgent plea in your  eyes. Faster. Deeper. Now, my love.

And he understood.

Bucky groaned, and stepped forward. His hand clenched in your hair and he began to move, faster and harder, plunging deeper, holding your head as he thrust into your  mouth with urgent, rhythmic strokes. He slid in and out of your mouth as if through warm honey, and you felt and heard his pleasure mounting with every ratcheted breath and every desperate moan that escaped his lips.

His eyes watched your with rapt adoration and abject lust, and you could tell that the sight of your taking him fully into your mouth, of your sucking him with pure, greedy abandon and complete acceptance, was pushing him closer to the edge as much as the intense pleasure of your tongue on his cock was. Or more.

He tensed as his rhythm grew faster, his breathing harder, until you felt him tighten and strain so much that you felt certain he was going to spill himself into your mouth. But at the last moment he cried out and pulled back, his cock slipping out of your  mouth quickly. He stood still, breathless, his eyes closed as if willing his orgasm to retreat. Water sliced down his neck and chest, and finally he let out a slow, jagged moan of a breath and opened his eyes. He looked down at you wildly, and reached for you,helping you to your feet.

“Jesus,” he said breathlessly, staring at you as he tried to catch his breath. “I can't...I can't believe how goddamn good that felt. You brought me so close, so fast, I almost couldn't stop it.”

“Why did you?” you asked, running your  finger along his jaw. “I wanted to feel you come for me.”

He groaned against you, his hands roaming over your  body. “I told you, I'm not nearly done with you yet.”

He kissed you hungrily, his cock surging against your violently as your bodies met. you could feel him moving against you, his cock rubbing against you,and you knew how badly he wanted to be inside you again.

As badly as you wanted him inside you again.

He stepped back, his breath still ragged, and pressed his forehead to yours as he closed his eyes and tried to breathe.

“You're not done yet, huh?” you teased gently, letting your fingers sink into his wet hair as you kissed his neck.

“Not nearly.”

“But I have to go to work. Maybe if I'm lucky you'll be here when I get home?”

“I'm not going anywhere.”

He reached to turn off the water and stepped out of the shower, turning to help your step over the wall of the tub. You threw your robe on and cinched the belt as he dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist. You caught him grinning at you, and it was so clear what he was thinking that it made your  laugh.

“What?” you demanded, squeezing the excess water out of your hair with a hand towel. “What are you smiling at?”

Bucky wetted his lips with his tongue, “Fuck it. You're just going to have to be late for work. Come here…”

“Hey!” your eyes widened playfully, jumping away from him. “Are you trying to kill me? Stop!”

Bucky untied your robe and you yelped, trying to slap his hands away. He just kept advancing on you, grinning devilishly. You turned and scampered away from him with a squeal of delight.

He followed behind, still grasping for the robe. You shrieked and laughed and ran towards the bedroom, and he followed, catching up to you and pushing you onto the bed with a resounding crack of the bed frame.

You laughed as he tumbled on top of you, but he silenced you with his mouth, kissing you hungrily as he impatiently pushed your robe aside. His breath was ragged as he nudged your legs apart with his knee, his need too great for the slow, sensual lovemaking of last night. He held his cock against your entrance and smoothly thrusts into you and moaned against your mouth, and you wrapped your legs around him to draw him deeper.

He plunged into you, covering your body and your mouth with the same hungry possession. You were still so warm and wet, so exquisitely ready for him that he filled you easily, driving you relentlessly as he tasted your tongue, your lips, your neck, and groaned from the pleasure your body was giving him.

You tensed around him and he moaned breathlessly, a throaty, male sound of pure ecstasy. He pounded into you, falling into a steady rhythm born of raw, primitive need. Your body tightened around him with every thrust, and waves of pleasure rippled through you, building in intensity up to an almost unbearable pressure, a delicious heat that made you moan into his mouth as he kissed you.

He rose up, his arms braced beside you, to look down as he stroked and withdrew and breathed out his pleasure while his eyes glowed pure heat. He grabbed your rear, tilting one hip up towards him, entering you  on such an angle that a new kaleidoscope of pleasure bloomed throughout you. He gripped you possessively, driving you deeper and faster and harder. His eyes burned, glowing like obsidian, hot and wild and almost frenzied with desire.

“Baby,” he groaned, his eyes pinning you, claiming you, as though he were branding you with your heat.

You're mine...

You're mine...

Your first time together had only been hours ago, but it was as if you had been lovers for years...every fluid flexing of his hips against you hit just the right spot, every deep, powerful thrust of his cock stretched your pussy with a familiar, almost expected surge of pleasure.

“Yes—oh god yes, Bucky—fuck me,” you breathed.

Two simple words and suddenly he was on the edge...buried so deep inside you, thrusting, plunging, your breasts pressed against his chest, the pleasure roaring through his body.

Suddenly he wanted to take you, hard. He wanted to fuck you with abandon, the eyes-closed, head-back, moaning-out-loud kind of sexual abandon that he had so rarely experienced in his life, but which was crashing through his body and mind right now.

He wanted this woman...he wanted to own you, to take you, to claim your body as his....he wanted to fuck you until he'd emptied his balls into you, feeling your pussy clenching and spasming in orgasm around his cock as he came, as you came, as you came together.

He withdrew from you quickly, barely able to catch his breath, and, as if you could read his thoughts, you turned onto your stomach just as his trembling hands guided your hips over. Your hair spilled over your bare back and your ass curved out so seductively it was all he could do not to cum right there, all over your smooth skin. But his cock knew what it wanted, and he pulled you forward to slide into the heaven of your pussy, so wet and tight and swollen for him.

He cried out when he took your again, his cock parting your folds and filling you so completely. The feel of him stretching you, the crest of his head pressing against your  from this new angle...you felt a tremor of pleasure ripple through you and knew you were close, as close as he was. When he leaned over you and began to kiss your  shoulders you shuddered, and when he began to thrust you buried your face in the pillow and moaned.

Your moans of pleasure filled the room and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to last, begging his aching cock not to explode just yet. . .this pace, these quick short strokes as his hips slapped against your ass, your body moving with his every thrust. . .It was almost too much to bear. Bucky buried his faced in your sweet-smelling hair and let his cock plunge as it would, faster and faster, making him shake, making him breathless, making him feel like nothing but a desperate cock as he fucked you.

And fucked you. And fucked you, as you had begged him to...

You could only whimper now, lost to the pleasure of his man taking you like this, fucking you so wildly, almost savagely. The pleasure he was taking from your body, his moans and groans and the growls of pleasure you could feel against your back and in the warm breath at your ear. . . it was pure, primal lust.

You felt worshiped beneath him, as if every thrust of his hungry cock was a tribute to you, every growl and sharp breath an oath. He was fucking you, mindlessly, and yet every part of him was attuned to you, touching you, adoring you.

As his pace grew even faster, his thrusts shallower, you could sense he was about to come, and you felt your muscles tighten around him to heighten his pleasure and hers. His thrusts were so powerful that you felt the orgasm rising in you and you closed your eyes, lifting your head back so he could slide his hand into your hair, gently holding your neck and kissing your jaw with breathy, open-mouthed kisses.

“Oh, God Bucky...I'm coming,” you moaned. “I'm coming.”

“Yes...cum for me baby....cum on my cock.”

“Cum with me....please....I want you to cum inside me, please....please....”

And he could withstand it no more.

Pleasure detonated through him as his orgasm spasmed throughout his body, wracking him with wave after wave of euphoric release. He cried out your name as he thrust and bucked against your flesh, driving his cock deeper and deeper as he came and came and came. It felt like he would never stop cumming, and when he felt your orgasm tear through your pussy and clench his cock in waves, he thought he might black out from the sheer ecstasy of it.

You slammed back against him as the first spurts of cum began to fill you, and felt your  ravaged pussy begin to spasm again and again, milking his cock, pulling his cum deeper into you, flooding you with ripples of pleasure. You moaned and writhed, riding the crest of one orgasm only to feel a second one begin to climb and then crash over you. Breathless, almost sobbing from the pleasure, you let him hold you as he continued to pound into you, draining his balls into you at his will, lost in the utter bliss of a man taking a woman in the most primal way.

When he could bear it no longer, when his exquisitely sensitive cock throbbed within you and the pleasure bordered on pain, he stilled, finally, and shuddered. Sharp spasms of pleasure shot through him as his cock surged one last time within you, his aching balls emptying every last ounce of come. Bucky was almost lightheaded, his chest heaving, sweat glazing his skin as he withdrew his hand from your hair and ran it down the center of your back, needing to touch you, needing to feel your heated skin. You were breathless too, your back moving beneath his hand as you lay your head down and tried to catch your breath.

You felt him withdraw from you, and your  pussy rebelled, clenching to keep him there, as if pleading with him not to go. Bucky groaned softly against your ear as he pulled out and fell on the bed beside you, his arms surrounding you and pulling your back against him. You fit perfectly together, and every muscle in your body relaxed as you snuggled into him and breathed out a contented sigh. You felt his lips on the shell of your ear, kissing softly, felt his slowing breath against your skin as his soft sounds of contentment and pleasure hummed in his throat.

This is heaven, you thought. Pure heaven. your pussy twitched and tingled as you felt his warm come beginning to slip down your  inner thighs. His strong arms surrounded you, his soft lips murmured and whispered and kissed, his spent cock nestled against the curve of your ass.

“There was something I wanted to tell you, remember?” he murmurs, his words brushing warmly against your skin as he kisses a path down to your shoulder. “Last night… something I wanted to say to you. Something I wanted you to know.”

You shift slightly, turning to look at him, your heart pounding as you search his eyes, barely able to breathe. 

“Tell me,” you whisper, your voice almost a plea.

His gaze softens, an unmistakable warmth filling his expression as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek. 

“I love you.”

The words settle between you, simple but perfect, like they were always meant to be there. Your heart feels like it’s soaring, every nerve in your body alive with the thrill of it, of finally hearing what you’d been aching to hear.

You break into a smile, biting your lip, feeling giddy and light, and without a second thought, you lean forward, kissing him softly, your hand finding his as you whisper back, “I love you too.”

And as he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that feels like home, you realize that, for the first time, everything feels right.

tags: @cereal6666 @thatesqcrush @cl7ire @bighappypiels @mostlymarvelgirl

@winchestert101 @winterslove1917 @hzdhrtss @mcira @elvenrin

@xunquish-blog @meetmeattheapt

[rayofsuunshiine]

And just like that.. I’m back on my Bucky Barnes bullshit.

[5ummit]

Bucky Barnes + Motorcycles

[unearthlydust]

SEBASTIAN STAN as BUCKY BARNES Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014)

[navybrat817]

Knock You Down a Peg or Two

Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

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

Word Count: Over 1.5k

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Give me his name.”

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

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

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

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

Good. He hoped he pissed his pants.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that right, Mr. Barnes?”

“That is right, Mrs. Barnes.”

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

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

“Love you.”

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

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

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

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

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[korraofthereef]

SHUT UP.

Silence yours mouths, I don’t wanna hear another fuckin word about this.

I LOVE BUCKY’s PUDGY STOMACH.

As long as this man is healthy, eating, and prospering in today’s society, idgaf

[mysensibleheart]

sometimes a babygirl is a grumpy old man covered in bl00d

[marvelilovebucky]

Me, I am bitches

[justarandomgirly]

Omg full version!!!

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

lotus

a/n: this has been sitting half-written on my pc for i don't even know how many months (tbh at least half a year. i was living somewhere else when i started it wow). finally took a deep breath and finished it (though with an ending that kinda flies by a bit because just wanted it to get done. i was scared that the story would never see the light of day, so zooming through the ending was a better option)

summary: a nervous breath then escaped his lungs before he uttered, “you do know what kind of massage this is, right?” to which you only blinked back at him all the same, none of your shock evaporation at his words, “you know that I’m here to give you more than just a regular massage?”

warnings: massage therapist!bucky barnes x reader, smut, sex worker!bucky, bucky doesn't have the metal arm in this one, thinking that your friend just signed you up for a normal massage but then it turns out to be an erotic one, kissing, dirty talk, manhandling, fingering, toys, multiple orgasms, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, anal, double penetration

word count: 4000

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

With a hand tangled up in one of the ties of the robe you wore, you answered your front door after finally hearing the bells chime.

“Hi,” a soft smile swiftly warmed up the features of the man standing on the other side of the threshold, “are you miss Y/l/n?”

“Yeah, I am,” a tingle of nerves flickered through your body as your gaze washed over him, “you must be the masseuse.”

Why did he have to be so attractive? If it was this difficult to remember to breathe when he was standing completely out of your reach, then how were you going to survive a guy such as him touching you?

Following your gaze down to the folded-up table he carried, he nodded, “guilty,” before setting down the duffle bag he clutched in his other hand and extended it for you to grasp, “my name is Bucky.”

“Bucky,” you briefly shook it, “nice to meet you.”

“You too,” the touch faded, and he bent down to pick the supplies back up, “so, where should I set up?”

“Oh, in here, in the living room,” you gestured behind you and shifted to the side for him to enter. As he set up everything, you stayed at the perimeter and felt your heartbeat thump behind your ribcage, “is it weird that I’m a bit nervous?” you then quietly asked.

Briefly pausing his actions as he unfurled the massage table, he cast a glance your way.

“It’s not weird at all, it’s okay,” he stated in a calm tone, “but I assure you, this is a completely safe space, you’re in good hands.”

“I just–, this wasn’t exactly my idea, or even at all,” your hands fiddle further with the terrycloth tie around your waist as you began to ramble, “Nat, my friend, she told me that I needed to relax, so she booked this appointment for me as a treat. I don’t even know what it is she signed me up for, if it was just like a little five-minute long thing or what.”

“Oh no, she signed you up for the full package, 90 minutes.” 

“Really?” your eyebrows rose, “wow, that’s amazing.”

Once the table was set up and he rummaged through the bag for a towel as well as other supplies, his low timbre filled the room once more.

“So, before we start, I’d just like to ask if there’s anything off limits to you, anything you don’t like or that you’re not interested in? Or perhaps something in particular you’d like today?”

“Uh, I don’t think so,” your eyes narrowed slightly as you thought, quickly scanning through your body to get a good sense, “you can just be as rough with me as you want.”

“Alright, you like it rough, good to know,” you felt yourself suck in a silent breath at the way the phrase fell from his lips, “you ready to begin?”

“Yep,” you swallowed, hoping he didn’t notice how flustered he seemed to make you. 

He then lifted up the ivory sheets he’d sprawled out on the plush bench and held it up high, giving you a smidge of privacy as you dropped your robe to a nearby armchair, before laying down on the table and feeling the cotton drape over you. 

As you layed there on your stomach with your face comfortably nestled in the little nook, you sensed Bucky adjust the fabric, folding it down so that your entire back was exposed. 

A dull click found your ears as he pumped some oil into his palm. The very first touch conjured a brisk breath to fill your lungs as his hands slid along your spine, spreading the slickness around. 

Though when you finally managed to force yourself to relax into his touch, a soft moan slipped from your lips as his meticulous grip found a muscle particularly sore.

“Sorry,” you timidly apologized for the sound. 

But he simply zeroed in on the very spot that had made you groan and said, “don’t apologize, whatever bubbles up, please let it out.”

Your lips stayed half parted as his touch dug deeper, “it just feels really good right there...”

“Yeah, you seem to be holding a lot of tension in your back, especially right here between your shoulder blades.”

“Probably all the time on the couch,” you let out a pitiful chuckle, “I just kept on getting into uncomfortable positions and then stayed like that. Which, funnily enough, is pretty symbolic of how I ended up there in the first place, stuffing my face with Ben and Jerry’s and binging the most depressing of romcoms.”

“Bad breakup?” he guessed. 

“I don’t think you can call it a break-up if you never really were together in the first place,” you let out a sigh. Yet again had you fallen for a guy who’d turned out to be a complete and utter asshole, “men are just pigs,” you spat out, “no offence.”

“Oh, none taken,” he uttered, “you know, it’s actually very common for people to get this particular treatment after something like that.”

“Really? Your touch is on the same level as bawling your eyes out to Joni Mitchell?” you jested, “well, now I’m really happy that I let my friend talk me into this.”

Soon, when his touch had kneaded every inch of your back, it faded away and reappeared lower on your frame as you then felt him fold the sheet up to expose your legs, letting the thin fabric only drape across and cover the curve of your bottom. 

Once his touch had soothingly wandered up the length of your legs and as his broad palms dented your slightly parted thighs, you nearly didn’t notice through the trance-like state you’d drifted off to when his reach crept close enough to your core to feel the heat radiating off it. A gasp parted your lips as his fingers briefly ghosted against the very outside of your puff before retreating back down your thigh. 

“Is it alright if remove this for a bit?” he then asked as you felt his hand clutch the sliver of modesty that remained. 

“Oh, uhm,” you fought to comprehend his question through the haze you’d slipped into, both the haze of relaxation, though maybe more predominately the haze of sin, which was most likely what had swayed you to utter, “sure,” trying your best to stay calm as he removed the sheet completely. 

It became a difficult task to keep your quiet noises at bay and have them not seep through your heavy breath as he then began to massage the soft peak of your butt. 

You tried to remind yourself that it was the biggest muscle on the human body and thereby completely normal to be treated in this manner, but that truth would have been easier to swallow if it had been a less attractive specimen touching you in such a way. 

Eventually, Bucky’s lavish rubs came to spread you apart with each repetitive motion, surely granting himself a perfect view of just how mortifyingly wet you’d become. 

As he let his broad thumbs dig into your sitting points, you told yourself it was the slipperiness of the oil that caused his fingers to sweep closer to your core and not your own nectar that had leaked down towards his touch. 

It felt so good that your hips unconsciously tilted up and into his touch, as his thumbs slid close enough to caress your outer lips, nearly capturing them in a gentle pinch. 

You didn’t know how long it took, how long you essentially grinded into him as if you were in heat, but eventually, you snapped out of your fog and realized just where his fingers were. 

“U-uh… w-what are you doing?” your frame jumped slightly at the realization.

“Do you not like this?” his touch paused, though didn’t retreat. 

“Why–, uhm…” you nearly panted, “you’re just very close to somewhere else.”

And when he simply uttered, “yeah, I know,” in an almost amused and cocky tone. You swiftly propped yourself up onto your arms and glared back at him, successfully prompting him to rip his hands away.

Snatching the sheet back over your frame as you scrambled to a seat, you stared back at him in utter shock, “I’m sorry, but are you actually trying to sleep with me right now?”

His brows furrowed slightly as he blinked back at you, seemingly confused at your outburst, “I’m just doing my job.”

“I’ve had massages before, that was not–… that right there was something else. That was not you doing your job, that was your hands being persuaded by your dick.”

A nervous breath then escaped his lungs before he uttered, “you do know what kind of massage this is, right?” to which you only blinked back at him all the same, none of your shock evaporation at his words, “you know that I’m here to give you more than just a regular massage?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh boy, I’m sorry, I thought you knew…” his glance fell to the floor as he then began to enlighten, “well, the lotus wellness center, where I work, specializes in the blend of not just physical and mental health, but also sexual health and satisfaction. An erotic massage, like the one you were signed up for, is one of the many services we offer.”

Your eyes had grown as wide as saucers during his explanation, “o-oh…”

“I totally understand if you wanna stop, if you’re not interested.”

“I–…” you tried to make heads or tails of the situation you found yourself in, “so you were gonna–, what? Fuck me?”

“I was gonna try and make you feel good, help you relax and unwind. You were signed up for the aurelia treatment which would involve me using my hands to pleasure you, as well as whatever toys you might be interested in.”

“Toys?”

“Yes, I have a generous collection with me,” he briefly gestured back to the duffle bag resting on the couch. 

“Okay, uhm…” one of your palms came down to brush over your features as you fought to comprehend it all.

“Do you want me to pack up and go?” you heard him ask. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, before you even realized it was moving, you shook your head. Letting your gaze flutter back up to find his, you exhaled lowly, “fuck…”

“I can also just give you a completely traditional massage if that’s what you want.”

“…and if I wanna try the other thing?” you nearly whispered. 

“Do you?”  

“I–…” you tried to speak, though couldn’t find the words and ended up just hazily nodding back at him. 

“Alright,” he gently mirrored the nod that still faintly rocked your head, “I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, I promise. You just say the word, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathed, shivering slightly at the tingle of goosebumps that spread across your flesh. 

The way he held your gaze a moment longer before shifting it to the massage table you still sat upon made you feel as if you might melt off it entirely.

“Lay back down,” he faintly nodded to the bench. 

Your eyes stayed glued on him long after you now layed sprawled out on your back. 

Letting his touch graze the sheet you still absentmindedly clutched to your chest, he asked, “do you wanna keep this on?”

“No,” you shook your head faintly, “you can remove it.”

“Okay,” he gently peeled the fabric off of you, “just say if you get cold, alright?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, still having a hard time wrapping your head around the fantasy you found yourself in. 

He began by working at your arms, tenderly spreading some oil across them and massaging down the length of them, one at a time, till his skilful fingers descended to work at your palms. It nearly felt as if he was merely holding your hand before he tossed you into the deep end with how intimate the simple beginning sensed. 

You couldn’t command your gaze to leave his visage as you traced his every move as if he was made of stardust. 

When his warmth let go of your hand, he reached for the bottle of oil that didn’t have a pump and unscrewed the top. Your bottom lip got caught by your teeth as he then poured a bit out over your stomach, curving the s-waves of droplets all the way up and across your boobs, dripping over your pebbly nipples as they stared back at him. 

As Bucky began to rub it in, he first stared softly down at your belly before swooping up, only to skip over your tits entirely and instead yanking a disappointed whimper from your lungs as he then commenced massaging your shoulders. 

You felt a bit lightheaded as you blinked up at him, all tall and broad, looming above your head and digging his warm touch into the base of your neck. 

Though when his rough palms finally did swoop down to caress your soft peaks, he quietly checked in, “this okay?” to which you simply nodded your head, eyebrows knitting together at the intenseness of the built-up anticipation.

Your entire chest cage heaved beneath his touch as he finally massaged your boobs, even occasionally fleeting away to ghost across your nipples, only to capture them in a pinch the next moment. 

You felt as if you were floating down a calm stream, letting the river of sin take you somewhere new and wonderful. 

Eventually, his broad palms swept up and down your form, though each time his reach dared to near your core, he barely touched you at all, missing entirely the spots that throbbed for attention, which of course only caused the sensation to deepen and render you even more desperate from his teasing. 

When he then shifted to stand to the side of the patted table, his deep voice washed over you once more as his touch stayed warm against your skin.

“Everything okay so far?”

“Yeah…” you hummed as you lazily blinked up at him, and the soft smile that curved your lips caused a similar one to bloom upon his own. 

His slow stride then carried him further down till his fingers began to dent the softness of your thighs. 

After he’d made your eyes flutter at the way he worked at the muscles in your legs, focusing on one thigh at a time, slowing working his way up till his fingertips stretched to dizzily brush against your outermost petals, it was then, that his sweeps grew and blossomed till one fleeting tease to your centre morphed into more as he kept coming back, each fluttering time slowly transforming till the maddening pets had become everything you’d dreamed of.

Soft whimpers flowed out of your lungs as he gently folded each of your legs up by your sides and cracked you wide open for him.  

As he gazed down at you with such intensity you’d never experienced before, it only took one step for him to change his angle and stand tall next to your hips. 

Letting his palms run up your inner thighs, the edges of each of his broad thumbs then met and joined on either side of your pussy as he captured it in a light pinch, making you moan softly, “fuck….” as his touch rolled your clit through your glistening puff. 

You nearly didn’t catch it because of how hard your own pants were, but Bucky’s own breaths had picked up as well and with a few stray curses seeping through his teeth as he continued to pluck at the strings of your pleasure. 

But then, before you could truly lose yourself to the ecstasy you felt flicking in your periphery, his hands slipped away, a smirk fast on his lips as a whine escaped you and he returned his attention to the rest of your body. Though thankfully, his torture only carried on a short moment before he finally granted you the first of many treats.

“Oh, yeah,” you couldn’t help but moan as he rubbed your clit and carried you over the peak. 

“Right there?” he leaned down closer to you as he kept up his pace, his free hand coming to rest right beside your head as he loomed over you. 

“Yeah,” you breathlessly panted as your body trembled beneath his touch. 

“Yeah?” he huskily echoed, nearly sharing your breath as he drew out your orgasm for as long as he could, and even as your body began to squirm at the sensitivity that swiftly set in, his touch never left you, only lightened to make it bearable and tickle you back from the high. 

He studied your features fiercely as his fingers then came down to tease your entrance. 

“How about this?” your leaky hole swallowed up the two digits he swiftly filled it with, “how’s that? Is that what you want?”

“Oh fuck!” your back briefly arched and lifted you off the table, closer to him for but a moment as sloppy sounds of your want echoed at the slow rhythm he played you at. 

“Or do you need a little more maybe?” he sneaked another finger inside, “huh?” his frame then bent down till you could feel his hot breath fan across your face, “what do you want? You want something more to make you feel good right here?” his fingers slid back out of your pussy and fluttered up till they found your puffy pearl, “or here?” he briefly soared back down to plug up your cunt once more, but only offered you one messily rock before his digits slipped back out and drifted down much further than you expected, “or maybe even here?” you let out a gasp as the slick pads of his fingers glided over your little rosebud. 

“I–, I–,” you struggled to answer him, feeling so foggy that you might just fall off the table, “fuck…” 

“I have any toy you could dream of with me,” he purred as your grip found his shirt for support, “so, what do you want?”

“I want–, I want–”

“What?” he pushed as he continued to stare down into your eyes. 

And as blinked back at him, only one wish came to mind, one that you timidly whispered, “y-you…”

But as fear began to prickle at your nerves, they all dissipated as the masseuse wasn’t offended at all, your words somehow conjuring a dazzled smile to appear upon his lip before he then chuckled warmly, “roll over for me.”

You nearly gave yourself whiplash from the hast you tried to fulfil his command.         

As he soon kneeled down to be on level with where your head was now twisted and resting on its side, his hand drifted up for you to spot the dildo clutched in his grasp. 

Handing it off to your flicking fingers, his touch briefly lingered on your cheek, stroking it softly as he said, “then pretend this is me, will you? Get it nice and sloppy for me.”

When you began to plant pecks across the silicon, your eyes shadowed him as far as they could as he straightened back up and walked back far enough to disappear from your sight, only for you to know where he’d gone to once you felt his mouth begin to devour you whole. 

It became difficult to concentrate on the task he’d given you, so much so that he had to remind you each time his lavish tongue buried between your legs caused your own to forget itself. 

Arching your ass further up towards his efforts, he tilted away from your drooling cunt and instead nipped up till he lapped against your other hole. 

“Oh, that feels really good,” you moaned around the dildo as you tried to catch a glimpse of him, though only saw the edge of one of his hands and they dented your bottom. 

“Yeah?” he let a dollop of spit drop to your rosebud before he nudged the pad of a thumb against it, “you like having this little hole played with?”

“Uh-huh,” you nodded, then watched as he momentarily dipped away to snatch up a butt plug from the zipped-open treasure trove his bag was. 

Once the toy was snugly buried within your little ass, he snatched the dildo out of your mouth and a string of your drool chased the silicone as he brought it back to tap against the sloppy petals of your pussy. 

It didn’t take very long after he’d begun to fuck you with the toy that you tumbled over the edge once more, making you that much more malleable when he yanked at your legs and manhandled you down to the bottom of the bench till your unsteady feet were once again on the floor and he had you bent over the table like a needy whore. 

That was also when your weak pleas began to bubble out, begging for him to fill you up with something other than a toy. 

Even though you couldn’t see his face, you swore you heard a tinge of astonishment in his tone when he asked you to clarify, making sure it really was him that had you begging and not just the way he made you feel. 

Though once you finally managed to convey the sincerity of your words and convince him of the way he and not just the acts he was performing, drove you wild, it was in the middle of chasing your next high that he broke his pattern and traded out the dildo with his own hard cock. 

A low moan seeped across your spine as he buried his length completely and let himself melt down against your back. Letting himself savour the sweetness of your warmth clenching around his fat girth, it took him a while before he finally began to move and soon found a steady pace that had your toes curling against the floorboards. 

His fingers gently dug into the soreness still remaining all down your back as his hips repeatedly collided with the plush of your ass in desperate thrusts. Though as his digits worked their way down the length of your spine, they eventually found the little plug that still remained in your ass. 

Teasingly twisting the toy, you thought that was everything he had planned, though all of those fantasies fluttered away when he suddenly yanked the small plug out and switched it with the bigger toy still firm in his grasp, your little hole only managing to wink up at him before he stuffed it full once more. 

You lost track of the amount of times he made you cum as the remainder of the intense dance became a bit of a blur. At one point he had you flipped around and lying on your back, gasping up at him as he folded you in half and nearly broke the massage table beneath you from how hard his deep strokes were. At the next, the dildo he drove you mad with was traded out with his own fat cock and he conjured a vibrating wand to hold against your puffy clit as he watched your pussy leak from the bliss. But at the end, once you were nothing more than a puddle on the table, his load painted against your tits as he let his frame drape down atop of yours, a hazy question left your lips.

“Is that usually how that goes?” you asked as you both panted, plastered against one another. 

Raising himself up only enough for his eye to catch your own, he uttered sincerely, “no…” and his gaze flickered down towards your lips, “no, it is not…” before he let himself give you the thing you hadn’t dared to request. The kiss was so sweet it nearly caused you to forget the sinful acts you’d just wrapped up.

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[brunchable]

𝙄 𝘿𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙇𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙖 𝘽𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙁𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙

Part Two Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: Heavy Mutual Pinining, Heavy Sexual Tension, Longing, Yearning, Right Person-Wrong Time. Friends to Lovers, a bit Angsty but Happy Ending. SMUT: Touch Hungry Bucky, Kiss Hungry Bucky, Bucky being obsessed with tiddies, unprotected piv, creampie. Summary: Bucky can't decide if the universe loves him or hates him. Maybe it loves to hate him. Maybe it's mischievous. Because he’s in love. He’s madly, deeply, painfully in love with a girl that he knows he’ll never have. Because the heavens created arguably the most perfect creature in their repertoire, dangled you in front of him for his entire life, and chose to rip you away before he had the chance to tell you how he felt. A/N: This is a Two Shot, so another one will be coming soon.

tags: @hzdhrtss @winterslove1917 @classicrebound

The first time it really hits is when you see him with her.

It’s a crowded room, warm bodies pressed close together, the low hum of music barely louder than the thudding in your chest as you watch Bucky Barnes wrap his arm around the waist of a woman you don’t know. 

She’s beautiful, of course—someone you'd expect to be by his side. Her laugh is soft, melting into his as he leans in close, whispering something that lights her face up, his lips brushing her ear like he can’t help himself.

You glance down at your drink, the sudden bitterness pooling in your throat harder to swallow than the wine. You tell yourself to look away, that it’s none of your business who he holds, but you can’t. Every time you look up, he’s there, still wrapped around her, laughing at something she’s said, his hand resting on her back in a way that feels too familiar, too tender. You know that look—the way his fingers splay protectively, pulling her close like she belongs to him. Like he’s finally let someone in.

It’s torture, standing there with a smile plastered on your face, pretending not to notice. Pretending that it doesn’t crush you.

Because when you’re alone—when you’re single—he’s taken. And when he’s got nobody, you do. Every single time. You’ve gotten used to seeing him across rooms, with someone else in his arms, with that look in his eyes that you wish, desperately, could be meant for you.

And he’s always looking at you that same way, that glance just a second too long, that warmth held back by a fragile thread of restraint. Just enough to keep the lines from blurring.

Tonight, he finally looks away.

When he glances up, catches sight of you, his smile falters. For a moment, it’s just the two of you, and something soft flickers in his eyes—something like regret, the same regret you carry. But her hand tightens on his arm, and he turns back to her, his smile returning, wider than before. You hate how easily he can pull away from you, how quickly he can make you feel invisible.

“Hey, Bucky,” you manage, your voice steady though it feels like your chest is caving in.

He looks at you, an unreadable expression on his face. 

“Hey.” His gaze drops, and for a second, you think he might actually say something, that he might admit that this hurts him too. But then she shifts closer, and he wraps his arm around her more firmly, giving you a look that’s both a dare and a dismissal.

“This is Emily,” he says, and she gives you a polite, too-sweet smile.

“Oh.” You swallow, forcing yourself to meet her gaze. “I didn’t know… I hadn’t realized you were…” You can’t finish, the words catching in your throat.

“Yeah.” Bucky’s tone is almost too casual, too final. “We’re together.”

The finality of it slices through you, sharp and clean. You nod, trying to hold onto whatever scraps of dignity you have left, but all you can manage is, “Well… congratulations. I’m… I’m glad you’re happy.”

There’s a flicker of something behind his eyes—anger? Hurt? But his jaw tightens, and he nods, looking away as if to spare you. 

“Thanks. I appreciate it,” he says, his voice steady, controlled.

Emily pulls him closer, a satisfied smile curving her lips as she glances at you. 

“He’s incredible, isn’t he?” she says, and there’s a challenge in her tone, a silent declaration that she’s won, that whatever you think you had with him is nothing compared to this. She presses a kiss to his cheek, her fingers curling possessively around his shoulder as she tilts her head, catching his gaze.

“Yeah,” you murmur, your voice hollow. “Yeah, he is.”

And for a brief, desperate second, you think he might look at you—really look at you, see how much this is tearing you apart. But he doesn’t. His gaze is on her, soft and full of warmth, a look he’s given you a thousand times. And it feels like he’s choosing her, like he’s making the decision to let go of whatever fragile orbit kept you two circling each other all this time.

You turn away, trying to hold yourself together, but the ache in your chest is all-consuming, a raw, relentless reminder that he’s moved on. That he’s chosen her.

And as you walk away, you can still hear their laughter, the sound twisting like a knife in your chest, leaving you wondering if he was ever yours to lose.

And then one night, fate flips, and you’re the one with someone new by your side.

It’s been months since you last saw Bucky. You assumed he was out of your life for good, until tonight, when you walk into the cozy warmth of a private dining room in a restaurant, your hand firmly held by your boyfriend Andrew. It’s Steve’s dinner party, a small gathering of friends, and the lighthearted chatter fills the air, mixing with the warm glow from the dimmed overhead lights.

You’re laughing at something your boyfriend said as you step into the room, but your laughter dies in your throat when you see him.

Bucky is seated across the table, leaning back casually in his chair, but the moment his eyes meet yours, a spark flickers there—surprise, mingled with something darker, something that quickens your pulse. You hadn’t expected him to be here tonight, and judging by the way his gaze lingers, he hadn’t expected you either.

Steve stands, grinning as he greets you and Andrew, and you introduce him to everyone. You smile, trying to seem natural as you move around the table, your hand still resting in your boyfriend’s. But it feels wrong, the warmth of your boyfriend’s fingers against yours suddenly strange, like it doesn’t quite belong.

When you reach Bucky, he stands, his jaw tense, his eyes unwavering as he offers a hand to shake. You almost expect him to make some dry remark, to cover up whatever unspoken tension lies between you. But he’s silent as he grips Andrew’s hand firmly, while looking at you. His fingers are steady, a touch too tight, like he’s barely holding something back.

“So, you’re the boyfriend,” Bucky says, his voice calm but laced with something you can’t quite place.

Your boyfriend laughs, unaware of the tension. “Yeah, I am. And you’re the famous Bucky I keep hearing about.”

Bucky’s lips twitch into a half-smile, but his eyes remain cold. 

“I’m sure you have.” He releases your boyfriend’s hand, his gaze shifting back to you, lingering a second too long before he forces himself to look away.

It should feel like a victory—that, for once, you’re the one who’s found happiness while he’s left to watch. But the second you meet his eyes, the air shifts. You feel the weight of everything unspoken, of the years that have passed with both of you just out of reach, orbiting each other but never colliding.

You take your seat next to your boyfriend, aware of every brush of his arm against yours, every gentle squeeze of his hand on your knee under the table. He leans close, murmuring something soft and sweet, and you offer a small smile, but your focus is entirely on Bucky, sitting across the table, his gaze flickering between you and Andrew, his jaw set with that same restrained tension.

As the night wears on, Bucky remains quiet, only contributing here and there to the conversation, but each time he speaks, his words feel weighted, almost directed at you.

“So,” he says, finally breaking the silence, his voice cutting through the chatter, “I’m guessing you’re happy?”

The question is simple enough, but there’s a challenge hidden beneath it, a question he doesn’t ask outright.

“Yes, I am,” you say, your voice firmer than you feel, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “Happier than I’ve been in a long time.”

Your boyfriend glances over, squeezing your hand, unaware of the undercurrents in the room. 

“She’s stuck with me now,” he jokes, nudging you. “No escape.”

You laugh softly, but the sound feels hollow, especially when you catch Bucky’s expression—something dark and raw flashing in his eyes before he schools his features again.

“Good for you both,” Bucky replies, the smile on his face not quite reaching his eyes. “It’s about time.”

There’s a pause, the kind that seems to echo louder than any conversation, and you can feel Bucky’s gaze burning into you, filled with a thousand things he can’t say. Your chest tightens as the weight of everything unsaid settles heavily between you, filling the air with a tension you’re certain everyone can feel.

As people start to leave, you find yourself alone with Bucky by the door. Your boyfriend is across the room, saying goodbyes, and it’s just you and Bucky in the dimly lit entryway, a fragile bubble of space and time.

“So…” His voice is low, almost too soft, his eyes searching yours. “This is it, then?”

There’s a vulnerability in his words that pierces through you, a rawness you’ve never heard before. It’s as if he’s waiting for you to deny it.

You glance away, your voice barely a whisper. “Yep. This is it.”

A shadow crosses his face, and he just stands there, watching you, his gaze heavy. He doesn’t say anything for awhile, his hand lingering just inches from yours, as though he’s contemplating reaching out, breaking whatever boundary lies between you. The air feels thick, and you wonder if he can hear the frantic beat of your heart.

But he lets his hand fall back to his side. 

“Guess there’s nothing left to say,” he murmurs, a bitter edge coloring his voice. His eyes linger on you, as if he’s memorizing every detail, every second of this final, silent goodbye.

You open your mouth, but the words die on your lips, caught between everything you want to say and everything you can’t. You reach out, almost instinctively, but Andrew calls your name from across the room, his voice shattering the fragile stillness.

Bucky’s gaze flickers, and he takes a step back, his expression falling into something guarded. 

“Take care, doll,” he says softly, the words laced with both a goodbye and a promise. His eyes linger on you one last time, and then he’s gone, slipping out into the night.

He’d spent years replacing your lips with so many others, all in an attempt to forget the mark you left on him.

Bucky can't decide if the universe loves him or hates him. Maybe it loves to hate him. Maybe it's mischievous. Because he’s in love. He’s madly, deeply, painfully in love with a girl that he knows he’ll never have. Because the heavens created arguably the most perfect creature in their repertoire, dangled her in front of him for his entire life, and chose to rip you away before he had the chance to tell you how he felt.

× × × × 

Present

It’s one of those nights, another dinner gathering among friends, the kind that’s almost become routine. You’re already seated in the cozy living room, surrounded by the familiar warmth of Steve’s place. The soft glow of lamps and low bable of conversation wrap around you like a comfortable blanket, and for the first time in a long time, you’re truly at ease.

Beside you, Sam nudges your shoulder. 

“Hey Boo,” he says, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips, “remember when you and Bucky were practically attached at the hip? What happened there?”

The question catches you off guard, and you feel warmth creeping up your neck as a few heads turn, curious eyes glancing your way. You roll your eyes, nudging him back. 

“Leave it to you to bring that up, Sam.”

He chuckles, unrelenting. “C’mon, just saying. You two were tight. I mean, tight.”

You let out a small, nervous laugh, feeling the weight of a few more gazes on you, even if they aren’t pushing the question. 

“It’s… complicated,” you finally say, giving him a look that tells him to drop it. But Sam just chuckles, clearly amused, like he knows something no one else does.

“Complicated.” He echoes with a slow nod, a knowing grin spreading. “Right. Complicated.”

“You’re so annoying,” you mutter, barely suppressing a smile, but you can’t deny the fondness in your tone. Sam just winks, nudging you again, and the others quickly move on, the brief moment of attention fading as conversation flows around you.

And that’s when the front door opens, and you hear his voice.

“Sorry I’m late,” Bucky calls out, his deep voice filling the space effortlessly as he steps in, slightly flushed from the cold outside. His eyes scan the room, and the moment they land on you, you swear the air shifts, that it crackles with something electric, something only the two of you seem to feel.

Your heart stumbles over itself as he walks further into the room, tugging off his jacket and offering smiles and nods to everyone. But it’s like a magnetic pull—his eyes keep flickering back to you, and each time it does, your stomach does a nervous, excited flip.

He looks good. Better than good, really. There’s a slight scruff along his jaw, and his hair falls just so, framing his face in a way that makes you want to reach out and touch it. When he finally reaches the empty chair directly across from you, he stops, fingers lingering on the back of it.

“Mind if I sit here?” he asks, his voice low, and there’s something almost hesitant in his eyes, like he’s waiting for permission to be close to you.

You shake your head, trying to keep your cool, even though every part of you is screaming, yes, sit, sit right here and don’t you dare move.

“No, go ahead,” you reply, hoping your voice sounds steady.

He sits, close enough that you could reach out and touch him if you wanted, and the faint scent of his cologne drifts over, warm and familiar, making your head spin.

As he settles in, he leans slightly closer, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Long time no see.”

“Feels that way, doesn’t it?” you murmur, feeling your cheeks warm under his gaze. Every subtle movement, every small smile he throws your way feels like it’s weaving a thread around you both, pulling you in.

The conversation around you resumes, but it’s like you’re in a bubble, the two of you orbiting each other again. Every so often, his knee brushes yours under the table, just enough to send a shiver up your spine, to make you bite back a smile. His hand rests on the table between you, his fingers drumming absently, and you find yourself staring at them, remembering every time those hands had nearly, almost touched yours.

After a lull in conversation, he clears his throat, glancing at you sideways. 

“So… where’s the boyfriend?” he asks, almost casually, but you catch the underlying question. His tone is light, but his eyes are cautious, searching yours, looking for an answer he can’t ask outright.

You raise a brow, unable to hide the grin pulling at your lips. 

“Well,” you say, tilting your head slightly as you meet his gaze, “the lack of presence should answer your question.”

For a second, Bucky just stares, and then a slow, dawning smile spreads across his face, his whole expression softening, the guardedness falling away. He looks like he’s holding back from saying something, his fingers tapping out a rhythm on the table, his knee pressing just a little more against yours as he leans in.

And before you can think twice, you match his question with your own, barely above a whisper. “And where’s your girlfriend, Bucky?”

“Nonexistent.” he said almost instantly.

His eyes hold yours, and something subtle shifts in them—a hint of a smile playing at his lips, but he doesn’t look away though he plays it off with a small, casual shrug. “Guess I’ve been waiting for the right person.”

You nod, feeling the smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. 

“Nice,” you say, trying to keep it casual, though your heart’s picking up a pace of its own.

“Yeah… nice.” He lets out a quiet chuckle, raising an eyebrow as if he’s catching onto your attempt at nonchalance. 

Deafening silence settles between you, but it’s charged, a silent exchange that makes you feel more breathless than words ever could. Neither of you seems to move, his knee still brushing yours under the table, and it feels like he’s lingering in your space, right on that line between friend and something more. 

You glance around, feeling the tension rise, and blow your bangs out of your eyes, hoping it might ease the knot in your stomach. But when you sneak a look at him, he’s still staring, his gaze solid, unblinking, and suddenly you’re hyper aware of every tiny shift in the air between you. Your cheeks warm, and you look away quickly, pressing your lips together, but it only makes your heart pound harder.

Your cheeks warm instantly, and you quickly look away, focusing hard on the table.

A small smile tugs at his lips, his voice soft. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

Your pulse quickens, and you swallow, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. 

“Maybe a little,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper.

A spark lights in his eyes, and his smile widens, soft but undeniably mischievous. 

“Good,” he murmurs, his knee pressing just a fraction closer to yours, enough to send a thrill up your spine. “Because, for the record… you make me a little nervous too.”

Your heart does a flip, and you feel a grin tug at your lips despite yourself. 

“I make you nervous?” You try to keep the surprise out of your voice, but he just nods, his gaze intense, that teasing warmth settling over his expression.

“Yeah, you do,” he says, his tone light but honest, like he’s been waiting to say it. “Especially when you look at me like that.”

“Like what?” you ask, barely breathing.

“Like you’re about to bolt… but part of you doesn’t want to.” His voice is low, and his eyes search yours, as if he’s daring you to deny it.

You feel the smile you’ve been holding back break through, your heart racing as the last of the distance between you seems to dissolve. Just as you’re about to respond, a voice calls from the dining room, breaking the tension as everyone calls you both to join.

“Guess we should go, huh?” Bucky lets out a soft chuckle, pulling back just slightly, though his gaze lingers on yours for a heartbeat longer. 

“Yeah,” you manage, feeling a little breathless.

But as you both stand and head to the dining room, his hand brushes yours, just enough for his pinky to link with yours for a brief, secret moment. The warmth of that tiny touch lingers, and you can’t help but feel like something just shifted between you, something new and thrilling, waiting just under the surface.

× × × ×

As you both step into the dining room, Sam raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “There they are,” he teases, his voice just loud enough to draw everyone’s attention. “We were wondering what’s taking so long.”

Heat creeps up your cheeks, and you catch Bucky’s gaze, a subtle, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. You feel your pulse quicken, but you don’t say anything, slipping into the room to find only two empty seats—right beside each other.

Bucky gestures to the chair beside him, waiting until you sit before settling in next to you. He settles in beside you, his broad shoulders and steady presence enveloping the space, making you feel smaller.

Conversations swirl around the table, but you’re painfully aware of every tiny shift Bucky makes. The subtle brush of his arm against yours, the steady warmth radiating from his shoulder—it all has your heart racing. His hand rests on the table beside yours, fingers drumming lightly, and your pulse hammers as his knee presses just slightly against yours under the table, a connection so subtle yet electric that it makes your skin tingle.

Then he adjusts his position, angling himself more toward the group—and you. The small movement brings him even closer, and you’re immediately enveloped in his scent, something warm and cedar-like, filling the air around you until it feels almost overwhelming, in the best possible way. You take a slow breath, fighting the urge to close the distance even more, feeling trapped between wanting to be near him and feeling breathless because of it.

As Bucky joins the conversation, you find yourself watching him, captivated by the way he leans in, his voice low and steady, his easy confidence only pulling you in deeper. His lips curve as he speaks, and you can’t help but linger on every detail, the way his eyes light up, the rough timbre of his laugh, every tiny thing about him that’s impossibly distracting.

And then, in the middle of a sentence, his eyes flick back to you, catching you looking. You quickly look away, feeling your cheeks burn as you fixate on your plate, hoping he didn’t notice the way you’d been studying him.

But out of the corner of your eye, you catch the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. His pinky grazes yours again, a gentle, teasing touch, sending a thrill up your spine as he continues his conversation, his presence unmistakable and impossible to ignore.

You try to focus on anything else, but his gaze keeps finding you, even when you’re not looking. And with every shared glance, every quiet brush of his fingers, the air grows thicker, charged with something unspoken, as if each tiny touch is daring you to lean in, to close that final distance.

You’re doing everything you can to keep your composure, to focus on the laughter and stories being shared. But Bucky’s presence beside you is inescapable, it’s a thrill that’s leaving you silent, lost in your own thoughts as the night goes on.

Sam’s voice suddenly cuts through, pulling you back to reality. 

“Hey,” he says, smirking as he leans back in his chair, his gaze playful but sharp. “You’re unusually quiet tonight. What’s going on with you?”

Feeling everyone’s eyes on you, you force a small laugh, trying to brush off the tension simmering under your skin. 

“Just… food coma, I guess,” you say, waving a hand and attempting a casual smile. 

Sam raises an eyebrow, clearly amused.

“Food coma? Really?” He drags out the words, as if he’s not buying it for a second, and you can see the teasing glint in his eyes. “Pasta’s got you this speechless?”

Beside you, Bucky’s lips twitch, and you can feel his gaze, that familiar, subtle amusement making it impossible not to blush. You risk a quick glance at him, only to find him looking back with that same knowing smirk, like he can see right through every excuse.

“Maybe she’s just tired of all your talking, Sam,” Bucky says smoothly, draping his arm over the back of your chair as he speaks. The movement is so casual, so effortless, that it almost seems like an afterthought. But the warmth of his arm behind you, his fingers just brushing the curve of your shoulder, makes your heart race in ways you can’t ignore. His tone stays casual, but there’s a hint of laughter in his eyes as he looks at Sam, his thumb grazing your shoulder in a subtle, grounding touch.

Sam raises his hands in mock surrender, grinning. “Alright, alright. Just thought I’d check,” he says, throwing a playful wink in your direction.

You feel yourself sink back just slightly, leaning into the warmth of his arm, and it’s impossible to ignore the way his fingers stay near your shoulder, steady and unassuming but unmistakably there. The conversations resume around you, but the space between you and Bucky feels even smaller, the quiet thrill of his touch pulling you in.

He leans in slightly, his voice dropping so only you can hear. 

“That food coma excuse was almost convincing,” he murmurs, his eyes glinting with playful challenge as he watches your reaction.

× × × ×

As the night winds down, people start to gather their things, saying their goodbyes. You slip on your coat, waiting for Sam to finish up his goodbyes, but he suddenly turns to Steve with a grin.

“Hey, Rogers,” Sam says, clapping Steve on the shoulder. “How about we hit that bar down the street? Just a quick nightcap.”

You raise an eyebrow, deadpanning as you fold your arms. “Seriously, Sam?”

He flashes you an unapologetic grin, shrugging. “What? You’re always saying you’re an independent woman. I figured a little alone time wouldn’t hurt.”

“Unbelievable.” You shake your head, muttering, “You’re an asshole.”

Sam just laughs, looking over his shoulder. 

“Hey, maybe Bucky can give you a lift. It’ll be like old times.” He gives you a wink, completely ignoring the way your cheeks warm.

You glance at Bucky, trying to keep your expression neutral. “It’s fine, really,” you say quickly. “I’ll just grab an Uber.”

“Suit yourself,” Sam says, grabbing his jacket and heading out with Steve. “But you know Bucky’s free.” He gives you one last smirk before slipping out the door, leaving you standing there with Bucky, who’s leaning casually against the wall, one eyebrow raised in amusement.

“Need a ride?” he asks, his voice warm, that familiar glint in his eyes that makes your stomach flutter.

You open your mouth to decline, still feeling a bit of resistance. “It’s fine. Really. I’ll just grab an Uber.”

Bucky chuckles softly, tilting his head toward the door. “I’ll drop you off. It’s fine.”

You hold his gaze for a few seconds, trying to gauge his sincerity, but there’s that familiar steadiness in his eyes, a quiet patience that leaves you with no real reason to argue. Finally, you sigh, giving in with a reluctant nod.

The car ride starts in silence, the engine’s low hum filling the tense quiet between you, only occasionally interrupted by the soft rattle of snowflakes pelting against the windows as the blizzard starts to gather strength. 

You shift in your seat, fidgeting, your hands smoothing over your coat, your fingers picking at invisible lint. Nothing feels comfortable. Every second, your eyes flick to the window, tracing the passing streetlights, trying to focus on anything but him.

But you can feel him there. The warmth of him beside you, the steady, calm presence that somehow has you on edge, unable to breathe fully. His familiar scent fills the car—a mix of cedar and something undeniably him—sharp and soothing all at once, making the small space feel even smaller.

You cross your arms, uncross them, uncross your legs, then cross them again, pressing your back firmly into the seat as if that might stop the quick, relentless beat of your heart. But each turn he makes, each slight shift of his shoulders, sends a fresh rush of awareness through you, and your mind is racing, trying to keep pace with the pulsing tension that seems to settle between you like a third presence.

Finally, desperate for a distraction, you reach over and flip on the radio, hoping for anything to ease the silence. But the first song is almost too on the nose, the lyrics hitting like they were made for this moment:

"All of this silence and patience, pining and anticipation, my hands are shaking from holding back from you…”

A breath catches in your throat, and before the verse can continue, you reach over and quickly press the button again, changing the station, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

The next station crackles to life, and it’s somehow worse.

“Cause when I got somebody, you don’t and when you got somebody, I don’t. I wish that the time would line up so we could just give in…”

Your pulse races, and you switch stations again, more urgently this time, and the next song fills the car with a familiar pop beat.

“You ain’t my boyfriend and I ain’t your girlfriend. But you don’t want me to see nobody else and I don’t want you to see nobody…”

You press the power button, cutting off the music entirely, and the silence that follows feels heavier than before. Your fingers tighten around the edge of your coat, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him glancing your way, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

Bucky clears his throat, his voice a low murmur. “Trouble finding a station?”

You manage a quick, nervous laugh, eyes fixed on the road ahead. 

“Yeah… something like that.”

He just nods, his gaze returning to the road, but you catch the lingering smile in his expression, like he’s perfectly aware of the tension simmering between you, the unspoken things filling the silence.

And as the quiet stretches, you can hear his breathing, steady and unhurried, and it only makes you more aware of your own. You try to breathe normally, in and out, but each breath feels too loud, too obvious, like you’re trying and failing to hide something you both already know.

× × × × 

Bucky pulls up in your driveway, and for a moment, the relief you thought you’d feel at reaching home is overshadowed by something else—something closer to disappointment. The quiet tension that’s been hanging between you feels almost unfinished, and you find yourself wishing the ride could somehow stretch on just a little longer.

He leaves the engine idling, the faint rumble filling the silence as you both sit there, neither moving to get out. After a few seconds, you clear your throat, glancing over at him with a small, reluctant smile.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say, voice softer than you intended.

Bucky nods, returning your smile, but you can see a similar reluctance flicker across his face as he glances toward the house. 

“Anytime,” he murmurs.

Your eyes drift to the porch, and you remember the old habit the two of you shared, back when he’d drop by after a night out with everyone—those late nights with coffee and the dessert your mom always made, the one he loved and never turned down.

The memory brings a small smile to your lips, and before you can second-guess yourself, you look back at him. 

“Actually… my mom made her chocolate tart. The one you like. If you’re up for coffee and dessert, that is,” you say, feeling a twinge of nerves despite the casual invitation.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly caught off guard, but you catch the hint of warmth in his eyes. 

“Chocolate tart, huh?” he echoes, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know I can’t say no to that.”

You shrug, playing it off, but your heart races as you nod toward the door. 

“Figured it’d be a shame to let it go to waste. Besides,” you add, trying to keep your tone light, “it’s been a while since we did coffee and dessert.”

Bucky’s smile widens, and he cuts the engine, pocketing his keys before glancing at you with that familiar spark in his eyes. 

“Guess it’s tradition,” he says, opening his door. “Wouldn’t want to break it.”

You step out, leading him up the walkway, and as you unlock the door, the feeling of anticipation settles back over you, even stronger now. It’s like the tension from the car ride has followed you inside. 

As you head into the kitchen, Bucky follows, his gaze drifting over the familiar space. He takes in the room, noticing what’s changed and what’s stayed the same. The same cozy lamp in the corner, casting a warm glow over the soft cushions on the couch, the same framed photos on the wall—but a few new things catch his attention.

A navy-blue jacket, draped over the armchair, too large to be yours. A set of keys on the counter with a small metal keychain that he doesn’t recognize. And a book on the coffee table, a spy thriller with a bookmark halfway through. He frowns slightly, his mind racing as he takes in these small, unfamiliar details, each one lighting a spark of jealousy that flares bright, unbidden.

He hadn’t asked about Andrew—hadn’t wanted to. But now, surrounded by small traces of him, the thought of someone else being part of this space, of sharing moments with you that once might have been his, digs into him with an unexpected force. The sight of it sparks something sharp and unbidden within him, jealousy flaring up like a match struck in the dark. He swallows, trying to ignore it, trying to remind himself that he has no right to feel this way, but the thought of Andrew’s things still lingering here sends his mind racing.

In the kitchen, you’re busy slicing the chocolate tart, setting two plates with practiced ease as you fill the silence with the familiar rhythm of preparing coffee. But every now and then, you feel his gaze on you, heavy and searching, like he’s taking in every detail of the room and of you.

Bucky clears his throat softly, his voice low as he leans against the doorway, watching you pour the coffee. “Things… feel different here,” he says, trying to keep his tone casual, but there’s a roughness in his voice that betrays him.

Your eyes follow his gaze to the jacket, and a flicker of understanding crosses your face. You give a small, almost sheepish laugh. 

“Oh, that. He left it here ages ago. I keep meaning to get rid of it, but it’s… just kind of stayed.” You shrug, looking away as if embarrassed by the attachment. “Guess I’m just lazy.”

He nods, the answer somehow not as satisfying as he’d hoped. His gaze shifts back to the room, trying to reconcile this familiar space with the small hints of someone else. 

“Ah,” he says, his tone lighter. “I get it. Hard to let go of things sometimes.”

You nod, a knowing look in your eyes, as if you both understand the layers beneath his words. You hand him his plate, the rich scent of chocolate and coffee filling the room as he takes it, his fingers brushing yours for a brief, lingering moment.

Settling down at the table, he watches you from across the coffee cup, the quiet tension between you only growing thicker. And as he takes a bite of the chocolate tart, the flavors familiar and nostalgic, he can’t help but feel like he’s grasping at something he’s been missing for too long.

You try to focus on your coffee, but Bucky’s gaze is unwavering, fixed solely on you. He takes another slow bite of the chocolate tart, and the way his eyes soften, paired with the slight curve of his lips. It’s like he’s seeing something he missed, something he can’t look away from.

After a beat, you feel the heat rising in your cheeks, unable to take it anymore. 

“What?” you murmur, trying to keep your voice steady, but your heart’s racing too fast.

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. He just holds your gaze, eyes dark, thoughtful, and a little teasing, as if he’s enjoying watching you squirm. 

“Just… wondering why it took so long to get back here— it feels good to be here. With you.” His voice is low, quiet, but there’s a warmth behind it that makes your stomach flip.

You glance down, biting back a smile, but you can feel his gaze still on you, unrelenting, like he’s waiting for you to look back. 

“It’s just dessert, Bucky,” you murmur, trying to keep the moment light, but your cheeks betray you, a blush blooming under his attention.

“Maybe,” he replies, his tone teasing, eyes glinting. “But it’s the best damn dessert I’ve had in a long time.” He takes a slow bite of the tart, watching you with that infuriatingly soft gaze that makes it impossible to breathe.

"Christ..." you mutter under your breath, barely aware you’ve said it aloud. His gaze is so intense, it feels like he’s peeling away every defense you’ve carefully built.

“Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he murmurs, but there’s a teasing lilt in his voice, like he’s testing just how far he can push.

You let out a shaky laugh, glancing down at your coffee to avoid those piercing eyes. 

“You’re not… it’s just—” You don’t know how to finish the thought, every word slipping away under his unwavering stare.

He lets the silence hang for a beat, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk that’s equal parts infuriating and heart-stopping. Then he leans forward, just a bit closer, his eyes still locked on you, the teasing glint in them intensifying.

“You sure about that?” he murmurs, voice low and velvet-smooth. His fingers toy with the edge of his coffee cup, but his attention never wavers, every inch of him focused on you. “Because if I’m honest… I think I like watching you get flustered. Kind of makes me wonder what else I could do to make you look at me like that.”

Your breath catches, and you feel your pulse race, cheeks burning as his words sink in, every nerve suddenly buzzing. You’re caught, and he knows it, the challenge in his gaze daring you to look away—but you don’t, rooted to the spot, every nerve in your body humming.

But in that moment of stunned silence, something in your expression shifts, your eyes widening ever so slightly. It’s not discomfort, but a soft vulnerability—an openness he wasn’t expecting.

He misreads it entirely.

Bucky straightens abruptly, his face softening as he lets out a quick, self-conscious laugh, breaking eye contact. “I—sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, his smirk fading. “I’m just messing with you. Didn’t mean to… you know, make things weird.”

Your heart clenches at the quickness with which he pulls back, his retreat sudden, like he’s trying to undo the last few moments. You open your mouth, words rushing to the tip of your tongue to stop him, to explain, to tell him he hadn’t made you uncomfortable at all.

“Bucky…” you say softly, reaching out before you can think twice. The moment your fingers brush his hand, he glances up, eyes wide, almost searching yours for permission.

And before you can lose your nerve, you let the words slip, your voice barely a whisper. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable… I just… wasn’t expecting that.”

The tension between you flares back to life, sharper, deeper, as he studies you, realization dawning in his gaze, as if he’s daring himself to believe what you’re saying.

× × × × 

The blizzard outside has intensified, blanketing everything in a thick layer of snow that doesn’t look like it’ll be easing up anytime soon. By the time you both finish your coffee and dessert, the wind is howling against the windows, and the soft glow from the streetlights barely penetrates the wall of snow outside.

You walk to the window, peering out into the swirling white, and let out a small sigh. 

“Looks like it’s getting worse,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Bucky, the words carrying a quiet invitation you don’t fully realize.

Behind you, he steps closer, joining you by the window, his hand resting on the edge of the sill as he gazes out into the storm. 

“Guess I might have to wait it out,” he says, a hint of reluctance in his voice, though his eyes flicker with something warmer as they meet yours. His tone is casual, almost nonchalant, but the unspoken question lingers between you.

You turn to face him, folding your arms, trying to play it off casually. 

“Yeah, probably not the best idea to be out there in this.” You pause, giving him a small smile. “I mean, I have a couch. Wouldn’t be the first time you crashed here.”

He chuckles softly, nodding. 

“Right. Wouldn’t want to risk life and limb just to get home.” There’s a glimmer of amusement in his gaze, like he’s just as reluctant as you are to let the night end.

You manage a laugh, a quiet, slightly nervous sound as you gesture towards the living room. 

“The couch is all yours if you want it. I can grab a spare blanket.” The offer feels both genuine and like an excuse, a small plea for him to stay, if only a bit longer.

“Thanks,” he says, his voice soft, a warmth in his tone that makes your heart skip. “Appreciate it.”

As you disappear down the hall to fetch a blanket and pillow, he lingers in the living room, glancing around the familiar space. He’s barely acknowledged how much he’s missed this—missed you—and now, surrounded by small remnants of your life, it all feels heavier than he expected, like he’s on the brink of something he’s not ready to let go of.

You return with a thick blanket and a pillow, handing them to him as he sets them down on the couch. 

“Here you go. It’s not much, but… I think you’ll survive,” you say, though there’s something tentative in your voice, almost as if you’re testing the waters, hoping he’ll stay a little closer.

Bucky chuckles, sitting on the edge of the couch, his hands settling over his knees as he looks up at you. 

“Yeah, I’ve handled worse, I think,” he replies, his gaze lingering just a bit too long.

A quiet pause stretches between you, neither of you moving. Outside, the snow falls in thick, relentless waves, cocooning you both in this shared moment, and you feel the weight of what’s left unsaid, lingering like an invitation neither of you dares to speak aloud.

Finally, you clear your throat, offering a small smile. 

“Well… goodnight, Bucky,” you say, your voice softer than you intended, and you find yourself hesitating, like you’re reluctant to leave.

He nods, his gaze holding yours for a moment longer than necessary. “Goodnight, doll.”

× × × ×

Bucky was asleep on the couch. Your couch. Crashing at your place, as he had so many nights before.

The man you wanted more than you’d ever wanted anyone in your life.

You couldn't sleep, tossing and turning and thinking of him lying not thirty feet away from you on the other side of your bedroom wall. He had stayed over countless times, what was it about tonight that had you squirming beneath the sheets? 

God, the subtle, masculine scent of him, the warmth of his body so close to yours—maybe he'd actually seen the little shiver of sexual awareness that had rippled through you during dinner.

Whatever it was, you were suffering now. His smile, his voice, his deep, infectious laugh...so what if he had been your friend since, so what if he could be a bit of a doofus at times—okay, a lot of the time—so what if you were both single now and feeling that familiar itch, that longing, that uncomfortable awareness of being without someone just a bit too long.

Fuck.

You both had talked about this. Once—a long time ago. You had agreed; getting involved wasn't the right thing to do—look how many friendships were ruined by relationships.

You threw back the duvet and swung your legs over the side of the bed, wiggling your toes nervously as you bit your lip. 

You needed a drink, that's what you needed. Not that kind of drink—although God knew you weren't far from it. You needed a cool glass of water from the pitcher in the fridge and maybe some splashed on your face for good measure. 

Then you could come back to bed and read. Or listen to some music. Or... something. You had an early start in the morning, you had to find some way to get some sleep. If you were really quiet, you could slip right past him and he'd never even know you'd been out of your room.

You creaked open your bedroom door and listened for the sound of his quiet snoring. Sure enough, the soft sounds of sleep drifted towards you and you straightened, relaxing a little. 

He was sleeping just fine. He wasn't tossing and turning thinking about you.

You slipped out into the chilly living room, and shivered involuntarily. You'd set the thermostat low in the living room to save energy, completely forgetting to turn it up for his sake, so while your bedroom was toasty warm, the living room was cold and still. 

Guiltily you cast your eyes over his sleeping form, sprawled inelegantly over the couch with one hand thrown over his eyes and one leg up over the back of the sofa. He wore only a t-shirt and boxers, and lying with the blanket kicked to the floor instead to cover himself with, he looked vulnerable somehow, and uncomfortable.

And incredibly, almost achingly sexy.

Your eyes roamed over him in blatant appreciation. He was a powerhouse of strength, with thick, chiseled muscles that seemed almost carved from stone. Broad shoulders tapered down to a torso built from years of dedication, and his arms were thick with veins and ridges that caught the light. 

Your gaze slid down his powerful legs, the defined muscle of his thighs flexing beneath the hem of his shorts. He was the embodiment of rugged masculinity, intense and undeniably commanding. His stubbled jaw caught your eye, and you let your gaze linger on his lips—the lips you’d dreamed of tasting so many times...too many times, in fact. So often that sometimes you imagined the fantasy as if it were a memory. So delicious, so sensual and hot.

Only he wasn't hot—you try to tell yourself. You dragged yourself back to reality, frowning as you looked down at him. He was cold.

You went back to the bedroom and pulled an extra blanket off the closet shelf, and carried it back to lay across his sleeping form. He stirred slightly as you draped it over him, and his eyelids fluttered open.             

“Hmmm…” Bucky mumbled thickly, his voice hoarse and low. “Good morning.”

“It's not morning, it's two a.m,” you whispered. “I was just getting you another blanket. Go back to sleep.”

“Mmmmm…” he said, cuddling it around him.

He pulled his leg down off the couch and straightened himself out, stretching languidly, shuddering, like a cat. You loved watching the way his muscles tensed and relaxed. You loved watching him do anything, in fact.

“It's so cold,” You said by way of an unasked-for explanation, and looked away from his body. His eyes were still closed so you could have looked a little longer, but didn't want to risk it.

“Cold?” he murmured. “Just a second.” He pushed aside the blanket and reached for you, tugging you down towards him.

You gasped and lost your footing, sitting down hard on the couch beside him. He pulled you down and enveloped you in his arms, pulling you tight against his chest.

He flipped the blanket over top of both of you. “There. I'll keep you warm.”

A sleepy duskiness coloured his voice, and something in the intimacy of it, the familiarity of it, made your heart flutter rebelliously in your chest. He smelled so damn good, like a mixture of soap and the sweet warm and musky scent of cedar wood. He drew you in closer, molding his body against yours, and God help you, you allowed him. You settled in more comfortably beside him, your leg thrown over his, your arm stretched across his chest.

“I was saying you must be cold,” you whispered. “Not telling you I was.”

“I know.” Bucky said without missing a beat.

You lay there, entwined, quiet, saying nothing more. You rested your head against his chest and could feel more than hear the lazy beat of his heart, and the quiet, smooth passage of his breath. His hand languidly caressed your arm, the rhythm growing slower as he drifted back to sleep. 

Sleep threatened to claim you, too, so you stirred, trying to disentangle from him. You'd have to be near your alarm clock or you'd never get up in time.

“No, don't go,” Bucky murmured as you tried to move. He held you tighter.

“I have to,” you whispered. “I have to get some sleep, I have to get up in a few hours.”

“Stay.”

“I can't.”

He was gradually coming awake, slowly becoming more oriented. He shifted position slightly so that he was more on his side, looking down at you as he rested his head on his bent elbow. He stretched his other arm across you and pulled you closer, gently caressing you back.

“Stay,” he said again. His voice was clearer now. He was fully awake. Still slightly dazed from sleep, but awake.

You hesitated, letting your gaze roam over his face. Finally you whispered, “We talked about this a long time ago, remember?”

“I know. I'm sorry. I just...I want you to stay.”

In the dim moonlight spilling in through the French doors his features were muted, but his eyes—his eyes were large and dark, taking you in with a mixture of hope and trepidation. Bucky moistened his lips, his pupils growing even larger as they roamed over your face and you could feel the pace of his heart pick up and his breathing increase. 

His gaze moved down to your lips and his brow creased in an expression that could have been longing, or frustration, or both. He raised his eyes slowly to meet yours, the haze of desire stealing slowly into his gaze.

“You're not nothing to me,” he said, almost to himself. “That's precisely the problem.”

How on earth were you supposed to resist such a sensual, beautiful, soulful man? Stay? How could you not?

“Please,” he whispered. “Stay. . . I have something I need to get off my chest.”

Your resolve was crumbling as you felt your chest tighten. You looked into his eyes and barely managed to whisper the words. 

“What’s that?”

“This.” 

He lowered his head slowly and kissed you, brushing your lips softly, sensuously, as if in no particular hurry. As if he had all the time in the world to savor you, to taste you, to send pleasure rippling through you with every touch of his lips. He murmured softly as he gently nipped at your bottom lip, teasing your, biting and then kissing-better the lips he was bruising.

You could feel the pleasure he was taking in kissing you, the slow—tortuously slow—pleasure he was enjoying for himself and teasing out of you as he lingered in your mouth. Bucky’s hand slid along your jaw, tilting your face up to him, his thumb caressing your cheek as he kissed you. He broke the kiss and looked down at you in wonder, his eyes glittering in the dim light, then brought your face up to his and kissed you again.

You opened your mouth to him and his tongue slipped in to tangle sensuously with yours. He angled his head from one side to the other, exploring your mouth and pressing kisses along the edges of your lips. You kissed his cheeks, his chin, his light stubble gently razing your lips and making them all the more sensitive. When you found his lips again, their soft warmth was intoxicating and you deepened the kiss, teasing his tongue with your own.

You kissed him back sensually, with equal possessiveness and enjoyment, and knew that your response was emboldening him.

Bucky tensed and pressed against you, his kiss growing firmer and more insistent. His mouth moved over yours expertly, wringing pleasure from you in breaths that came faster and little cries that escaped into the quiet of the room. Your soft moans made him tense even more, and you could feel his arousal along the length of your leg, hard and urgent like the rest of his body. 

You were both warm now, and he threw back the blanket before settling back down on top of you, returning to the slow, rhythmic dance of kissing, teasing, and tasting that was just about driving you mad.

You slipped your hands up over your head, thinking to wrap them around him, but he found them and clasped your wrists together with his left hand and kept them there, holding you down with gentle pressure as he bent to kiss you more deeply. 

The sensation of being held by him, of being pinned down, gently, but with no doubt as to his strength, rushed through you in unfamiliar torrents of excitement. He entwined his fingers in yours, easing up the pressure, dipping his head between your upraised arms to kiss you deeply, slowly, torturously.

As his tongue tangled with yours the fingers of his right hand trailed up the side of your body, stopping at the swell of your breast. He ran his hand over you gently, tentatively, feeling the weight of it beneath him and groaning softly. He slipped his hand inside your robe and cupped you bare flesh, his warm hand gently squeezing, caressing, as he groaned again and grew even harder. His thumb circled over your nipple and you gasped, arching against him at the sudden sting of pleasure. He pushed aside the robe further, revealing your breast with its tight nipple, unbearably aroused by his touch.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered, gazing at you breast. He lowered his lips to your nipple and gently kissed it, his tongue tasting and savoring it the way he had just been savoring your mouth.

The wet warmth of his mouth on your sensitive flesh made you ache with a tension and desire you had never felt before. When his tongue swirled around you nipple languidly, when he took the sensitive bud into his mouth and suckled softly, you felt the exquisite torture of it flow down through you body to you very core. How could this feel so damn good? Just the lightest brush of his lips, his tongue, his teeth on your nipple and you felt almost ready to climax.

His free hand slid around to the small of your back and he lifted you gently, sliding you further down the couch and farther under him. You were completely beneath him now, and completely held by him, one strong hand gently pressing your wrists into the sofa cushions and the other splayed across you back while he bent his head and kissed and sucked and teased you breast. You almost couldn't bear the sensation as your nipple grew harder, more tender, and the pleasure started liquifying between your legs.

"Yes..." you breathed. You arched again, wanting him to release you from his mouth and yet hoping that he never would. "Oh my God, Bucky, that feels so good..."

Bucky lets go of your wrists and brings his hand down to your other breast, pushing aside your robe to free you completely. He caressed you, sensuously feeling the roundness of you, and trailed his lips across the rising swell, kissing and tasting and smiling at the way your soft flesh moved under his tongue. He gently grasped your breast and brought your nipple up to his mouth, which grew hard and exquisitely tender under his tongue. His fingers continued to tease your other nipple, the one still stinging from the feel of his mouth on it, still aching to feel it again.

You arched into him, sinking your hand into his hair and pressing him to your breast. The pleasure of his mouth and hands on you was making you weak, making you shiver with pleasure and need, all down the length of you and in between your legs. You could feel  yourself growing wet and ready for him, the pleasure so intense, so unlike anything you'd ever felt before.

You heard yourself moaning softly, whimpering, making sounds you had never made before, all but dizzy with desire and sensation. With every little sound you made he groaned, or his erection surged against you, or he fell onto your breasts again with increased hunger. Your response to him was as intoxicating to him as his mouth was to you—you could feel it in his every movement, his every ragged breath.

“I need you, Bucky.” You pleaded softly. “Please.”

He rose over you, bracing his arms on either side of you. His eyes blazed with heat as he looked down at you, at you eyes, your mouth, your breasts. He took your mouth expertly, hungrily, kissing you fiercely with a dominance that thrilled you. He moved to trail hot kisses down your neck, licking the sensitive skin near your collarbone, barely skimming you with his tongue as if wanting the merest taste. You gripped his shoulders, and turned your head to the side, aching at the sensation of his mouth on you, kissing, licking, tasting. 

You moaned at the feel of his tongue on your neck and the gentle pressure of his lips pressing kisses against your skin. You needed to feel him, to taste his salty sweet skin, his maleness, him.

As if he could read your thoughts he lifted up from you to pull his shirt over his head and let it fall to the floor. You reached up and ran your hands over his chest, and as he fell on you again his mouth found yours hungrily and his hand slid into your hair, gripping the top of your head possessively as you kissed.

You had never felt so possessed, so taken, so overwhelmed by a man. You broke the kiss and sought his neck, his shoulder, his tense muscles straining as he held himself above you. You branded your own hot trail of kisses into his skin, felt him strain against you at the sensation. You loved the taste of him, so male and wonderful beneath your lips.

"Baby. . ." His voice was hoarse, breathless. 

For one brief moment uncertainty flashed in his eyes and he looked as though he wanted to say something. But when your lips found his again he lost the thought and succumbed to the kiss, slanting over your mouth, teasing your tongue with his.

You ran your hands down his back to the waistband of his boxers, and dipped your hands beneath the elastic to roam over his flesh. He tensed at your touch and you felt him suck in a breath as you moved your hands around to the front. 

He was very hard, and you curled your fingers—which couldn’t wrap around him fully—as you gripped his ass with your other hand. He groaned softly and kissed you even more deeply, surging against you with an almost desperate urgency. You began to stroke him, your fingers gently gliding up and down his smooth shaft until he suddenly let out a groan and broke away, stopping your hand with his own.

“Fuck,” he said breathlessly, heat blazing in his eyes. “I can't. . .”

Alarm flared in you. “What's wrong?”

“I won't last long. . .”

“Oh, is that all?” You gently pushed his hand away and began to tentatively stroke him again.

He moaned, closing his eyes briefly, enjoying the pleasure. “If you keep doing that. . .”

“What?” You prompted, nibbling on his lower lips as you stroked.

“I'll have to fuck you.”

“Good.” You took his lips again and you fell into a rhythmic kiss, as if you had been kissing each other forever. He moaned softly into your mouth as you stroked him, making soft noises of your own into his mouth.

Bucky broke the kiss, his breathing sharp and shallow, and gazed down at you, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Are you sure about this?” His voice was quiet, urgent, almost desperate.

“Yes,” you breathed, pushing his boxers down with your free hand. He lifted up his hips to help you and shrugged out of them, kicking them to the floor.

“I didn't mean for this to happen, at least not tonight,” he said, his breath jagged and quiet as you continued to stroke him. “I've wanted you for so long, but—”

“I know,” You murmured, kissing his neck as your hand slid over his thick length again and again. His body was rigid with tension and you tried to relax him with your mouth, your whispers, the feel of your body. But you knew he wouldn't relax as long as you were stroking him. You paused and he relaxed slightly, but his eyes still burning and his breath still came unevenly.

“Are you sure?” He asked again, his eyes showing fear through the haze of desire. Heat blazed between them, and you felt such a desperate need in him that you wanted to soothe him, comfort him. But doing so with words seemed the wrong thing to do.

"Mhmmm," You murmured instead, kissing his jaw, his neck, the sensitive skin beneath his ear. He groaned softly as you ran your fingers over his shaft, teasing, tempting, letting you fingernails trail along the sensitive skin below. You cupped him and squeezed gently as he groaned louder, pleasure that sounded almost painful. you laughed softly, kissing along his collarbone, his shoulder, his neck.

“You know how I feel about you. . . ” he managed, his voice little more than a breath. “Don't you? That I—”

"Shhhh," You said, coming back to meet his eyes. He looked so afraid, so vulnerable, and yet so filled with desire. You knew, then, everything you needed to know. And every word he needed to hear. "Please. . . Baby. . .it's okay. We can talk later. Right now. . .please. . . just shut up and fuck me."

His fear melted into a smile so warm, so open, so full of relief that he almost looked ready to cry. He took your mouth again, arching over you as he claimed you. Before his kisses had been searching and sensuous, now they seemed driven by pure desire. He ground his lips on yours  masterfully, taking what he wanted, what he needed.

You could feel the raw need in him, the need for acceptance, the need to let pure passion overcome his fear. Every meeting of your lips sent another jolt through you, every taste of his tongue made you desperate for more, and you knew he was reeling from the same powerful sensations that you were. You could feel him starting to let go, to abandon himself to you, to enjoy making you abandon  yourself to him. 

Here was the lust you had always hoped was there, the powerful sexuality always just below the surface, the desire you had hoped and prayed he felt for you. It was here, pressed against you, an urgent cock and a hard, warm body, roaming lips and soft, male moans of pleasure and need. A careful heart revealing itself to yours.

You moved beneath him, pressing your hips against him to ease the heat that radiated from between your legs. The ache was exquisite, your need growing more urgent as you felt his erection surge and strengthen.

You felt his hand on your knee and then slowly, so damn slowly, he began to trail his fingers up along the inside of your thighs, which parted so easily at his gentle persuasion. His touch was electric, yet soft and sensual, and wherever his fingers played you felt a fiery tingle that made you shiver. Finally his fingers trailed delicately over your sensitive cunt, teasing you, tantalizing you, until you cried softly, silently begging him to touch you most sensitive place.

With a smile that you could feel more than see, his fingers slipped into your slick warmth and you cried out, a spasm of pleasure overwhelming you. He silenced your cry with his mouth, his tongue tangling with yours  while his fingers slipped deeply inside you and stroked, as languidly and rhythmically as you were stroking him.

“Oh my g—” You cried, writhing at the pleasure of his fingers sliding slowly in and out of you, then pulling out to trail up higher and caress your folds. When his fingers danced over your clit you arched you back, your breath leaving you in a gasp. The electricity of his touch, so gentle and sensuous, sent spasms of pleasure rippling through you. 

He didn't hurry the pace, just stroked you with an even, sensual rhythm as he kissed  you. He was holding you, his arm surrounding you, pressing his body to yours, his mouth never far from your lips, your neck, your ear, his eyes never far from yours. You had never felt so close to someone, so protected in his arms, so cherished and adored.

His fingers dipped down to enter you again and his thumb continued the slow, exquisite torture above. Just when you thought you'd go over the edge he'd pull away, pause, caress a different part of you and send you on the upward spiral again and again, or slide his fingers into you over and over while his thumb swirled and caressed and rubbed, driving you mad with an aching desire. 

He smiled down at you, nipped at your lips, pressed his forehead to yours and trailed kisses down your eyelids, your cheeks, until claiming your mouth again, his tongue mimicking the sweet, sensuous motion of his fingers and thumb.

He grew rock hard in your hand as you moaned with each breath, as you came closer and closer to the edge. You could feel him restraining himself, wanting only to pleasure you, anticipating your climax. But it wasn't what you wanted. On a ragged breath you stopped his hand.

"I want you," you said urgently. "Please, Bucky. . .fuck me."

He gazed at you, teetering on a moment of indecision. His chest rose and fell sharply with his labored breath, and he brought a trembling hand up to your hip and gripped you, holding you, moving to settle between your legs and pausing at your entrance.

"Please, I want you inside me." your voice dropped to a whisper so urgent you hardly recognized it yourself. "Please don't make me beg."

And whatever strength he had left vanished.

"Oh baby. . ." He moved forward and slid into you, a breathless throaty sound of pure male pleasure escaping his lips. "Oh my God. . ."

He paused for a moment, looking down at you with heavy-lidded desire, visibly enjoying the new sensation of being so deep inside  you. You were slick and hot, more than ready for him, and as you body adjusted to him, to the exquisite, aching stretch he was causing, you squirmed beneath him on a moan of primal pleasure. He pulled out slowly, torturously, and slid himself in again, filling you completely.

You closed your eyes and moaned, gripping his ass as he lifted your hips up to him, angling you so he could fill you more deeply. He began to thrust, slowly, rhythmically, his hips moving sensuously, making you muscles tighten around him as he plunged into you again and again, your movements coming so easily, so naturally, so deliciously slowly.

You lifted your legs to wrap them around him, loving the way it tilted you back so that his every thrust felt deeper, felt like it was reaching new depths of pleasure in you.

“Yes, yes, yes. . .like that. . .oh my god, Bucky. . .you fill me up so good.” 

He ran his hand possessively along your leg, pausing to look down at your joined bodies as he thrust into you. He raised himself up, his arms braced on the other side of you to keep his weight off you, and moved so he could thrust more freely, more quickly, building the tempo. He pressed his lips to your forehead gently as he drove into you, his breath ragged, panting, yours matching his intensity and need.

“Ugh—you drive me insane, I love hearing you moan my name—don’t stop.”

You could feel him getting close, nearing the edge of his own release, and he slowed, lowering his head to nuzzle your neck as the rhythm of his hips paused, and then resumed again, more slowly this time, building again, savoring you body the way his lips had savored you mouth, the way his tongue had devoured you breasts. His arm slid around you back again, holding you, lifting you up to him as he took your breast in his mouth and teased it with his tongue. His mouth was hungrier this time, sucking your nipple, flicking his tongue over it with such abandon that you felt it in your core. His passion was growing, and you could sense that his desire to be slow and tender with you was losing the battle against his raw primitive need.

You gripped him, lost in the dizzying sensations he was causing in you. His mouth on you, his hand roaming over you, gripping your ass as he thrust into you in a relentless rhythm. You were limp in his embrace, held in place for him to possess, to plunder, to pleasure. You had never been held like that before, and the primal intensity of it, the feeling of being so completely owned by his desire, overwhelmed  you. You were his, completely, your body as loose as a rag doll in his arms. You gripped his straining arms as he sent pleasure coursing through you, gripping you as he thrust and withdrew, plunged and pulled out, drove into you over and over again in breathless ecstasy.

“Keep fucking me like that—Yes! Oh my God, harder, please. . . B-Bucky!”

Waves of pleasure grew stronger and stronger in you, pushing you towards the ultimate pleasure, building with increasing urgency as his rhythm grew faster and harder. 

“Oh—like that? You like that?”

He groaned as he kissed your neck, your collarbone, your breast, and drove himself into you with such exquisite need. You gripped his buttocks, feeling the powerful muscles contracting with each thrust, drawing him deeper into you. When he tore away from your lips and looked down into your eyes you felt the waves rise, growing stronger and higher and faster until with a shattered cry you came, trembling as the pleasure spasmed through you.

His eyes never left yours as he thrust into you, groaning from the exquisite pleasure of your spasming pussy. 

“Shit—fuck, you’re gonna make me come. Ohhhh—” Bucky moaned.

You were so incredibly tight, gripping his cock as you came, milking him as he struggled to last just a moment longer, lost in the heaven of you hot, wet heat. Your cries of pleasure echoed throughout the darkened room and when you whispered his name on a soft, sweet whimper he found his own release, jetting into you over and over again as he cried out in an agony of pleasure and a torrent, a chorus, of your name.

Finally, finally, his hips slowed and he lowered his head and kissed you gently, sensuously, as softly as he had when he had first pulled you down to him. Then he lowered his head to your neck and let himself rest there, lying against you, his heart thundering, his breath ragged and heavy. You lowered your legs from around his waist and wrapped your arms around him instead, cradling him to  you. you rested your head against the top of his and felt your own breath slowing, your own heartbeat returning to normal. His cock was still hard inside you and he shuddered as you clenched around him.

"God, you're incredible." He exhaled a long, deep breath.

He rose up and kissed you, shuddering with each aftershock as his cock surged inside  you. You could feel your inner muscles clenching around him, not releasing him yet, teasing the last drops of pleasure from him. 

He lay his head down against you again, breathing out a sigh that was both release and contentment as the last tremors rippled through him. You loved this feeling, this sensation of his body trembling with the afterglow of pleasure, pleasure you had given him, just as your body was tingling from the intense pleasure he had given you.

He held you to him, sliding out of you slowly, and shifted slightly so that you fit against him perfectly, settling into the warmth and comfort of his arms encircling you.

“Holy shit,” he whispered again, pressing his lips to your temple and leaving them there for a long minute before letting go.

“I'm so glad you stayed over,” you said quietly, kissing the soft skin of his neck.

He stilled for a moment, and you looked up at him, trying to read whatever might be revealed in his eyes. In the darkness both of you were inscrutable, until he leaned closer and bumped your cheek with his nose before lightly pressing his lips to yours for a sweet, soulful kiss.

“So does this mean we're not friends anymore?” He asked, in between luscious nips at your lips.

“You tell me,” you said sleepily, unable to resist his slow, savoring kisses.

You felt his smile as he kissed you languidly, with deliberate slowness, each kiss deepening into something more intimate than the last. Finally his lips stilled and you felt him fall asleep beside you, his breathing soft and slow.

You wanted to stay awake, to freeze this moment in time, to make it last. you wished you could lay there forever, tucked in beside him, your bodies curled to get you. But even as you tried to stay awake, gently caressing the arm that draped over you protectively. you gradually succumbed to a peaceful, contented sleep.

[lightsupluvr]

oh i know they queen out together

[5ummit]

Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014) || Thunderbolts (2025)

[unearthlydust]

SEBASTIAN STAN as BUCKY BARNES Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014)

[navybrat817]

Mr. and Mrs. Barnes

Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky suggests sneaking off at the gala. How can you resist?

Word Count: Over 3k

Warnings: Unprotected v. sex, sex in a closet, dirty talk, possessiveness, established relationship, slight insecurities, mention of breeding, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes and he's a simp for you (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Sorry, lovelies. I just really wanted this. Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky didn’t bother to hide his discontent as he looked around at the ballroom. Was it a gala? Fundraiser? What cared? He hated functions like these. People were either there to kiss ass and move up the chain of command or gloat about how well off they were in life under the guise that they were doing good for others. He didn't attempt to converse with any of them, but still had to go as a way to support SHIELD in some capacity and show that he was no longer the Winter Soldier.

At least Steve and Sam were excused from the event due to a mission.

Leaning against one of the pillars and tugging at his bowtie, he spaced out momentarily. No one looked his way, but he still felt judged. Like he didn’t just belong at the event, but amongst anyone. He wanted to go home, get out of his tuxedo, and get the product out of his slicked back hair. He debated sneaking away from some air until he blinked and saw the reason he was truly there: you, the only real person in the crowd of liars and cheaters.

He never understood the expression of clothes clinging to someone like a second skin until you stepped into your floor-length black dress earlier this evening, the fabric enhancing every beautiful curve of your body. His eyes narrowed as you moved around the room and exchanged smiles and handshakes with people. Your aura drew people to you, men brushing against you and their stares lingering for far too long. It served as another reminder of why he didn’t want to go tonight, especially when a General gripped your arm.

If he had a glass in his hand it would’ve shattered.

Convincing you to stay in bed didn't work since you both had to make an appearance, but it didn't mean he wanted you apart from him. “Get over here,” he whispered, craving your attention, needing you close.

As if you sensed him seeking you out, likely feeling the weight of his stare, you turned to meet his gaze across the room. Your eyes sparkled with love that he never thought he’d receive in his lifetime. The kind of love he never wanted to be without again. “Would you please excuse me?” You asked loud enough for him to catch as you removed your arm from the man’s grip. “My husband is waiting for me.”

Your hips swayed as you worked your way toward Bucky, not stopping for any other man who tried to catch your eye. Hearing you call him your husband brought the first smile to his face since he arrived. He still couldn’t believe some days that you wanted forever with him. “I was wondering when my beautiful wife would remember I was here,” he said once you were close enough, reaching out for your hand.

The moment you took it, he stood tall and pulled you against him. He was certain no one else came close to the intimidating vibe he put out, his hold on you possessive as you smiled. “As if I could forget. Practically heard you growling when General Rando touched my arm,” you teased.

“Because he has no right to touch you,” he said, your lashes fluttering as you spun away. His hands guided you back to him. “I know you’re better with people than I am, which is why you’re the one who has to socialize and I’m sorry for that. But you also said I’m not allowed to break any fingers tonight and I won't be held responsible if he tries to touch you again.”

He swore he didn’t have a possessive bone in his body until you sauntered into his life, giving him hopes and dreams and longing.

You laughed at him, a seductive sound that had a few heads turning. “You do know I can break his fingers myself, right?”

He chuckled, leaning close to your ear and tickling your skin with his breath. “I know you're more than capable of kicking his ass. One of your many wonderful qualities,” he whispered. People underestimated you and that was always a mistake. “But I still don't like that he touched you like he wanted to own you.”

You rang a finger along his bowtie. “We all know who owns me and we know I own you, too,” you said, holding up your hand to show him your wedding ring. He tried to ignore how fast his heart pounded at the sight of his ring on your finger, the pledge you two made together. “In a very healthy, non-toxic sort of way, of course.”

He smirked, glancing around at the crowd before looking back at you. “Of course, but maybe we could give everyone a friendly reminder that we’re a happily married and loyal couple.” His voice dropped lower, teasingly. He wanted to make your heart race like his. “Or maybe we could sneak away for a bit. Make this night a little more interesting.”

“Sneak away?” You feigned innocence as you blinked at him. He was certain any innocence you had before he met you was gone thanks to him. “Whatever for?”

“You know what for. It’ll be like that expo we went to a few months ago.” Bucky tilted his head slightly, studying your face closely. He easily picked up your sharp inhale, the way your pupils dilated and lips parted. It was clear that sneaking off was something that very much interested you. “C’mon, baby. This gala is boring and neither of us want to be here. My idea is much more fun. You know it is.”

He touched your cheek, your skin warm under his hand. He wasn’t able to keep you in bed earlier like he wanted, but the thought of pulling you away and having you right here and now had his stomach fluttering with excitement. “This gala is boring,” you agreed carefully.

“Then let’s make it exciting.” His thumb brushed across your lips and it took everything in him not to push his thumb inside. “You made me come to this thing. Don’t I deserve something for showing up and behaving?”

“I haven't made you come yet.” His muscles went taut when you briefly sucked the digit into your mouth, electricity crackling under his skin. He admired your boldness, how you were unashamedly yourself in front of these people. You didn't and would never care what they thought. “And I didn't make you come to this event, but I can make it worth your while.”

He held your chin and moved close until only an inch separated your faces. Your eyes gleamed with a hunger that rivaled his. The air crackled between you, daring you both to give over to your obvious desires. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?” He rasped when you suddenly pulled back and helped move him across the floor in a dance.

“My plan? I thought sneaking away was your idea,” you smiled, guiding you both closer to the open doorway. “But if we can find a closet or dark corner, you can do whatever you want with me. And I’ll even let you fuck my throat first thing tomorrow morning for behaving.”

A rumbling, deep groan escaped his throat. His fingers dug in possessively when he gripped the nape of your neck and tilted your head so he could taste your skin. Your body molding against his, soft and yielding against his solid frame, wasn’t enough. There were too many clothes in the way and he wanted to bury himself deep inside you.

“You drive me crazy, Mrs. Barnes,” he whispered, lifting his head to look into your eyes.

“The feeling is mutual, Mr. Barnes.” You bit your lip once he waltzed you for enough away from prying eyes, the heat flaring between you. “I need you.”

Every nerve ending came to life when he claimed your mouth in a searing kiss. His tongue plunged past your lips, holding you steady as he devoured you. You melted against him, which only brought forth his primal hunger more. His intensity never scared you and he would be forever thankful for that.

You gasped as your back hit a wall, the sounds of chatter and music from the ballroom muffled. Your nails scraped the fabric of his jacket, both of you lost in sensations of lust and desire. As one of your hands continued its journey to his shoulder, the other wandered down his torso and didn’t stop until you gripped his thick erection through his pants.

He abruptly broke the kiss when you gave him a squeeze, his eyes wild. “Fuck,” he breathed, gripping your wrist and pushing more firmly against your hand. “You feel that? That’s what you do to me.”

With dizzying speed, he spun you so that your back pressed against his front. You panted as his hand ventured through the slit of your dress and brushed along your trembling thigh. “Wait until you feel how wet I am,” you whispered, grinding your hips back against his.

His mouth brushed the exposed column of your throat, alternating between small bites and open mouthed kisses. “Still get wet for me?” He asked, massaging your breast with his vibranium hand and drawing another gasp from you when he pinched your nipple. He marveled at how much he could feel with that hand and how he’d never harm you with it.

“Have you seen yourself? One look from you and I’m soaked.” Your back arched as he bit down again. He wished he saw himself the way you did. “And you’re my husband. That craving for you isn’t going away.”

He rocked his hips against yours, seeking out more contact and friction as his cock throbbed and heart swelled. Marriage wasn’t a constant honeymoon phase. It took work. Effort. Compromise. But you were worth every moment, every struggle, every up and down.

Laughter from a few feet away had him lifting his head, both of you looking toward where the noise was coming from. “Fuck,” he snarled, wanting to scream at whoever it was to go the fuck away.

“There’s a closet around the corner. We just need to pick the lock,” you told him, smiling over your shoulder. “I may have scoped out the place in case this happened.”

He chuckled, utterly in awe of you. “I fucking love you,” he exhaled.

Walking with an aching hard-on wasn’t easy, but he managed to get you both further away from the ballroom. He picked the lock with record speed once you got to the door and moved you both inside. He flipped on the light, wanting to see as much of you as he could. For a moment, you two stared at each other and waited for the other to make a move. He loved the anticipation.

“I’m disappointed in you, Mr. Barnes,” you said, reaching for the doorknob to lock it. He was about to ask what he possibly did to upset you when you smirked. “You didn’t mention anything about me not wearing any panties.”

His cock was ready to burst from his pants. “Because that fucking clown out there interupted me,” he rumbled, pinning you against the door and crowding your body. His nose touched yours as he hiked your dress up, desperate to kiss you again. Eager to feel your wetness. “You trust me?”

It was a question he always asked. You put all of yourself into his care, your body, mind, heart, and soul. It was only fair that he made sure you still wanted him to be the one for you today, tomorrow, and every day after that. Even then a single lifetime would never be enough for him. He wanted a thousand lives with you.

“Always,” you said, an ache in your voice that he couldn’t resist. He fused his lips with yours, building up the fire all over again when his hand found your damp heat. The most intimate part of you where you allowed him to make himself at home. Your hands shook as you went to undo his pants, wanting to free him. “And you trust me?”

It wasn’t just his heart that contracted. His very soul trembled, wanting to wrap itself up in your light and love. “With everything in me,” he promised, sighing when he pulled his cock free from his underwear. “I’ll worship you later. Those gorgeous tits of yours. Your sweet cunt.”

Once you were home, he’d slip off your dress and give every beautiful inch of your body the attention it deserved. He’d draw a bath for you, too, and hopefully join you so he could simply hold you. But he was desperate for you now. He thought he’d burn if he didn’t have you.

You hiked a leg around him, moving your hips enticingly. There was only so much he could take. And who wouldn’t fall under the tempting spell of your body? “I’m ready for you.” Your soft moan echoed in his ears as he trailed a finger along your slit to your clit, barely touching it. He knew it would shoot small sparks through your body until you begged for more. “I mean it, Barnes. Get. Your cock. In me.”

“My needy little wife,” he whispered against your lips as he gripped the base of his cock and probed your entrance. The breathy sound you made when he began to push in had his blood pulsing in euphoria. It was a wonder he fit some days with how tight you were, but your slick heat stretched and welcomed him every time.

“My needy husband,” you smiled as you enveloped him completely, your fingers curling in his hair.

“What kind of man isn’t needy for his wife?” He began to thrust in deep, deliberate strokes. It matched the rhythm of the music in the distant ballroom, the two of you creating your own sultry dance. Maybe he would go up in flames. At least he’d have you to burn with. “Fuck, your body was made for my cock.”

Each snap of his hips tore more moans and whimpers from your throat and sent shockwaves through his system. You clenched around him with a smile, looking like a debauched angel. “My pussy was made for you, so ruin it.”

He groaned, his pulse beating strongly as his grip tightened on your hips. He fucked you without restraint, just as greedy for you as you were for him. Allowing himself to feel you and what you did to him was everything he was denied for so long. His life had only been order. Pain. You let him lose control. You gave him pleasure. Even a home.

I love you.

“I love you, too, Bucky,” you panted, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone as his eyes closed against the emotions threatening to surface. “I love you, too.”

His pace picked up, urgent, frenzied. At this rate, he might explode into fragments from your declaration and how good you felt. “You love me?” He bit out, his eyes opening and breaths harsh as he felt you clench again.

You cried out, his hand flying up to brace your head before it hit the door. “So much,” you moaned as you gazed at him. You were the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Fierce in love and loyalty, patient and steadfast. He feared some days he’d need you more than you needed him, but you drove that thought from his mind. “I’m yours.”

“I’m not gonna last,” he warned. He couldn’t with the way you looked at him, the way your walls gripped him, knowing you were his.

“Neither am…” Your mouth fell open as your release hit you, your fluids drenching him. It was a wonder to watch you go over the edge in a blissful orgasm. He wanted to be right there with you.

“There you go. Good girl,” he encouraged, your body still tight around his cock. He erupted in one last thrust, his head falling back with an animalistic roar. “Fuck…”

Bucky braced a hand against the door, the other holding you like a lifeline. If only the two of you were at home so he could properly cuddle with you. His breathing remained ragged for a bit as he came down from his high, your breathing beginning to steady, too. He couldn't help but smile as he took in the sight of you thoroughly ravaged and satisfied. “Worth every second of being here,” he sighed, slowly pulling out of your twitching hole. You inhaled when he moved a hand down and swiped two fingers along the mess seeping out of you. “Clean them off for me, baby,” he ordered huskily, bringing them to your mouth.

Obediently, you parted your lips and allowed him to push his fingers in. You swirled your tongue around them to taste your combined essence, moaning at the tangy flavor. He tucked himself away once you finished up, afraid that he’d fuck you all over again if he didn’t get completely dressed. It didn’t stop him from gazing longingly at you as he fixed his jacket.

And it didn’t stop him from imagining your mouth around his cock the next morning.

“Now.” You grimmaced slightly as he helped you steady yourself and straighten out your dress. He knew that look. It was the look you got for a split second whenever the sticky remnants continued to trickle down your thighs. He loved having that claim on you. “How do you expect me to go back to the gala after that?”

“I don’t,” he smirked, his hands moving back to your hips as he snuck in a gentle kiss. “I think it’s time to get you home and back in our bed where you belong. I promised I’d worship you, remember?”

You nodded, your eyes still slightly dazed. “On one condition.”

He titled his head. “What’s that?”

A slow smile curved your mouth, his heart pounding and cock twitching back to life at your answer, “You put a baby in me tonight.”

So, lovelies, was it okay? I feel rusty. And who wants a future fic of Bucky breeding you? Just me? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[lostwhump]

@whumptober | Day #26: "Nightmares" The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (1.01)