Real.

he’s so cute

if the fates allow

pairing: avenger!captain america!steve rogers x tall!shield agent!female reader

summary: steve rogers accidentally got drunk at the avengers tower christmas party, and you're the one tasked with helping him get to bed. it's a good thing you have plenty of practice keeping your crush on him a secret.

warnings: sexual tension, steve is drunk, reader is conflicted (nothing happens while steve's drunk), feelings are expressed, kissing, sleepy cuddling, i think that's pretty much it!

word count: 2.9k

a/n: here's my december 13 fic for @the-slumberparty's december daze challenge, using the prompt: "I didn't know the egg nog was spiked!" tried to keep this one short and sweet so that i can catch up, so if something doesn't make sense, just ignore it i guess! also this is my first time writing a specifically tall!reader and that was nice since i'm on the taller side 😅 hope y'all enjoy!! ♡

december daze challenge masterlist

“I didn't know the egg nog was spiked!”

Steve Rogers’ voice was louder than it needed to be, and so close to your ear that you winced a little. You kept walking, a massive arm looped around your shoulders while you half-carried the ungodly large body of Captain America and tried not to think about how good he smelled.

Why exactly you had been tasked with helping the very drunk Steve Rogers to his quarters after the Avengers Tower Christmas party was still a bit of a mystery to you. You’d seen Natasha Romanoff and Tony Stark with their heads bent close, like they were conspiring about something, and the next thing you knew, Bruce Banner was asking you to help Steve get to bed.

The phrasing of the request had sent your heart skittering in your chest, even under the less-than-ideal circumstances of its reality. You’d had a crush on Steve Rogers since you’d met him as part of your SHIELD assignment to Avengers Tower, and you liked to think you’d kept it secret from everyone.

But, well, you did work with spies for a living, and you had a feeling Natasha and Tony’s conspiring had something to do with your predicament.

You’d tried to protest Bruce’s request. Sure, you were one of the taller female SHIELD agents, but you were by no means the strongest person on your team, especially when it included Brock Rumlow. But apparently everyone else had gone home or they were helping someone else, and you were the only one who could do it. 

Frank Sinatra’s “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas” had been playing from the sound system of the Avengers Tower lounge as you’d made your way over to where Steve lay sprawled across the entire length of a sofa. He was singing along to the Christmas song—loudly and off-key—and nerves and excitement had fluttered through your belly like snowflakes on a winter wind.

You’d shoved your emotions away and put on the professional mask you always wore around Steve, pasting a polite smile on your face as you leaned over him and told him, in a not unkind voice, that you were going to help him get to bed. 

He’d given you a dreamy smile and did his best to help you lift his large body from the sofa while you’d ignored the way the snowflakes in your tummy had swooped at his happy expression and close proximity. 

With one arm wrapped around Steve’s waist and the other holding onto his wrist so his arm wouldn’t fall from your shoulders, you lifted a leg and kicked the elevator call button with your foot, only remembering to check to make sure no one was around after you’d done so. 

Oh well. If you’d flashed someone with the move, the most they’d see under the short skirt of your cocktail dress was the gun strapped to your thigh and the shapewear the tight, clingy garment had required you to wear. Thankfully, no one was around except the super-soldier draped across your shoulders, his head propped sleepily against yours.

“Of course it was spiked, captain,” you said, picking up the thread of the conversation he’d started. Your voice was patient and professional, if a little cold. “It was Stark’s Christmas party—he spiked all the egg nog with Asgardian liquor.”

The doors of the elevator slid open soundlessly and you huffed a sigh of relief as you dragged Steve in. You made sure he was propped up against the corner of the elevator, then stepped away to hit the button for his floor. As discreetly as you could, you wiped some sweat from your brow before turning back to Captain America. 

The expression on Steve’s face drew you up short. He was…not frowning exactly. Was that a…pout? 

You tilted your head to the side, your eyes poring carefully over Steve Rogers’ familiar features—the little pinched line between his brows, the dimmed sparkle of his blue eyes, the protrusion of his lush lower lip. You forced yourself not to linger on his mouth, even though it looked particularly inviting…

Yes, that was definitely a pout, you decided. 

Before you could wonder about what you’d said to garner such a reaction from Steve, he was talking. Or, rather, muttering.

“I don’t like it when you call me captain,” he grumbled.

The elevator was nearing Steve’s floor so you moved closer to him again, ignoring the way your body warmed when you pressed into his side and lifted his arm over your shoulder. The fresh scent of him wrapped around you like the most delicious blanket, and you wanted more than anything to be able to breathe it in until it lived permanently in your lungs.

“What should I call you then?” you asked, mostly to distract yourself from your body’s reaction to Steve. He was drunk, and you needed to get yourself under control.

You tried to pull him out of the corner, but you didn’t have enough leverage and instead of budging the big super-soldier, you bounced back into him, landing against his hard chest with a surprised little “oomph.”

Before that moment, you’d known, in theory, that you were only a couple inches shorter than Steve Rogers. But it was easy to forget because he had such a large presence, and he could very easily toss you around that mats of the Avengers Tower gym with his super-strength. 

However, in that moment you learned that the minimal height difference between you and Steve Rogers had a consequence you hadn’t considered. When you fell against his chest, your face was almost perfectly level with his—specifically, your mouth was almost perfectly level with his. 

You could taste the Asgardian rum on Steve’s breath and the thought of closing the distance and licking it from his lips was far more tempting than it should’ve been.

“Steve,” he rumbled, his arm tightening around your shoulders and hauling you even closer. “You should call me Steve.”

Your soft curves molded to the hard planes of his body and your breath caught in your throat as your mind raced, trying to figure out what he was doing. His blue eyes were dark, even under the bright lights of the elevator, and they were fixed very firmly on your lips—but they were still glazed from all he’d had to drink.

“Steve,” you said, his name soft and tortured as it fell from your lips, your eyes dropping to his mouth. 

You knew you couldn’t kiss Captain America while he was drunk, and you knew that if he tried to pull you any closer, you’d have to push him away. But you wanted so desperately to close the distance between your lips, the desire felt like it might incinerate you from the inside out. 

The ding of the elevator arriving at Steve’s floor brought you back to reality and you jumped away from the super-soldier, shaking your head at yourself as you grabbed his arm and heaved his weight onto your shoulders. You dragged him out of the elevator on stumbling feet, your mind spinning with what you’d almost done—what Steve actually had done.

For all the time you’d crushed on Steve Rogers, he’d never shown any indication of reciprocating your feelings. He’d always been just as professional and aloof as you’d been, and you’d taken that to mean he didn’t have any interest in you outside of work. But you were beginning to rethink your assessment…

Thankfully, Steve remained quiet and well-behaved for the trip down the hall to his quarters, and getting him inside seemed a bit easier after your practice with the elevator. You half-carried him to his bed and it took only a little push to have him sit down on the soft mattress.

Somehow, the movement left you standing between Steve’s spread legs, his arm curled around your waist from where it had fallen off your shoulder. His face was close again—closer than it should’ve been as he looked up at you from where he sat.

“Pretty…” he murmured, the fingertips of his free hand reaching for you but hovering just a hair’s breadth away from touching you. “You’re so…pretty.”

Heat suffused your cheeks and you ducked your head. “Steve,” you whined softly, your fingers wrapping around his wrists, trying to extricate yourself from his hold. “You don’t know what you’re saying.” 

“You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he said softly, your name falling sweetly from his lips. He brushed his thumb over your cheek so gently, it made your knees wobble.

You’d managed to get some distance from him, but the sound of your name made you stop. You looked at Steve, and his eyes were still slightly glazed from all the spiked egg nog he’d drank. 

You huffed a laugh that was sad and humorless. Of course the only time Steve had shown any interest in you, he was drunk.

“Tell me that again when you’re not drunk and maybe I’ll believe you, Steve,” you said, a little forlornly, and pulled his hand away from your face, dropping it in his lap. 

Stepping backward, you broke out of his hold, ignoring the way he was pouting again.

“Stay with me,” Steve said, his fingers catching the tips of yours as you turned away. 

The desperation in his tone halted your retreat. When you looked at Steve again, his eyes were a little clearer, and his expression was pleading. You didn’t know if it was the best idea to crawl into bed with Captain America while he was drunk. 

You were pretty sure he’d fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, so nothing would happen, but you worried about your heart. If you spent a whole night sleeping in Steve’s bed, breathing in Steve’s scent, it would be that much harder to pretend you didn’t have feelings for him. And you couldn’t seem to imagine he had feelings for you, despite what he’d said.

“Please,” Steve said, his voice cracking slightly. His face was washed in the dim light of the New York City skyline filtering in through the windows, and he looked like a work of art come to life, flawlessly gorgeous features and perfectly expressive eyes.

Your heart thumped in your chest, and were helpless to resist his request.

“OK,” you whispered, twining your fingers with his and giving his hand a small squeeze while you smiled shyly. 

Steve beamed happily at you and then flopped back on the bed. A grin was still fixed on his face while he kicked off his shoes and fought to pull down the blankets so he could slide under them.

You bit back a laugh at his gleeful reaction, shaking your head as you went to the bathroom to clean off your makeup and strip out of your gun holster and shapewear. Thankfully, your dress was comfortable enough to sleep in for one night.

When you returned, you found Steve passed out under the covers still wearing all of his clothes. You took a moment to appreciate his handsome features, softened in sleep, and then slipped into bed beside him, leaving plenty of space between your bodies.

It took you a little while to fall asleep, but the quiet, steady snores coming from Steve helped lull you, and eventually you drifted off.

The soft wintry light of the morning sunrise was just beginning to peak over the Manhattan skyline when you roused, your body bathed in a nearly overwhelming heat that came from something pressed against your back and banded around your waist.

It took you a long, groggy moment to realize the source of that heat was Steve Rogers.

At some point in the night, he must’ve moved closer and wrapped himself around you because one of his arms was curled around your waist while his broad chest was pressed flush against your back. You were so close together, you could feel his steady heartbeat against your spine. 

You must’ve shifted even to wake him because you heard the tenor of Steve’s breathing change. He buried his face in the back of your head and took a deep breath before letting out a contented sigh. 

“Pretty girl,” he mumbled, the words muffled and barely discernable. His arm squeezed tighter around your waist, dragging you even further into the wondrously warm cage of his body.

The sound of you sucking in a sharp breath was loud in the silent bedroom and Steve suddenly tensed. Quick as a flash, he removed his arm from around your waist and shuffled back a few inches, giving you space. 

Cold flooded in, even while you were still buried under the blankets, and you had to fight off a shiver. You missed his warmth, but you also needed to understand what was going on. You took a deep, steadying breath and then rolled over, looking at Steve warily. 

He was propped up on one arm, his blond hair mussed from sleep and his cheeks tinged pink from embarrassment. But his blue eyes were clear and curious, watching your reaction with interest. 

“What did you call me?” you asked in a trembling, hesitant voice. It probably wasn’t the first question you should’ve asked, but you had to know if you’d heard him correctly, and if he’d known he was talking about you when he’d said it.

Steve must’ve recognized the uncertainty in your voice or on your face because his expression softened and he lifted his hand, his fingers tracing the air next to your cheek. He was deliberately not touching you, and you had the urge to close the distance and feel his warm contact.

“You said to tell you you’re pretty when I wasn’t drunk anymore,” he said, his voice low and rough with sleep. His eyes had been wandering over your features, like he was trying to memorize the way they looked in the wintry morning light, but his gaze caught yours before he went on. “Well, I’m not drunk and you’re still the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

“Steve.” His name was a soft, desperate sound, your heart racing into a gallop as you tried to process the fact that Steve Rogers thought you were pretty. 

Before your mind had caught up, your hands were moving, reaching for Steve, eager to drag him closer. Your fingers were curling around the lapels of his dress shirt and you caught a glimpse of his crooked smile before you were both closing the distance between your bodies, his mouth slanting to yours for a kiss.

Heat and pleasure filled your body and soul, and you kissed Steve Rogers for the first time, your lips pressed together ungracefully in your excitement. After a few moments of blissful fumbling, you settled into a rhythm that was as delicious as it was delightful, made all the more breathtaking by the way you could feel Steve’s reverence for you in the way he held you.

It was a long time before you came up for air, and when you did, you laughed giddily when you saw the way Steve’s eyes were glazed over, a dreamy smile curling his lips, and you knew your expression matched his. He was drunk on kissing you, just as you were drunk on kissing him.

Steve dropped one last sweet kiss to your mouth and then he rolled you onto your side, tucking you into the warmth of his body while you both faced the windows, watching the sun rise over Manhattan. You were for a moment quiet as you enjoyed being with him, but something still bugged you. 

“I still don’t understand why Bruce asked me to help you to bed,” you said, your fingers playing with Steve’s hand that was clasped in yours. “But I’m glad he did, since it led us to this.” You pressed a kiss to his palm, marveling at how even that part of him smelled fresh and wonderful.

At your comment, Steve made a rough sound in his throat, something halfway between a cough and a laugh. It piqued your curiosity and you turned your head, catching his eye over your shoulder.

“That might be my fault,” he admitted, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. “I may have confessed to Nat that I think you’re pretty—and she’s been trying to set me up for ages.” 

Suddenly, everything from the night before clicked into place. Natasha and Tony’s conspiring, the way your SHIELD teammates were all otherwise occupied, the fact that Bruce—the least devious, and therefore, least suspicious of all the Avengers—had been the one to ask you to help Steve. 

It was all a very elaborate setup, and you had to feel a little impressed with Natasha, even as you rolled your eyes because it didn’t need to be so complicated. She could’ve just asked if you were interested, and then set you two up on a normal date. Instead, she’d concocted an elaborate scheme, just to get you and Steve alone. 

But you had to admit, it did work…

“You Avengers can never do anything the easy way, can you?” you teased, grinning at Steve over your shoulder. You reached back, fingers twining in his hair and pulling him close enough to brush a kiss to his lips. 

“Now, where would be the fun in that?” Steve murmured playfully against your mouth, kissing you more deeply before settling back down on the bed. 

For the next little while, you watched the December sunrise with Steve Rogers, basking in the feeling of being in his arms while he idly hummed “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” in between brushing delicious kisses to your neck. 

You did have yourself a very merry Christmas indeed.

december daze challenge masterlist

and suddenly i wouldn’t mind being a stripper if bucky was there.

acquainted

bucky barnes x reader (undercover stripper!reader x undercover bodyguard!bucky)

word count: 3.3k

warnings/tags: SMUT, oral (male and female receiving), vaginal penetration, language, strip club setting, creepy dude being a piece of shit, violence and a brief mention of blood, protective/possessive bucky, reader is afab, no use of y/n, touch her and die trope, Bucky might have a slight lingerie kink... 18+ only!

The pulsating fuschia and lime green strobe lights illuminating the club had been making your eyes throb for the last three hours. EDM plays so loudly that you're surprised blood doesn't trickle down from your ears. Not to mention the suffocating combination of cheap perfume, body odor, cigars, and booze that permeates the air makes your empty stomach churn.

If you never step foot into another nightclub when this is all over, you'll consider yourself lucky. Not just any nightclub - one of New Orleans’ scummiest strip clubs.

Five goddamn nights of this operation and not a lick of progress.

Your objective was simple - obtain proof that the owner was operating a sex trafficking ring out of the club, and then call for the back-up squad parked a block away. So far, you had not been able to acquire any kind of definitive proof. No hints of anything shady going on behind the scenes, and you had yet to even see the owner make an appearance at any point since the mission began.

Everything seems as above board as a strip club can be.

One last night, you compromised with Fury. One last night and if it went as the last few have, you were done, and he owes you a few days of paid leave for putting you through this.

“If you don't stop picking at your garter belt, it's not going to have any sequins left.” Bucky's low voice murmurs through the communication device placed discreetly in your left ear.

“If you don't stop watching my every movement, you’re not going to have any unbroken toes left,” you threaten lightly, taking a sip of your drink - just a Shirley Temple, to keep up appearances. “Shoes like this could do a lot of damage.” You glance down at the pointy heels of the black velvet stilettos.

“Is that not my job?” he counters. You don't have to look over at where he's standing in the corner of the room to know he's smirking. “To not take my eyes off of you?”

“Then do your job. Watch me. You don't have to make comments on my sequins to do that.”

“Alright, alright,” he concedes. “I'll be over here, admiring your sequins from afar. You won't even know I'm here.” The com line clicks off before you can retort.

Except you absolutely would know that he's here. Just as you have the previous four nights of this mission - painfully aware that he's here, tracking your every movement in the skimpiest outfits you've worn in your life, doing the most provocative dances imaginable, and flirting with men that you wouldn't touch with ten foot long poles in real life, all while he keeps to the sidelines in case something were to go wrong.

Keeps to the sidelines and just watches you. Even when one of the dancers approached him to ask if he'd be interested in a private dance once he's off the clock on the first night on the job.

Even when there's gorgeous, topless women crawling on the stage and all but humping the pole in his direct line of sight.

He isn't here to look out for them, of course. He is here solely to keep you safe if things were to go sideways. But you had assumed you would have caught him sneaking glances at the dozen other women at least once by now.

It's almost your turn to go up on stage. You've performed a solo set every night so far, and you still feel every bit as nervous as you did the first time.

You enjoy dancing, actually. In the comfort of your own room, when listening to music alone. When you go out with friends, occasionally. When you took ballet lessons as a child. This, however, was leagues out of your comfort zone.

“The creep from a couple nights ago is back,” Bucky's voice is a strained whisper in your ear.

“Gonna have to narrow it down a bit for me, Barnes. You could be referring to at least half of the men in here right now.”

“Sitting in front of the stage, to the left,” he mumbles back. “He's wearing a red wife-beater–”

“See him,” you interrupt, your eyes zeroing in on the short, stout, beady-eyed fuck who had been thrown out of the club night before last. One of the other security guards on duty chucked him out when he repeatedly got too handsy with one of the girls who had been giving him a lap dance.

“Fantastic,” you huff under your breath, as you finish touching up your lipgloss and reapplying the iridescent baby pink body glitter across your chest. “Just in time for my dance.”

You get up from your seat at the bar and adjust your lace bustier and thong as the announcer calls your stage name.

“He won't lay a finger on you,” Bucky assures you as you're walking up the steps of the platform.

There's a weak round of applause and a few whistles as you take your place on the center of the small stage. You give a vague nod in the direction of the DJ’s booth to indicate you're ready for your song to begin.

An upbeat but sensuous synth-pop song pours out of the speakers throughout the room and you begin to sway your hips.

You're hyper-aware of the fact that you can see Bucky making his way closer to you, away from his position in the back of the room. He settles when he's just a few tables behind the man in the red wife-beater.

There's an eruption of butterflies in the pit of your belly at how close he is. Each night prior to this, he has kept to lingering around the exits and the far wall towards the back of the club. Now, he's close enough that you can actually see his eyes following every languid movement that your body makes around the pole.

“Take your fucking top off!” a grating voice bellows from the audience. “We want to see your tits.”

You don't have to look to know who the voice belongs to. You decide to ignore him, hoping he would stop if you didn't give him any attention. You go to wrap your thighs around the pole again, preparing to spin–

“Did you not fucking hear me?” he shouts even louder this time, audible to everyone over the roaring music. “I said take your fucking–”

A flash of movement in your peripheral vision causes you to freeze around the pole. You turn your full attention to the ruckus, just in time to see Bucky fisting the man's greasy, shoulder length hair and pulling his head back. The music comes to an abrupt pause.

“You don't fucking talk to her like that,” Bucky snarls. “In fact, you don't talk to her at all, you don't look at her, you don't even breathe the same fucking air as her.”

The man is thrashing around, trying and failing miserably to get out of Bucky's grasp.

“Let me go you fucking–”

He doesn't get to finish his sentence before Bucky snaps the man's head forward, sending his face crashing into the granite tabletop.

The instantaneous pool of blood that contrasts so starkly against the white stone snaps you out of your fear-stricken trance.

Bucky pulls his head back up, forcing the man to look up at him.

“It's not my fault she refuses to show off those perfect–”

You all but jump off the stage - miraculously not breaking an ankle in the six inch heels - and rush over to where Bucky still has the man's hair yanked into his fist.

Just as Bucky is beginning to shove the man's head downwards again, you place both of your hands on his chest, gently but effectively shoving him backwards. He immediately releases his grip on the man as the other few security guards on duty arrive to detain the pervert.

“Hey, hey,” you place your hands on his biceps, trying to turn his attention to you and away from the man who he's still glaring after, as he's hauled off by security. “I'm fine, yeah? Everything is fine,” you try to assure him, though you're not sure your shaky voice sounds very convincing. “He's just a creepy, entitled asshole.”

Noticing that Bucky is shaking beneath your touch, you rub your hands up and down his arms in hopes of calming him down.

He finally meets your gaze. He doesn't say anything for a moment, just stares at you as he takes a few deep breaths.

“Go get dressed,” he orders you calmly after a moment. “I’m getting you the fuck out of here.” You want to leave too badly to even think about objecting.

You make a beeline for the changing room, where you throw on a sweater and force your pants over your heels, not even bothering to change out of the lingerie and stilettos.

Bucky's waiting for you right outside the door as you sling your duffel bag across your shoulder.

“How mad do you think Fury will be that we are abandoning our positions?” you ask in a hushed tone as Bucky ushers you through the club, his metal arm wrapped around your waist.

“Not as mad as I am that he's had you doing this bullshit for no reason for almost a week now.”

You and Bucky exit the club as quickly as possible, ignoring the curious and confused stares of the other dancers and security guards. He guides you down the block, then through an alleyway where his motorcycle is parked in a heavy silence - other than the obnoxious clanking of your heels against the pavement.

Bucky straddles one leg over the seat of the bike, taking his place in the driver's position and then hands you the helmet.

“Wait,” you pause before putting it over your head. “I'm starving.” Your stomach growls, as if on cue. “Can we stop and get some take-out?”

He looks at you incredulously. “I just shattered that guy's nose and likely severely concussed him and then just dipped. Our cover is essentially blown, don't you think we should get back to the motel room and lay low until the morning?”

“There's a Chinese place open late just a few blocks from the motel–”

“If I say yes will you put on the helmet and get on the bike?”

Taking that as a win, you slide the helmet over your head and hop on behind him. You wrap your arms securely around his midsection in a tight hug and he takes off down Bourbon Street.

You spend the drive trying to ignore the thought that of all the times you've ridden on the back of Bucky’s motorcycle, you don't remember him ever feeling so tense beneath your touch.

Half an hour later, you're lounging on the rickety motel bed, stuffing your face full of sweet and sour chicken and vegetable fried rice while Bucky fills Sam in on what happened over the phone.

He sits in one of the small chairs at the singular table in the corner of the room, his posture rigid. He answers all of Sam's questions with clipped, one-word responses as he massages his temple between his thumb and forefinger.

He hangs up the phone, refusing to meet your gaze. Instead, he pretends to be interested in the episode of Family Guy playing on the old motel TV.

“Your egg rolls are going to get soggy,” you tell him, pushing the to-go box across the mattress towards him.

“I don't have an appetite right now,” he says, picking up the box of food as he stands. You grab his bicep in your hand as he begins to walk past where you're sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Hey,” you say, stopping him. “Everything's okay. Really. Don't let that guy get to you–”

“A little late for that, don't you think?” He snaps, pulling his arm from your grasp. You sit back, too stunned by his reaction to know how to respond. You just stare after him as he crams his take-out box into the motel room's mini fridge.

“I shouldn't have reacted so harshly,” he says after a moment, still facing away from you. “I couldn't stop myself. He spoke to you that way, and I could have killed him and not thought twice about it. Probably would have if you hadn't intervened.”

He turns back to you. You're frozen in place.

“Do you know what that's like?” He asks, taking a step closer to you. “To feel like you aren't in control of your own body? To be so irrationally protective of someone that you'd kill for them without a second thought?”

You feel like all air has been stripped from your lungs. He's just inches away, staring down at you from where you sit on the edge of the mattress. The way he's looking at you makes your skin feel like it's on fire.

“Because that's what you do to me. That's how you make me feel.”

Heat pools between your legs.

“Come here,” you say - it sounds more like a question than a command.

He closes what little distance is left between the two of you, and pulls you up from the mattress by the tops of your arms so that your body is flush against his.

His mouth hovers over yours - not quite making contact, though you can feel his breath fan across your skin.

He takes his flesh hand and cups the side of your face with it, his thumb trailing across your bottom lip. His metal hand wanders down your back until it reaches the curve of your ass - grasping your cheek in a firm hold and squeezing until his touch borders between pleasure and pain.

“This is what I wanted to do to you every time I saw a man so much as glance in your direction in that club,” he whispers against your mouth. “I thought about bending you over the stage and making them watch me take you right then and there, but they didn't deserve to see that.”

“They aren't here to see us now,” you murmur as you bring your hand to cup the noticeable bulge of his jeans, eliciting a hiss from him. “So what are you going to do now?”

There's a dark grin spread across his face. He pushes you, softly but effectively, back down on the bed. You scoot back a few inches on the mattress, and then bring one of your feet up to remove the stiletto heels that you'd completely forgotten to take off upon returning to the motel with your haul of Chinese food.

“Oh, no,” Bucky laughs lowly. “I want you to keep those on. I've grown to like those quite a bit.”

Your cheeks warm in both arousal and bashfulness. You begin to push your pants down your thighs as Bucky kneels on the ground and helps you maneuver the fabric around your shoes. The sweater that you threw over your bustier goes next.

You're left in the lingerie set that you wore at the club.

“Call me jealous,” Bucky sighs as he begins trailing sloppy kisses up the insides of your thighs. “Call me possessive, call me crazy..”

You lay back down against the scratchy comforter as Bucky gets closer and closer to where you're aching to have him the most.

“But I don't want anyone seeing you like this but me.”

He pulls the already soaked lace material of your thong to the side, exposing your cunt.

He licks up your center torturously slow, causing you to let out a sharp exhale. He repeats the motion, and then locks his lips around your clit. Your hands shoot to his hair, fisting your fingers through the short brunet strands.

He eats you until you're a mewling and squirming mess beneath him.

You come hard, clenching your thighs around his head and riding his face through your orgasm.

“Stand up,” you instruct him as soon as you can think semi-clearly.

He obeys without any hesitation. The warm glow of the singular lamp in the motel room highlights the way your slick coats the lower half of his face.

You get up on your hands and knees before him and he lets out an audible groan at the sight in front of him. He bends down enough to kiss you - cupping your face in both of his hands and tipping your head up to give him a better angle to slip his tongue into your mouth. You moan into the kiss - the ache between your thighs reappearing already.

He removes his hands from your face, unbuttoning his pants while still kissing you.

You pull away to help free his cock from the confines of his boxers. Your mouth waters at what's directly in front of you. He's impressively long and girthy, with a thick vein running up the side.

You pump him a few times in your hand, swirling your tongue around the pre-cum dripping from his slit. He's already putty in your hands - groaning above you and placing his metal hand around the back of your neck to keep you where he wants you.

After you've run your tongue up and down his length a few times, you spit on the tip of his cock and massage it over the entirety of his shaft before taking him as far into your mouth as you can in the first go. He throws his head back, moaning your name.

You feel him hit the back of your throat and you gag before pulling back.

He curses under his breath, nudging himself slowly back towards your throat again.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl,” he praises and you moan around his dick. He gradually increases the speed at which he pumps himself into your mouth, obscene noises echoing off of the thin motel room walls.

When he pulls out, you feel drool running down your neck and mascara-tinted tears leaking from your eyes.

“You're so gorgeous like this for me,” he tells you, and despite knowing that you look thoroughly fucked out, you believe him. “Will you turn around?”

You do as he asks, turning around on your hands and knees. You lower your chest down to the bed so that your ass is angled upwards.

“Jesus Christ,” he grunts under his breath. He grips your hips with both of his hands, yanking you to him. His erection juts against the cloth of your underwear.

He tugs them aside once more, giving him access to tease your slit with the head of his cock. You rock backwards, grinding against him. He brings his flesh hand around your stomach and reaches down to rub your clit as he begins to slowly fill you from behind.

He pauses for a moment once he bottoms out, giving you time to adjust to the fullness of him before he starts fucking into you.

The combination of him slamming into you at such an intense angle and massaging you so perfectly has your climax building shamefully fast.

You grunt his name, bouncing your ass to meet his thrusts. “I'm gonna come,” you mewl, knowing he's on the verge of doing the same as his movements become uneven.

One, two, three more pumps and you can feel your pussy clenching around him as you come together.

You pull off of him, collapsing onto the bed and rolling onto your back. He crawls over you, propping himself up on his arms above you.

“You know,” he stares down at you, his eyes trailing to your breasts that are now spilling out of the black lace bustier. “As much as I hated every second of that mission, I do hope I might get to see you in some of these outfits again.”

♡♡♡♡♡

my masterlist!!!

by TrekChik

Red Sox pitcher Bucky Barnes is having a shitty year. He’s four years into his five-year contract and if he doesn’t get his shit together soon, he’s gonna be traded, he’s certain of it. In just three months of play, his ERA is creeping up towards six, his strikeout count is low, and he hasn’t won a game in his last three starts. To make matters worse, he’s at odds with the team’s catcher, Brock Rumlow.

Words: 4336, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: James “Bucky” Barnes, Steve Rogers, Brock Rumlow

Relationships: James “Bucky” Barnes/Steve Rogers

Additional Tags: Baseball, Baseball Idiots, baseball pitcher Bucky Barnes, baseball catcher Steve Rogers, pitchers and catchers, Pining Bucky Barnes, Steve is savvier than Bucky realizes, Boys Kissing, Frottage

I guarantee this would just make me a better person

Relief Mission (Part 2 of 2)

Pairing: Bucky x Female!Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Mutual pining, flirt, and so much smut

Summary: The morning after and beyond.

A/N: Special thanks to my beta reader @whisperlullaby This one's for you @weekendgothgirl.

Part 1 of Relief Mission

You had no idea what time it was when it happened, probably the middle of the night. That strange sensation of falling hit you and you jerked awake to the realization that you were falling out of the bed. You had made yourself as small as possible, put yourself on the edge of the bed, to give Bucky room. Scrambling to keep yourself from hitting the floor, you feel a hand grab your waist and pull you back. Bucky fit your body to his in the small bed, burying his face in your neck. 

“Thanks,” you whisper, but there’s no answer from the man snuggling against you. “Bucky?” you try again but the only answer you receive is a moan as he flexes his hips more firmly into you. You bite your lip and debate what to do. You could try to extricate yourself but you imagine that the loose grip he holds is deceptive or maybe you just want it to be. You decide to stay where you are, it was where you wanted to be anyway. You smile as you fall back to sleep. 

The next morning, you wake with your face pressed to his chest, legs tangled with his, and your hands curled into his shirt. When a ray of light hits the one eye not shielded by his chest, you groan. 

“Piss off, sun. I’m not done with nighttime yet,” you mumble the sentiment, enjoying the feel of waking in someone’s arms. Bucky’s chest rumbles against your face. His laugh telling you he was awake and had heard you.

“Morning, doll,” he says quietly. You can hear the smile in his voice and bask in it for a moment.

“Mmm, morning. I know, I know. Gotta get up. Long drive,” you say mostly to yourself. 

“Five more minutes?” Bucky whispers. 

“I knew I liked you,” you smile as you nuzzle into his warmth. His arms tighten around you slightly. You fall into a hazy half-sleep, more comfortable than you should be with a man you barely knew. Rousing yourself a few minutes later, you take a deep breath, “Sorry,” you extricate yourself, sit on the edge of the bed, and grasp for words to explain why you were practically wrapped around him. “I, um… Thanks for saving me from hitting the floor last night,“ you say with a nervous little laugh. 

“What?” Bucky’s eyebrows knit together as he looks at you from where he’s still laid out on the bed.

“Last night?...” you read his confused expression and continue. “I almost fell out of the bed and you pulled me back. I, uh, guess you slept through the whole thing, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Bucky scratches the back of his head. “I’m not surprised. I was probably crowding you.”

“No!,” you say too quickly. “Not at all. Anyway, we should get going. I’m going to change. My shirt should be dry by now. I’ll give your’s back.”

“No need, doll. Keep it. Looks-” Bucky cuts himself off.

“What?” you ask, curiously. 

“Nothing,” he shakes his head with a sheepish smile.

“No, it’s okay. What were you going to say?” 

“It, um, it looks better on you anyway,” Bucky quietly says and then stares, waiting for your reaction. 

“Oh,” you smile, heat creeping up your face. “Okay. Th-thanks. I’ll be out in just a minute.”

Bucky kicks himself as you scramble into the bathroom. His stupid mouth always seemed to run ahead of his brain around you. You probably thought he was an idiot. 

You stood in the bathroom for a minute and couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot. He was so adorable. Shaking yourself from your thoughts, you get ready quickly. You still had to get to the rendezvous point to join the rest of your team. 

The drive was long but it was as if a dam had broken between you and Bucky. Perhaps the shared intimacy of sleeping in each other's arms had made the awkwardness melt away. Whatever the reason, the polite conversation and long silences you had formerly shared with the metal-armed supersoldier had turned into laughs and getting to know each other. He was surprisingly funny and incredibly sweet. The stories he told were endearing. You even managed to make him laugh. He asked questions and listened to you prattle on. 

By the end of the drive, your attraction to him had become a full blown crush. However, there was no time to dwell on it as the team immediately went on to the next part of the mission. It was a few days before you were back home and settled down from the action. You were happy when Bucky sought you out more often after that. You spent time together, laughed, and just enjoyed each other. The only thing that was bothering you is that he had never made a move in the two weeks since that night. You were wondering if he just wanted to be friends. 

You had just closed your door after hanging out with the team for the night when there was a knock. Opening the door, you look curiously at Bucky as he leans against the doorjamb. 

“Hey. What's up?” you ask, your heart beating faster.

“Do you ever think about that morning? Waking up together?” Bucky looks at you. His eyes are filled with such tenderness and just a tinge of fear. 

“All the time. All the time,” you smile widely and pull him through the door.

He shuts it as he walks through and your heart soared as he wrapped you in his arms. You stared into each other's eyes, taking each other in and then the tension snapped. His lips found yours and he kissed you until you were dizzy. It was as if neither of you wanted to separate. When he finally pulls away, you smile at each other. 

“I’ve been wanting to do that for weeks,” Bucky says, his hand caressing your neck. 

“What took you so long?” you tease. 

“I’m a little out of practice at the whole dating thing,” Bucky chuckles while his cheeks tinge pink. 

“Does that mean you want to date me?" You bite your lip.

"Yeah, doll. Can I take you to dinner tomorrow?" Bucky asks, nervously.

"Why don't you take me to breakfast in the morning?" You raise an eyebrow.

"Uh, sure. If that's what you want. I'll see you in the morning," Bucky stutters in confusion. 

Realizing he hadn't taken your meaning, you decide to be a little more clear,  "Ya know, it's a long commute from my room to yours, maybe you'd like to just… stay the night?"

Biting your lip, you watch as realization dawns on Bucky's face. It's nearly comical. Sure, you were being forward but you'd practically walked around with a lady boner since that morning. Constantly hot and bothered from feeling him against you but nothing you did seemed to quell the ache. When Bucky stepped forward, his expression was full of wonder, as if he couldn't believe you had extended such an invitation.

He puts a hand on your neck and then pulls you to him for a kiss. You had expected it to be passionate as the one before had been but it was incredibly soft and tender. Your eyes flutter closed as you take in the moment. The feel of his lips, his hand caressing your neck, his metal arm going around your waist to pull you closer, and then suddenly, he breaks the kiss, bends down, and picks you up. You gasp as you put your arms around his neck and stare at him in surprise. Giving you a sweet smile, he walks to your bed and gently lays you on it. He follows you down, settling next to you before finding your lips again. His hands wander over your arms, your hips, your neck, as if he’s discovering you. Memorizing your curves and testing those spots that make you shudder. 

Taking some initiative, you put your leg over his and pull him closer. He rolls you under him, settling between your legs, and putting one hand under your shirt to feel your skin. You slide your hands under his shirt, feeling his warm skin, and push it up slowly. He takes the hint and leans back to pull it off. Running your hands over his chest, the ache between your legs becomes more pronounced. 

When you look into his face, he plucks at the hem of your shirt, the question in his eyes clear. You lift yourself up to help him pull it off and you’re a little surprised when he reaches behind your back and unclasps your bra with ease. He registers your surprised expression and pulls away. 

“I’m sorry. I should- I should’ve asked,” Bucky begins to stutter. 

You put your fingers to his lips and shake your head gently, “I was just surprised at how easily you did that. The answer’s yes.” You pull the bra off and throw it aside, immediately pulling him to you and enjoying the delicious warmth of his chest pressed to yours. You kiss his neck, dragging your tongue across the stubble there. 

Bucky shudders and whispers desperately, “Doll, I’m trying so hard to go slow.”

“Why?” You say against his skin, “You don’t have to go slow.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Bucky groans. 

You let out a little laugh, “I’m not fragile. You won’t hurt me, baby.” To drive home your point, you nip at his neck. And just like that, the dam is broken. Bucky presses you into the mattress, your hands intertwined as he kisses you with abandon. His hips flex into yours and you moan as you wrap your legs around him. He drags his lips down your neck and pays special attention to your breasts as he practically rips open the zipper on your jeans. You shimmy as he pulls them, along with your panties, down your legs and tosses them aside. He’s nearly feral as he pushes your legs apart as wide as he can, stretching your cunt open to him. His mouth attacks your clit and you arch. 

“Jesus! Fuck, Bucky! Oh my god!” Your words melt into moans as he fucks you with his tongue. You arch and keen with each motion over your clit. You grab handfuls of his hair as he eats you. It’s nearly too intense but you wouldn’t stop him to save your life. You’d never felt anything this incredible and it wasn’t long before you cried out, “I’m coming! Fuck! Oh, God, oh, God!” You were babbling as Bucky never even thought to stop or slow down. He kept going as if he’d never tasted anything as divine as you, as if his sole goal in life was to make you feel those incredible waves crash over you. He changed his angle and speed a second later and it had you building more quickly than you knew you could. You were bucking uncontrollably, chasing that friction he was creating, and then your body went taut, “Bucky! Baby, fuck! I- Ohhh!” Your voice died out as your whole body spasmed with the orgasm he had pulled from you. You felt like a ragdoll as you came back to yourself. You look down at Bucky where he’s watching you from between your legs, only his eyes visible as he slowly circles your clit. 

“Glad you aren’t fragile, doll. I’m not done yet,” Bucky smiles as he slides his fingers inside you and flicks his tongue more firmly against you. 

“Oh, fuck,” you moan, “I can take it.” 

You grab handfuls of the sheets as his fingers find that spot inside you and the feeling of his tongue pushes you higher. You still manage to push the words past your lips, “Just remember, I get to taste you next. Fuck, it’s gonna be so good.” You feel your cunt gush as you say the words and Bucky growls, sending vibrations through you. “That’s right, baby. Gonna suck that cock. Want to feel it hitting the back of my throat. Gonna make you weak, oh fuck, from my mouth. Bucky! I’m gonna-” you scream, you can’t stop yourself. The orgasm that rips through you is the most intense thing that you’ve ever felt. You ride it out, one hand in Bucky’s hair to hold him in place as the incredible aftershocks hit you. When Bucky’s tongue starts making those delicious circles again, you laugh as you pull his head away from you, “my turn, handsome.”

He crawls up your body and hovers above you for a moment, looking at your debauched expression, “You don’t have to, doll.”

You smile and reach up to touch his face before catching him off guard and flipping him under you. Hovering over him, you smile, “I want to.” You lean down to kiss him, tasting yourself on his lips and grinding your soaked pussy over his considerable bulge. Pulling back, you stare into his eyes as you slide down his body. You pull his sweatpants off and lick your lips as his length bobs in front of you. “Fuck, I’m going to enjoy this.” You wrap your hand around him and give a long lick across his tip. 

“Doll!” The heels of Bucky’s hands are pressed into his eye sockets as if he’s in the most pain… or pleasure of his life. 

“What is it, baby?” you tease, repeating the action. You swirl your tongue around his head as you watch his breathing pick up. 

“I can’t, I’m gonna explode,” he whimpers. 

“That’s kinda the point,” you smirk as you take him in your mouth, running your tongue along his underseam. 

“Jesus, doll, I’m serious! I don’t think I can hold myself back. It’s been too long. You feel fucking amazing,” Bucky moans. 

“Then don’t,” you say before sliding him back in. You fuck him with your mouth, sliding your tongue back and forth, pumping what you can’t fit with your hand, palming his balls, and moaning at the divine feel of him. You employ every trick you know to give him pleasure. He fists the sheets, breathing heavily, and tries not to buck his hips. 

“Doll, I’m gonna… Where- oh, fuck, Doll!” Bucky’s pleas end on a long moan as you slide him into your throat. You hold back your gag reflex as Bucky explodes, filling you with his spend. It’s almost too much but you manage to relax and swallow. His hands nearly shred your sheets. He was incredibly turned on that you would even do this for him but when you slid him all the way in and let him come down your throat, he didn’t think he’d stop coming. His balls tightened up harder than ever before and all he wanted was to make you feel as incredible. You slide him out carefully and move to curl up beside him. “I need more,” Bucky’s voice is gravelly. 

“Oh, sorry, of course,” you sit up to move back down the bed but don’t make it far.

“No,” Bucky says as he lifts you and sets you down with a knee on each side of his head. “Just like this,” he says, pulling you down to sit on his face. Grabbing hold of your headboard, you gasp as pleasure rolls through you. Bucky’s hands knead your ass as he flicks his tongue over your clit again and again. 

“Bucky!”

“Ride my face, doll. Come on, you deserve it after that little show you put on,” Bucky uses his grip on you to move you back and forth, encouraging you to take your pleasure from him. You’re tentative at first but then the pleasure rolls through you as you grind against his tongue. As you roll your hips, he moves his head back and forth adding to the friction. Twisting to look back, you see his cock hardening again and all you can think of is riding it rather than his face, letting him fill you up, and as the image runs through your mind, your cunt spasms.

“Fuck! Bucky! I need you! I need you inside me,” you say the words desperately as you scramble down his body. He’s still only semi-hard but you line him up with your entrance and sink down. “Oh, fuck, yes,” you whimper as you slowly move your hips, eyes rolling back in your head at the pure hedonism. 

Bucky grabs your hips, staring at where your two bodies meet, indulging in the fact that he’s finally buried inside you. “You feel amazing, doll. Fuck.”

“Bucky,” you moan as you feel him growing inside of you, stretching you, hitting deep. “Bucky, I can’t stop. It’s so good, so fucking good,” you babble as you build momentum. You grind your hips against him, pleasure building with each motion.

“I wanna see you come on top of me, doll. Look at me, look in my eyes and come all over my cock. I want to see you fall apart. Give it to me,” Bucky commands. 

“Oh, fuck,” you whine as your orgasm breaks over you. Staring into his eyes, your mouth forms an O as you lose yourself to the spasms. Your hips stutter and Bucky holds your face as he watches you. 

“I know, I know, babydoll. Good girl. You feel so good riding my cock. Just had to have it in you, huh? Couldn’t let me feel you come on my tongue one more time, you needed this cock inside you. Well, I hope you meant it when you said you weren’t fragile. We’re not done yet,” Bucky smiles cockily as he rolls you under him. He starts to move his hips in a slow rhythm, making you lift your knees to wrap your legs around him, arching to give him better access. 

Sex had never been this good. It had never felt like this. Never been this thorough and pleasurable. You were lost in it. Lost in him. He could do anything to you at this point and you would beg for more. 

“Bucky, Bucky, oh god, Bucky, please,” you moan. 

“Please what, doll?” Bucky murmurs in your ear. 

“More, harder, please!” you whine. 

“Good girl,” Bucky praises, “You want more, huh? Yeah, you need it, don’t you? Tell me.”

“I need it. Please, baby, I need more!”

Bucky pulls your legs up, throwing them over his shoulders and begins fucking into you with hard, fast strokes making you cry out. It was intense and you felt your cunt tightening around him.

“Yeah, that’s what my babydoll needed. Fuck, you feel good. You're squeezing me tight, taking me so good,” Bucky’s hands are everywhere, holding your hips, feathering over your nipples, caressing your neck. 

Your brain goes into complete overdrive between his hips driving into you relentlessly and the words of a sex god spilling out of his mouth. Fuck, it was just the first time and you were addicted to him already. You were gonna need a dose of him every day for the rest of your life. 

“Come on, doll. Come for me again. I’m so close but I need to feel you do that all over my cock again. Give it to me,” Bucky demands sweetly. 

“Ohhhh, fuuuck,” you whine as your orgasm slams through you. You nearly black out from the intensity but you will yourself to watch as Bucky loses himself to the fluttering of your cunt around him. His roar of pleasure as he emptied himself into you makes your cunt grip him even tighter. When he’s spent, he lowers your legs and gently lays down beside you. Pulling you against him, he kisses your neck and you smile. 

“See, not fragile at all,” you quip, still trying to catch your breath. 

“I hope not, doll. After all, this is just a break. We’re not done yet,” Bucky chuckles. 

Your eyes widen but, never one to back down from a challenge, you reply, “Barely started, baby.”

Updates and taglist: Due to the unreliable nature of tags, I no longer keep a taglist. Updates for series will be made on Sundays Central Time Zone. Please follow my sideblog @tuiccimfanfiction and turn on notifications for updates. All series and new stories will be reblogged to it. You will only receive notifications when a new part or story is out! Nothing else will be blogged to the page. I can’t thank you enough for your support!

tuiccim.tumblr.com

Masterlist

Find me on:   AO3  TikTok  Ko-Fi Updates and taglist:  Updates for series will be made weekly. Please follow my sideblog @tuiccimfanfiction

@badassbaker@finleyjayne@harrysthiccthighss@rebekahdawkinss@learisa@liebs82  @blackkflamecandle@saiyanprincessswanie@rainbowkisses31 @whisperlullaby@thejemersoninferno@thehumanistsdiary@supraveng@chrisevansbaby@randomfandompenguin@hiddles-rose @buckysnumberonegirl@jbbarnesgirll@late-to-the-party-81@bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky@ysmmsy@looking-for-another-world@colereads@happypopcornprincesss@mrsbarnes107th@sebsgirl71479@palaiasaurus64@ginger-swag-rapunzel@libbymouse@wonderbreadbucky@vicmc624@shamelessfangirl-3@eclecticpatrolroadlawyer@red42985@themorningsunshine@imjustace

me rn😭🤭🤭

Touch || Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky was not a fan of physical contact, that was something you knew about him even before you started dating him. What you didn't know was how incredibly touch starved he was. That is until one lazy Sunday afternoon, when you take your relationship to the next level.

Word count: 4300

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, porn with feelings, dry humping, overstimulation, kinda sub!bucky x gentle dom!reader, touch starved bucky, a little angst (it’s bucky duh), fluff

English is not my first language

Notes: This is a continuation of THIS little thing that I posted the other day, but you don't have to read it to understand the story.

Bucky was not someone who enjoyed a lot of physical contact, that was a fact about him that you found out pretty quickly. You just had to see the way he interacted with his friends and the people around him to notice that he didn't really like to be touched, especially by strangers. You'd seen him jump and flinch at the slightest brush of someone's body making their way through the busiest nights at the bar, so you kept that in mind when you had your first date. It didn't really matter to you that he didn't even hold your hand or kiss you at the end of the date, you had such a good time with him that you didn't even think about it. 

Besides, that only made things more interesting. Not knowing when he was going to kiss you —or if he was even going to kiss you at all— kept you on your toes, butterflies fluttering in your stomach every time you looked into each other's eyes. The tension only increased with each date and all that build up made your first kiss magical. There were no words to describe how you felt the moment his lips finally met yours. It was a shy, experimental kiss, your lips brushing delicately as you explored this new feeling. Bucky rested his hand on your cheek to draw you closer to him, the touch of his fingers awakening a tingle on your skin. It was almost hard to believe that someone as big and strong as him was capable of such gentleness, but that was what made the moment so special.

There was definitely a spark between you, a connection you had never felt with anyone before. So you didn't care that it had taken Bucky longer than usual to kiss you, you were willing to wait as long as it took to feel that electricity that only he seemed to be able to awaken coursing through your body. Bucky made it all worth it.

You usually let him initiate the physical contact. You didn't want to end up accidentally stepping over his boundaries, so beyond a few kisses and hugs you used to let him decide when he wanted to hold your hand or cuddle up on the couch to watch a movie. You didn't mind the lack of physical contact, it didn't affect your relationship in the slightest. It wasn't like that was the only way to show affection. You didn't have to doubt if Bucky really loved you or if your relationship had a future because he always found other ways to show you how he felt about you. 

He may not be very good at expressing his feelings in a physical way, but he had a special talent for expressing in words and beautiful metaphors the love he felt for you, confessions that were immortalized in the love letters he often sent you. The nature of his work required him to spend weeks and sometimes even months away from you, and he would take advantage of those moments alone to reflect on his feelings and pour them out on paper, expressing in neat handwriting the thoughts that were running through his head. You still talked on the phone and texted each other all the time, but there was something so intimate and personal about handwritten love letters that he refused to let them die, forgotten in the past.

Bucky also expressed his love through acts of service, dropping everything he was doing to come to your aid whenever you were in the slightest inconvenience. And he also loved sharing quality time with you, whether it was planning a romantic evening or just staying by your side while the two of you did nothing on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Those were all acts that undoubtedly proved to you that Bucky loved you, so you really didn't mind the lack of physical displays of affection. The love you shared was much purer and more intense than any of your past relationships, so who cared if you weren't holding hands all the time when your chest exploded with love every time you saw him.

You learned very quickly that Bucky Barnes had a different love language than most of the other people you had dated, and you were more than okay with it. You never asked him about it because you honestly didn't think there was a reason behind it. People love in different ways, some are more vocal and physical about it and some are more quiet and reserved, but that doesn't mean they are any more or less valid. All different ways of showing love are valid and you always assumed that Bucky was naturally a person who didn't enjoy excessive physical contact because of the way he sometimes flinched and squirmed when your hands caressed his skin for too long. But your perspective on Bucky's loving ways changed one Sunday afternoon. 

You were lying on the couch watching a movie in your apartment. You were comfortably settled on the right end, your arm resting on the armrest and your legs stretched out on the coffee table. You had a pillow in your lap and on it rested Bucky's head, who was lying on his side so he could get a good view of the TV. The sunset light coming through the window illuminated his face in a special way, highlighting every detail you loved about him. The movie faded into the background as you lost yourself in the adorable image of your boyfriend resting on your lap. He looked so peaceful that if it weren't for the soft giggles he let out from time to time you would think he was asleep. It was rare to see him like that, with his features so relaxed, and you loved him. 

Bucky's long chestnut hair rested messily on the cushion. A stray strand fell over his face, hiding part of his beautiful features from your eyes. Without realizing what you were doing you reached your hand out to brush it away, tucking the rebellious strand of hair behind his ear so you could admire him better. Bucky closed his eyes for a moment when your fingertips brushed the skin on his temple, but said nothing. So you let your hand wander through his hair a little longer while you lost yourself in his beauty and the love you felt for him. Your fingers stroked his hair gently, your nails lightly scraping his scalp.

Bucky closed his eyes again, only this time he didn't realize he had done so. His body stopped responding to his brain's commands, momentarily losing himself in your gentle touches. He was instantly overwhelmed by the delicate movement of your fingers. It had been so long since he had last been in such an intimate situation that his body did not know how to react. His brain stopped working every time you touched him and this was no exception. When you pulled a strand of his hair with a little more force than usual —accidentally or not, he didn't know—, Bucky let out a pathetic whimper, electricity coursing through his body and awakening a flame inside him that he thought had been extinguished.

But then he came back to his senses. His brain regained control over his body and forced him to jump up and away from you before something went wrong. 

"Bucky, I'm sorry I didn't mean to..." you rushed to apologize, fearing you had crossed his boundaries regarding physical contact without realizing it. You should have been more careful, you should have asked him if it didn't bother him before touching him. 

It broke Bucky's heart to see the guilt and fear in your eyes, especially knowing that it was all his fault and not yours. You were nothing but loving and patient with him, never pressuring him for anything and creating a safe space where he could relax and let loose without fear. "No, no, it's okay," he tried to reassure you. "It's not you, it's me. I'm the problem, doll."

"No, Bucky, don't say that," you said, moving closer to him. You reached out to touch him, there was nothing you wanted to do more than hold his hand and kiss him until his sad expression changed. But at the last second you realized that wouldn't be a good idea so you dropped it in your lap once more.

"But it's true," he insisted. "You did nothing wrong, it's just that... it's hard for me. I haven't been this close, this intimate, with anyone in a long time and it's kinda overwhelming," he revealed, surprising you. In all this time it never occurred to you that this could be the reason for his problem with physical contact.

"It's okay, Buck. We don't have to do anything if you don't want to. I'm more than fine with the way things are right now between us."

"But that's the thing," he sighed, adjusting his posture so he could look you in the eyes. "I like it when you touch me, when you kiss me and you hold me while we watch a movie. It makes me feel good... it makes me feel loved. But then I get overwhelmed and I- I don't know, I just can't do it," he muttered in frustration, not quite sure how to explain to you that he had spent the last few months of his life trying to train his brain to stop associating physical contact with the horrors he had experienced with Hydra. 

"We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with," you spoke in a soft tone. "I'm happy with our relationship the way it is right now. I love you, Bucky, and I would never pressure you into anything."

"I know, doll. You've been nothing but kind and understanding. I just wish I could give you more."

"We can take things slow. There's no need to rush into anything, baby." you said, moving a little closer to him until your leg brushed his. "I can still hold you and kiss you and touch you... you don't have to run from me, Bucky. We can take our time to test your boundaries and get you used to intimacy again, if you want that, of course."

Bucky would be lying if he said your words didn't sound tempting. There was nothing he loved more than feeling your hands on his body, the taste of your lips on his mouth and the warmth of your skin against his. He avoided physical contact not because he didn't like it but because he enjoyed it too much and his brain was not yet ready to process what your touch made him feel. He was easily overwhelmed by your touch, every little brush of your fingers awakened a tingle inside him and a flame deep in his stomach. He would lose the ability to think coherently when you held him and sometimes he could feel tears forming in his eyes when you held his hand as you walked down the street. The idea of someone loving him without fear or regret was something that filled his chest with joy and frightened him in equal proportions. A part of him still had trouble understanding that someone was capable of loving him like that.

"Do you trust me?" you asked as you read the doubt in his eyes. Bucky nodded, shaking his head slightly without a second thought. "I need you to use your words, baby."

"Yes, doll, I trust you" he assured you firmly, putting a warm smile on your lips.

"Can I kiss you?" you murmured, your voice barely a whisper.

"Please," Bucky begged and that was all the confirmation you needed to take his face in your hands and press your lips together. 

It was a slow kiss, your lips gently caressing his in an attempt to calm his nerves. You felt him relax under your touch, surrendering to the warm tingle that ran through his body each time you kissed him. He let you guide him, his body responding to your movements without protest. When he felt your tongue caress his lips he parted them, granting you permission to attack his mouth. 

Everything became a blur after that. He could feel your lips on his, your hands caressing his skin, the warmth of your body enveloping him completely, but it was too much for his poor brain to process. He was limited to feel, to move and act following his most primitive instincts while the flame inside him only grew.

"Is this okay?" you asked him, pulling away from his lips to speak. Only then did Bucky realize that you were now sitting on his lap, trapping his body between your legs.

"Yes," he managed to say between ragged breaths. But you didn't give him much of a break, attacking his lips once more before trailing your kisses down his jaw to his neck.

Bucky closed his eyes instinctively, losing himself in the tingling that the brush of your lips on his skin awakened inside him. His hands traveled to your hips, his fingers clinging to you as a way to keep himself grounded. It was pathetic, utterly ridiculous, that a man his age would melt at the slightest touch of your lips on his body, but he couldn't help it. It had been so long since he had last experienced such intimacy with someone that it was like it was his first time all over again. And in a way it was. The old innocent and confident Bucky had died that cold day falling off that train and for over 70 years he had been forced to live as something else, an entity with no voice or conscience damned to obey orders. He had been changed by that experience and when he was freed from his chains a completely different man from the one he used to be emerged. A man who had to adapt to a different world than the one he was used to and who had to train his brain to stop responding to old patterns. So in a way it was like being born again, at least that's how he had felt the day the trigger words stopped working on him. And that's how he felt with you sitting on his lap, your lips sucking on his neck while your hands explored his body.

Bucky felt like he was in heaven, flying through the clouds as a euphoric feeling filled his insides. He hadn't really realized how much he missed that kind of intimacy until that moment. He was desperate to feel more of you, reduced to a whimpering, moaning mess every time your lips brushed his soft spots or when your hands disappeared into his hair, delicately tugging at the chestnut strands. He let out the most pathetic whimper as your core made contact with his growing erection, your hips rolling sensually as you gently nibbled the skin of his neck. He tightened his grip on your waist, to stop you or to pull you closer to him, he wasn't sure.

The sounds that escaped his lips were like music to your ears, a sweet melody that coursed through your body and made your core throb. It had not been your intention to rub against him in that way, it was a subconscious act of your body, desperate to find some relief from the pressure that was forming in the pit of your stomach. But now that you had done it and Bucky seemed to respond positively to it, you continued to do it, finding a slow, sensual rhythm that would bring you both to the edge of pleasure.

You two were fully clothed, yet there was something so erotic about what you were doing. To have a man like Bucky, so tall, serious and imposing, turned into a moaning, panting mess beneath you ignited a flame in you, a sensation you had never experienced before. You could feel your wetness staining your underwear as you admired the pleasure in Bucky's expression-his eyes closed, eyebrows slightly furrowed and parted lips letting out an endless stream of whimpers. But there was also something in the way he seemed to be giving himself completely to you that filled your heart with joy. He trusted you for this. He trusted you to take care of him. He trusted the safe environment you had created for him. He knew he could let his guard down when he was with you, allow himself to experience that kind of closeness, that kind of intimacy, without fear of rejection or embarrassment. He loved you and that was the most important thing of all. 

"Wait!" Bucky suddenly exclaimed between shaky breaths. He tightened his grip on your hips, but this time it was to stop you before it was too late. "I- I don't think I can..." he trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence. He didn't want to disappoint you, but he also didn't want to admit out loud that he's had trouble bringing himself to orgasm. It's not like he didn't want to, he was desperate to feel that sweet relief, but he just couldn't. He tried to pleasure himself several times in the past and generally everything went well until his climax started to approach, then the pleasure became too much. His mind is unable to relax, to let go of the sensations, and it all ended abruptly, leaving him tense and frustrated —even more so than usual.

"It's okay, baby. I'm here for you," you said in a soft, sensual voice, your fingers delicately stroking his hair. "Let me help you." You didn't move until you had confirmation that this was what he wanted, leaving it up to him to decide how to proceed. When he nodded his head slightly you gave him a quick kiss on the lips before continuing your movements.

"That's it, baby. Let go for me," you purred against his ear as Bucky began to move beneath you, thrusting his hips upward to match you. 

You quickly found a rhythm that worked for both of you, each little brush of your bodies pushing you ever closer to the edge. Bucky's moans were almost uncontrollable as he held you close to his body, his hands never leaving your hips, pressing you against his bulge. It was too much, the heat coursing through his body, the pressure building in his stomach, the racing of his heart... he felt like he was going to explode. And yet, he didn't want the moment to end. He was desperate for relief, but at the same time he would live forever in that moment if he could. Nothing compared to the feeling of having you so close to him, moaning his name as you held him.

“You like that, baby?” you asked after Bucky let out a particularly loud whine. “You like it when I bite your neck?”

“Yes! Yes, f-fuck… please,” he muttered incoherently. He didn't even know why he was begging, the plea escaping his lips before he could stop himself.

“Does it feel good? Yeah?”

“So good, doll… so fucking good.” Bucky was struggling to respond in coherent sentences, his pleasure-clouded brain too distracted to function properly. “You’re so good to me, doll…so, so g-good. Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t, baby. I won’t." You reassured him between ragged breaths. You increased the pace, seeking your relief as much as his. With one hand you held onto Bucky's shoulder for support while your other hand traveled to his cheek. Your fingers tenderly stroked the soft skin of his face, a delicate action that contrasted with the desperation of the movements of your hips. Bucky accepted the touch gladly, leaning into your hand as he felt the world around him collapse.

"God, you're so pretty like this, all needy and desperate for my touch… my pretty boy." The words left your lips before you realized it. You didn't even know where they had come from, it was the first time you had uttered something like that in such an intimate moment. But it felt natural and Bucky seemed to like it judging by the way his member twitched in his pants. He let out a whimper that sounded almost like a cry and you knew then that he wouldn't last much longer. "Are you close, baby? You gonna cum for me?"

"Yes! Oh god, yes! Please, I'm so close… don't stop… feels so good… please." Bucky was on the verge of tears, the pleasure overwhelming him completely. He felt like he was on fire, his whole body tensing with anticipation. It was too much and yet too little. He wanted to stop, but at the same time he would cry if you took the heat from your center away from him. His brain was fried, pleasure clouding his thoughts completely.

"That's it, baby, cum for me. I wanna feel you coming undone underneath me. I wanna see your pretty face screw up in pleasure when you cum. C'mon baby, let go for me." You encouraged him, lowering your lips to his neck to kiss and nibble on his soft spots. You were close to your orgasm too, your clitoris throbbing desperately and your core clenching around nothing with every thrust of your hips. Your underwear was completely ruined, soaked with the wetness of your arousal. You were pretty sure Bucky could feel it through his thin sweatpants that sported a dark stain where your bodies met, your arousal and Bucky's mingling in the light gray fabric. But even though you were desperate for some relief you were holding back. This was supposed to be about Bucky and you wanted him to cum first.

"Oh f-fuck, I-" he tried to warn you, but his sentence was cut off by the overwhelming force of his orgasm. The knot in his stomach snapped, triggering an electric rush that coursed through his body from head to toe. He pressed your hot center against his erection, holding you in place as rope after rope of cum stained his underwear.

"That's it baby… so good to me, such a good boy," You murmured against his ear as you moved your hips slowly, riding him through his orgasm as you chased yours. He was a mess beneath you, his whole body convulsing from overstimulation. Yet his member was still hard between your legs, throbbing with desperation as if Bucky hadn't just had one of the best orgasms of his life.

"It's… it's too much, f-fuck, I-I can't." Bucky tried to speak, struggling to catch his breath and recover his cognitive abilities. He had never experienced anything similar before. He was still flying high from his first orgasm and could already feel a second forming in the pit of his stomach. He was painfully hard and overstimulated, his cock still dripping cum adding to the sticky mess that was in his boxers. He couldn't stop. He didn't want to stop. He wondered if his current condition had anything to do with the years he had gone without any kind of sexual activity, or if it was simply the effect you had on him. He guessed it was a little of both.

"Are you gonna cum for me again?" you asked him between moans, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten with each brush of your clothed core over his bulge. "Fuck, that's so hot, baby. Cum with me, please. I'm so close, baby. I want to feel you cum with me, please." You begged him, your voice broken with pleasure. You gave him a quick, sloppy kiss, all teeth and tongue as you chased your orgasm. When you broke away you rested your forehead on Bucky's, looking into his eyes as the world around you collapsed, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through your body as your orgasm overwhelmed your senses.

Seeing your face screwed up in pleasure pushed Bucky over the edge again, his second orgasm leaving him completely ruined and unable to move underneath you. His cock throbbed between his legs as he released rope after rope of cum, creating a bigger mess of sticky fluid in his pants. He had never cum so hard or so intensely before, but he'd be lying if he said that wasn't exactly what he needed. 

You collapsed onto Bucky's chest, hiding your face in his neck as you both struggled to catch your breath. You stayed in that position for a few minutes, the sound of the movie playing in the background the only thing you could hear in the room besides your accelerated breathing.

"How do you feel?" you mumbled against the skin of his neck, curious to know if the experience had been as wonderful for him as it had been for you.

"Great. I feel great," he replied, struggling to form a coherent sentence. "That was..." he trailed off, unsure of how to describe what he felt.

"I know," you assured him with a chuckle, placing a sweet kiss on the skin of his neck. Bucky smiled, wrapping his arms around your body to draw you closer to him. He used his flesh hand to caress your back, tracing imaginary shapes with his fingers as he enjoyed the way the warmth of your body enveloped him.

"How do you feel?" he wanted to know.

"Awesome," you smiled. " Although I need a shower," you added, moving to get up from your spot. But before you could pull away, Bucky tightened his grip on you, trapping you between his chest and arms.

"Later," he said. "I want to stay like this for a little while longer." You smiled, settling into his arms as you inhaled the scent of his cologne. Bucky really was the man of your dreams and you would forever be grateful to fate for having crossed your path.

“I love you,” you told him as you traced imaginary figures on his chest with your fingers, losing yourself in the warmth of his body.

“I love you too, doll.”

why not right there…?

I ran so that I could share this with you because it made me think of how flustered chubby baker Bucky would get when he saw it!!

Summary: Teasing Bucky is always worth the consequences.

Pairing: Chubby!Baker Bucky x Reader

AN: Unbetad drabble. Part of the Sweeter than Sugar Series.

"Peach," Bucky whispers, rubbing the back of his neck as a blush blooms across his round cheeks. "I—this isn't fair. You know you can't do this to me. I can't handle this."

You hide a smug smirk behind your champagne flute. He's right. It's not fair. But he started it when he showed up to your work party wearing a new black three-piece suit, tailored to his large body, the material highlighting every inch of his physique.

Bucky in his jeans and apron is enough to drive you wild. Bucky in a suit, wearing that cologne is rendering you senseless, teetering the edge of feral and needy.

How can he expect you to behave when he looks so damn good?

So you may have been teasing him here and there as a way to distract yourself from this boring party.

Your gaze travels past his long hair sweeping across the nape of his neck and across his strong jawline enhanced his thick beard. God he's spent so much time between your thighs, you know exactly how that beard feels on your soft skin.

Just imagining the graze of it on your back as he chains kisses down your spine--feeling it against your neck as he murmurs just one more, one more Peach has your panties soaked.

"Bucky I need you so bad. If we were home, I'd beg you to fuck me. Beg you to let me suck your cock. You taste so good, did you know that? So good." You murmur, reveling in this shiver sliding down his spine, your hand flexing, gripping his muscular thighs tighter. Your voice drowning out everyone else in the room, he can only focus on you. "I hate feeling empty. Need you to stretch me out and fuck me the way you know I like. I'm going to feel you inside me for days, aren't I?"

Unable to resist him for another second, you set your drink down and lean over in your chair, placing one hand on his thick thigh, the other sliding around his throat pulling him towards until your lips are touching the shell of his ear. Inhaling the masculine scent of his smokey cedar, bergamot, and lemon cologne, you let out a soft moan.

You know he's slowly becoming feral the longer you talk, you can sense it in the way he's gone still, his chest barely rising, his hands clenchimh into fists. He's so damn close to edge and you know exactly how to push him over.

"You'll do that for me Bucky wont you? Keep me nice and full, leave me swollen and dripping because my little pussy couldn't take anymore."

Bucky can't breathe. His lungs seizing in his chest. Fuck, fuck. You're barely touching him, the sounds your salacious, dirty thoughts ringing in his ear are going to make him lose control in the middle of your work party.

He wants that, wants you.

A ravenous hunger swells up inside him, drowning out every thought except all the ways he's going to utterly consume you. Destroy you. Make you sob and plead and scream for more. Giving you every inch he has, giving you all of his attention until you can't move without feeling on you, inside you.

Bucky turns his head, his nose bumps into yours and he grabs the back of your neck in a loose hold. His deep blue eyes darkening as they pierce through you.

"Peach," he starts, his baritone deepening to a gravely, lust-filled tone. "I'm giving you one minute to find an empty room. It could be an office, a fucking closet. I really don't give a fuck where because by the time I countdown to one, I'm going to be inside you." Bucky tilts your face up, his lips hovering over your parted mouth, his gaze never wavering from your face. "Understand?"

You nod, excitement and anticipation rushing through your veins as a pulse of pure need throbs between your thighs.

You feel his lips curve into a smile.

"Good girl. You have 59 seconds."

my mom, after a long period of silence: what's on your mind?

me, who has been vividly imagining getting fucked disrespectfully by a middle-aged man: nothing :)

i’m gonna love this i just know

A Taste for Older Men Masterlist

dbf!bucky barnes au

warnings: age gap [reader is around 22 & bucky is 39]; never ending elements of dominance, submission and brat taming; masturbation and toys; dirty talk; orgasm denial; oral sex and dick worship; degradation; spanking; face slapping (consensual of course); mild daddy kink; voyeurism; size kink; penetrative sex;  praise kink; breath play; bucky falls in love, y/n doesn’t. 

seventven’s complete masterlist

A Taste for Older Men [part i] 

summary: y/n is moving back in with her parents after breaking up with her college boyfriend. due to an emergency at work, y/n’s dad is unable to pick her up and sends his friend bucky in his stead. to bucky’s surprise, y/n is no longer the innocent girl he remembers from years back.

A Taste for Older Men [part ii] 

summary: bucky comes over to watch a game with y/n’s father. alone in her room and still consumed by her previous conversation with him, y/n drowns in wicked thoughts of bucky.

A Taste for Older Men [part iii] 

summary: bucky volunteers to fix the sink at y/n’s family home while her parents are away. a discussion about recent events leads to an agreement.

A Taste for Older Men [part iv] 

summary: a barbecue with y/n’s parents turns from bad to worse when y/n decides to give bucky a taste of his own medicine. towards the end of the night, y/n is assigned the task of giving him a ride home. she receives payback for her bad behaviour.

A Taste for Older Men [part v] 

summary: bucky invites y/n over to his apartment so they can spend an intimate evening together. things quickly slip out of control. an unexpected guest brings them back to reality.

A Taste for Older Men [part vi] 

summary: bucky and y/n’s family receive an invitation to a common friend’s birthday party. one thing leads to another and soon, y/n’s father confronts the guy she’s been drunkenly flirting with. bucky decides he is sick of y/n’s immaturity. but is he really?

A Taste for Older Men [part vii] 

summary: pleased with y/n’s apology for her bad behaviour, bucky finally gives her what she has been craving this whole time. in the middle of the night and with her dad sleeping peacefully down the hall, y/n’s dirty little fantasy comes to life. at the end, y/n comes to a frightening realisation.

A Taste for Older Men [part viii] 

summary: a less than pleasant conversation over breakfast leads to bucky making the decision that y/n’s father deserves to know about them. y/n’s wants and needs differ from those of bucky. 

I'm very new to posting here but please enjoy 4.1k words of soft Bucky smut!

Do It Properly

You’re not sure what wakes you in the end. Whether it’s a creaky floorboard, a rustling of your sheets or merely the change in the air that another person brings. Whatever the reason, you open bleary eyes and squint into the darkness, reaching for your phone to check the time. You only notice another presence in your bedroom when he clears this throat and steps forward to the end of your bed.

You let out a tiny ‘eep’ of surprise before your mind registers who the shadowy shape belongs to, but you recover quickly enough to ask, “Bucky?”

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes; centenarian, former Winter Soldier and current cat-dad stands looking defeated by your feet.

“Hey,” he responds hoarsely, and you scramble for the switch on your lamp, desperate to see him properly.

The light starts low, gradually brightening the room as it warms up, bringing Bucky into visibility. He looks… well. You’ve seen him worse, definitely. He has this issue (you think it’s an issue, he doesn’t see the problem) in which he throws his whole body into fights with reckless abandon, his own well being taking a backseat when you’re not on missions to remind him that he should look after himself. That he needs to look after himself so he can come back home to you.

His right hand is bandaged which means it must have been pretty bad – they generally don’t bother wrapping up the super soldiers as most of their injuries have faded by the following morning, but it’s his face that really makes you gasp.

“Buck!” you whisper, horrified, as he shuffles forward, bashful under your gaze. “What happened?”

He shrugs off his jacket and you’re hit with the scent of gunpowder and smoke as he chucks it unceremoniously on the floor by the desk chair where Alpine is curled up. Al activates with an inquisitive puurp? arching his back in an elongated stretch to greet his daddy. Bucky turns to scritch the feline’s ears, rolling his shoulders at the same time. You take that to mean, don’t ask but you can’t ignore the angry red welts around his neck, the dark purple blooming under both eyes and Bucky’s wince when he huffs a laugh at Alpine when he kicks his back legs against his fingers as he tickles his tummy.

“Bucky…” you try again, shucking back the covers and reaching for his shoulder. You kneel on the bed and run your hand down his back soothingly, pretending that you’re not looking for further injuries. “You get your nose broken honey?”

Bucky ducks his head and looks at you through his eyelashes pitifully.

“Sam set it back already. Took the shield to the face,” he admits slowly, enjoying your touch as you ease the muscles in his shoulder and at the base of his neck with your fingers, searching out the pressure points that make him groan.

“Why, what’d you say?” you tease, gently.

Bucky huffs again, then cringes as it causes him pain, slumping close to lean on you.

“Wasn’t my fault,” he mumbles into your neck, pressing his forehead to your shoulder. His left hand comes up to play with the strap of your tank top and you shiver against the cool metal. “Steve doesn’t enunciate. He only warned me to duck after he threw the damned thing. Jerk didn’t stop laughing the whole way home.”

You press your lips together and stroke the back of his head, making sure he stays buried in your neck so he can’t see how you’re struggling to hide your amusement.

“And this? You get on Sam’s bad side too?” you stroke his neck lightly, brushing against the vicious bruising that decorates the delicate skin there. Bucky stiffens almost imperceptibly, and you realise that he can’t talk about it. Not yet anyway. You know he’ll come to you when he’s ready.

You heave a sigh and push at his shoulder until he straightens, tilting his chin up to look you in the eye. “You just let me know if I need to go kick bird-boy’s ass, yeah?” you grin, peppering kisses over his eyebrow, betting that it’s a pain-free area before pulling him close again.

“Thanks baby,” Bucky answers on a heavy sigh. You continue threading your fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck, knowing the comfort of your touch is what he needs right now, rather than a dissection of his latest mission. You need the contact too, the physical reminder that he’s safe in your arms for the time being, though you make a mental note to ask the Captain why it looks like someone tried to garrotte your boyfriend. Honestly, what good is Steve if he’s not watching Bucky’s six when you’re not there?

You remain kneeling on the bed, letting Bucky use you as a crutch for as long as you can bare the weight of the 240-pound super soldier but eventually you have to push at his shoulder to get him to draw back. He harrumphs disappointedly but you know he’s not serious when his eyes drop from your face to skim along the length of your body, his right eyebrow raising appreciatively at the thin camisole and itty-bitty lace panties you’re wearing to counter the heat.

“Damn babydoll…” he begins, his hands hooking around the backs of your thighs to tug you along the bedspread, slightly closer to the edge. “You look good enough to eat.” He gives you a wolfish smile that has you admittedly a little weak in the knees and goes to duck towards your tits but you push at his forehead with a scoff.

“Uh-uh Barnes, don’t even think about it. You need a shower.” With your hands on his hips, he allows you to keep him at arm’s length while you slide from the bed and steer him towards your bathroom, his expression shifting from predatory to a dopey pleased grin as he allows you to take care of him.

“You gonna join me, sugar?” he asks, leaning against the sink as you turn the knobs and crank up the heat to a frankly dangerous degree because Bucky really doesn’t like the cold. You turn to catch him stifling a yawn into his fist, still fully dressed and you gesture at him impatiently.

“I don’t know, you gonna be able to keep your hands to yourself Sergeant?” You start unbuckling and tugging at his clothing, fighting with the supple leather that moulds to his arms as Bucky endeavours to stay awake. It’s a testament to how tired he actually is when you drop to your knees to wrestle his trousers down his legs and he doesn’t make a lewd joke, though you do see his half-hard length give a valiant twitch in his boxers before you tug those down too.

You help him into the shower, thankful that you don’t see any other bruising on his body but knowing that doesn’t mean he isn’t hurt before you go to gather his clothes up into your arms. You don’t get that far though, as the glass door slides back open behind you and you’re tugged into the near-scalding water still in your sleep clothes.

“Buck!” you squawk, pressing yourself away from the water ineffectually as the spray soaks the front of your vest anyway. He crowds you up against the tiles that are already slick with condensation, effectively ensuring that no part of you has stayed dry.

“Mmm, you said you’d join me…” he mutters into your shoulder, nuzzling against your damp skin as his hands play with the lace covering your backside.

“And you said you’d keep your hands to yourself,” you huff playfully, reaching for the bar of Imperial Leather soap because old habits die hard and for Bucky the saying is doubly true. You lather the soap between your fingers and start moving it along his shoulders and back where you’re able to reach.

“No…” he drawls, slipping his fingers beneath your panties to stroke over the skin of your hips and ass as he presses his now very interested cock against your lower stomach and rocks you against him. “I didn’t answer and you interpreted my silence as agreement,” he murmurs. “I was very careful about that.”

You draw back and are faced with his incredibly pleased smile, almost impish in his glee that he’s managed to wrangle you into the shower with him for him to do as he pleases. You don’t have the heart to shatter his illusion with the truth, that you’d follow him anywhere under any conditions.

He tickles the soft skin between your thigh and hip and you squeal. You love seeing this side of Bucky, almost child-like in his mischief, even if the activity that you’re doing is very adult.

“Hmm, very clever…” you muse, drawing the soap down his right arm before sliding it up the other, ridding his skin and left arm of two days of sweat and gunpowder before starting to work on his chest. Bucky lets you work for a few quiet moments, watching your movements with half lidded eyes. You glance up at him and snort at the expression on his face; he’s hard for you but obviously can’t decide if he’s more sleepy or horny.

“Relax Buck,” you implore, working soap over his hips and kneading the bone there before making your way down his lower back, eliciting a sinful moan when you hit a knot and the muscle releases.

Bucky mumbles something into the skin of your neck between sweet kisses and you use one hand to tilt his head to the side when you ask him to repeat himself.

“Magic hands,” he slurs, rocking himself in time with your ministrations. “Magic, angel hands. Y’so good to me darlin’.” He pulls back and busies himself with playing with the strap of your tank top. “Wanna be good to you too.” Bucky’s hands drift southward to the waistband of your underwear, dipping his fingers in and teasingly raking his nails over the sensitive skin of your pelvis.

You shudder and feel his cock jump in response. Abandoning your task, you let the soap slide from your grip, ignoring the dull clunk as it hits the porcelain of the tub and instead wrapping your hand around his length and giving him one firm stroke from root to tip.

Bucky grunts, his hips jerking forward towards you. His hand slips fully between your thighs and you let out a sigh when his clever fingers part your folds to trace over your clit gently. Your natural slick mixes with the hot water still beating down on you both creating a heavenly slide that Bucky uses to his advantage, his movements becoming slightly rougher as you pant in his ear.

“That’s it baby, that feel good?” his voice is gruff as your desire heightens and he dips his forefinger into your core up to the first knuckle just to feel you clench around him when he strokes over the top of your clit just right. “Mmm, certainly seems like it feels good.”

You just have the wherewithal to register the slightly mocking tone in your boyfriend’s voice and retaliate with another firm tug on his member, the soap suds lingering on your palm making the glide smooth and slick, cutting off the rest of his sentence when it devolves into a whine.

You continue to jerk him slowly, reveling in the stuttering mess that you’re able to reduce him to with such a simple touch.

“Mmm, so sensitive honey,” you coo into his ear, increasing your pace incrementally. Bucky is completely at your mercy, his hand slackening in your panties and the coil in his stomach tightening with your movements. He rocks upwards on a gasp before straightening and grabbing desperately at your wrist.

“Stop – stop,” he pants, squeezing the base of his dick to stave off the orgasm that had crept up unexpectedly. “Fuck, almost made me blow my load in your hand baby, shit.” Your giggle sets him off with a growl and Bucky hoists you up into his arms, shredding your underwear with a wolfish grin.

“Bastard,” you say playfully, nipping at his bottom lip as he steadies you on a convenient shelf that you’ve only needed to replace three times since Bucky moved in with you.

“You gotta learn doll, none of your underwear is safe around me.”

As if to prove his point Bucky grabs a fistful of your top at chest level and you can see the gears turn in his head as he gets ready to yank and separate the body from the straps –

“Wait!” you call, throwing out an arm to catch his. “Just gimme a minute, damn,” you mutter, peeling the offending piece of clothing from your body and letting it drop to the floor with a wet thwack. “Running out of pyjamas thank you very much, some hopped-up super soldier keeps shredding all my clothes.”

There’s no remorse on Bucky’s face as he eyes your tits hungrily and you wonder when you lost your soft, sleepy boyfriend to this sex-starved menace. Deciding to tease him just a little more, you cup your chest, stroking lightly over your nipples and watch as his pupils dilate fully.

Bucky feels barely restrained, watching as you enjoy the delicate grace of your own touch and damn near drooling, desperate to get his mouth on your tits. He’s captivated by your movements.

“You okay there, Sarge?” you question, punctuating your words with a soft gasp as you apply more pressure to the sensitive peaks of your breasts. You arch your back a touch, your chest lifting just an inch or two closer and Bucky is salivating.

“More,” he requests, the whimper in his voice dampening the order. He recognises the tone for what it is – a plea – and he’d give almost anything to have his hands on you but – god – the way you’re writhing and panting before him, the slick folds of your cunt on display when you let your thighs fall open – Bucky can’t help but think you’re a goddess. He watches you for a minute longer, his body so tense that even the slightest touch might shatter him but what’s a goddess for if not to be worshipped? And Bucky will supplicate at your feet for eternity for you to rid him of his wrongs and cleanse the days before you. He’s been the luckiest son of a bitch for over a year now and he knows he’ll find heaven within you, that you lay peace and forgiveness down before him with simple caresses and erase his guilt with your lips.

You gift him a coy smile and let your hands drop, twining your fingers with Bucky’s and drawing him close until he’s stood between the ‘v’ of your legs, sharing your breath and feeling the heat rolling off your skin.

You tilt your head up and slant your lips against his, dragging his hands up your body to replace where yours had been on the mounds of your chest, encouraging him to squeeze and play as he wishes as you hook your calves over his hips and urge him closer still.

You chance a quick glance up at his face to find that he’s completely enraptured with your chest, snorting a laugh even as he feathers his thumbs over your nipples, raising goosebumps up your arms.

A shudder runs through Bucky’s body when he feels the tip of his cock brush against the heat between your legs and he tilts his hips forward to glide his length along you, delighting in your gasp when he grinds down against your clit.

“You want this?” Bucky asks, his expression split between cocky and desperate as he rocks against you, spreading his hands over your lower back and digging his fingertips into the meat of your ass.

“Mmm,” you whine, your head lolling back to rest against the shower tile, waiting for him to start pushing forward, for that first divine stretch that feels like nothing else –

But it’s not forthcoming. You crack your eyes open and lift your head questioningly.

“Please baby,” Bucky whines, pressing his hips into yours again. You reach up to stroke his cheek and just stop yourself from frowning.

“You need me to say it, Buck?” you ask softly, still running the tips of your fingers along his stubbled jaw, enjoying the scruff that pulls at your fingers.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah –“ each breathless plea is punctuated by an eager grind against you and you bite your lip against a moan when you feel his cock throb from where it’s trapped between your bodies.

“Okay honey,” your voice is shaky with desire for your man but you fight to keep your tone clear so he knows exactly how much you want him. “Please fuck me Bucky – I want it so bad, needed it the whole time you were gone – ah!”

You’re barely through your sentence when he thrusts into you, burying himself to the hilt before stopping just as quickly as he’d begun.

“Fuck,” Bucky hisses. “Fuck, that’s so good.”

“Mmm,” you whine in response. “Need you to move honey.”

He raises his head and shoots you a look. It’s one that you don’t get very often but you cherish the pinched eyebrows and lip trapped between his teeth as he fights to stop himself from coming prematurely.

“Needja to be patient baby,” he gasps out, his hands clutching at your thighs bruisingly as his Brooklyn accent slips into place. You can almost see his thought process as he runs through baseball statistics and multiplication tables in his head. You’re sweating by the time the tension finally drains from Bucky’s shoulders and you can’t stop yourself from clenching down on him when he gives a couple of gentle test-thrusts.

“You’re not helping,” he grunts, as he gets a better grip on your slippery skin to hoist your legs higher, and you’re honestly not sure if he’s speaking to you or your pussy.

You don’t have time to dwell on it though, as Bucky lets you know he’s ready with a sharp snap of his hips and a grunt from deep in his chest when you dig your nails into his shoulders in surprise.

“Careful with the claws, kitten,” Bucky groans before really laying into you.

You cling to one another as his hips snap into yours orchestrating a rhythm of skin hitting skin that is only amplified by the water. The bathroom echoes with your lovemaking, even as you bite at your lip – it’s still the middle of the night and you share walls with two other apartments in this block, not to mention your poor downstairs neighbours.

It only takes a few moments for Bucky’s rough strokes to build your pleasure high enough for you to stumble and a sharp moan of his name escapes you.

“Oh god honey,” Bucky pants, uncurling his left arm from around your waist to reach out and grab the top of the shower door for stability. “That good, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you pant, “S’good Buck, it’s good.” Your words escape you in a staccato, hiccoughing rhythm that he punches out of you in time with the movement of his hips. You tip your head back and Bucky takes the opportunity to litter a series of sweet kisses against your neck, whispering words of devotion in between the brushes of his lips, drinking in the ecstatic sounds that you’re making.

“Fuck sweet girl, you’re so good, s’good, don’t wanna leave, never gonna leave ya again, love you so much baby,” Bucky’s inner monologue escapes without direction as your pleasure climbs, his words encouraging your end almost as much as his movement.

“Please – please Bucky,” you stutter out, dropping your hand between the two of you to stroke at your clit, your desperation for an orgasm acute after being without him for too long.

“Me, honey, let me,” Bucky insists, leaning his upper body away from you slightly to find the best angle. His practiced fingers find you easily and you feel yourself clench involuntarily around him when his thumb massages you in just the right pattern. The moan that you let out is quiet but so desperately needy that Bucky hisses when his cock throbs in response but by that time it’s too late for you anyway.

You dive off of the precipice, arching your back and feeling your pussy pulse uncontrollably as you’re ignited from the inside. Bucky pushes in to the hilt one final time before he too lets go, whimpering quietly as he joins your bliss.

You remain entwined beneath the water for a few long moments, relishing in the feel of one another before Bucky tilts his head back to look at you, his eyes still hazy with lingering pleasure. You know he’s not able to get drunk but if you saw him like this at any other time you’d assume he was intoxicated. You snort internally and go to make fun of his pussy-drunk expression when –

“Marry me.”

You slap your hand against the shower wall, groping desperately for the button that will halt the stream of water beating against the glass because you think that you just heard your super soldier boyfriend propose to you while he’s still very much inside you.

“What, Bucky-what?!” you finally locate the off switch and shower ceases, leaving the pitter-pattering of water droplets as the only sound in the room while you and Bucky stare at one another. “Did you just – ”

“No.” His response is short and sharp, cutting over the end of your question, as though he can’t bear to hear the words leave your lips. When you blink at him, he has the gall to look guilty and his shoulders drop in defeat. “I said – I – ” he takes a moment to clear his throat twice before speaking again.

“I said marry me. I’m sorry.”

Silence reigns again while you absorb the shock of his words.

“Bucky…” you begin slowly, wriggling back slightly to bring attention to his cock still buried to the hilt and his hips still fit snuggly between your thighs. “…are you proposing to me while you’re still balls deep?”

Bucky groans and lets his head drop to your shoulder as your laughter rings out but you wrap your arms around his neck and squeeze him as close to you as you possibly can, hooking your ankles one over the other at the small of his back so he can’t escape you.

“I – I had a plan, and a ring –” he starts to explain into your neck but you silence him with a tug to his hair so that you can meet his eyes. The concern etched on his face disappears almost as soon as he sees your joyful expression and he gifts you the softest, sweetest smile in return before taking a deep breath in and you just know what’s going to come next.

So you reach up quickly and place the tops of your fingers over his mouth.

This man – this man who has been through so much more than anyone should have to, who has survived horror and death and the loss of his autonomy only to come through the other side still able to love – deserves to have exactly what he wants. He deserves to have this moment, his proposal, exactly as picture perfect as he’s always imagined. And so although you know you’ll say yes, that you’ll marry him in a heartbeat, you halt Bucky’s next words.

“Wait,” you instruct gently. “Just wait. Do your plan – give me the ring.” You don’t explain further but brush your lips against his once, twice and whisper, “I love you.”

“I love you sweetheart.” Bucky responds just as quietly, and you feel the full force of his devotion and adoration hit you when he rests his forehead against yours briefly.

The moment is ruined when he steps away from you to turn the shower back on to wash away the evidence of your lovemaking with a mumbled; “It’s a good thing you didn’t say yes, Sam woulda never let me live it down if I’d proposed like that.”

You shuffle under the warm spray and wrap your arms around Bucky’s waist to gaze innocently up at him. “Oh – I’ll definitely be telling Sam about this,” you state. “My pussy game is so good that I got a marriage proposal? Bucky, I’m telling everyone.”

Your squeal echoes off the tiles as Bucky growls and digs his fingers into your waist in retaliation, grinning wickedly, and barely able to stop himself from sprinting to his underwear drawer to recover the ring nestled at the back.

He’ll do it properly tomorrow.

hey. don't cry. I went to Mad At You island and none of your friends were there :)