sunday-bug

[sunday-bug]

This is such a fun setting 🛼

Head Over Wheels

Single dad AU! Nick Fowler x F!Reader

Read on AO3

Warnings: none in particular, Nick being down bad...

Word Count: 753

1000 Followers Ficlet Challenge Masterlist

Masterlist

This place had to be hell.

It had to be.

Girls pushing their luck in crop tops and short shorts, snotty high school boys drooling after them.

Nick was absolutely certain that his daughter, the one currently clinging to his hand and staring wide-eyed at the rink, would never wear a crop top. Never.

Skaters on blades and quads glided around with ease.

“Daddy!” She breathed, awestruck. “Look how fast they go!”

He glanced at the glowing disco lights, the rainbow strobe pulsing through a pop playlist and a fog machine that should have been condemned.

“This place is a lawsuit waiting to happen,” he muttered.

He crouched beside her, adjusting the tiny knee pads she'd insisted on wearing. Based on how she wobbled through the rental area like Bambi, she was going to need them.

"You sure about this, kiddo?"

She nodded, gripping his fingers tighter and tugging him toward the rink. "You're coming too, right?"

That’s when he saw you.

All legs and curves, hair swept up and laughing as you spun on skates like you’d been born on wheels. You moved through the crowd like you belonged. No hesitation. No fear. Just pure joy.

He watched you cross the rink backwards, weaving between a row of squealing teens.

Nick stared. Maybe too long.

Because that was exactly when you looked up - and caught him watching.

You smiled. Warm. Bright. Trouble.

And just like that, his brain short-circuited.

His daughter waved at the smiling goddess. “Hi!!”

“Oh my gosh, hey there!” you skated over like it was the most natural thing in the world. “This your first time?”

Nick cleared his throat, trying not to track the way your hips moved. “Something like that."

You crouched down in front of his daughter. “Want me to teach you how to glide?”

She nodded furiously, already letting go of his hand.

He opened his mouth to protest, but you looked up at him with a smirk that curled around the edge of a dare. “Don’t worry. I’ve got her.”

Then you took her hand.

And he was gone.

You coaxed her gently onto the rink, patient and praising, tiny reassurances delivered with warmth. You never stopped smiling. Never stopped moving.

His wet dream come to life.

Everything he wanted.

Nick tried not to stare. He really did.

But there was something about the way you moved. You were magnetic, like you were built to make people feel like they belonged.

You stayed close. One hand around his daughter’s, the other waving through the air as you guided her across the rink with infinite patience.

Nick watched the way you moved - soft in all the places that made his mouth dry.

It shouldn’t have been hot. Teaching kids how to skate, smiling like you didn’t even know what your body was doing to him - it shouldn’t have fried his brain like this.

But here he was. Half-hard and furious about it.

Because you weren’t looking at him like he was someone important. You weren’t even looking at him much at all. Your attention was on his daughter. And she was beaming.

He’d never seen her like that.

God, what the hell was wrong with him?

You skated back to the edge, still holding her hand, both of you laughing. “She’s a quick learner,” you said, out of breath.

Nick blinked and tried to focus on your words. He failed miserably.

His voice came out low, rough. “You help out every fool on wheels?”

You looked up. Your smile faltered ever so slightly. Something changed in your eyes, something knowing and sure.

“Only the cute ones,” you said, grinning.

“Right.” His fingers curled tighter around the railing. “Bet you’ve got a line of dads signing up.”

You laughed at that. Loudly, your head thrown back. Carefree. God, you were trouble.

“No,” you said, skating a little closer. “Usually just the kids.”

You kept your feet moving, a little bounce on your knees, a little sway to keep you upright and balanced.

“Unless…”

“Unless?” His voice was gravel now.

“You could use a lesson?”

“No,” he said, gaze fixed on your mouth. “I'd fall if I did.”

You paused. Just for a beat.

Then that smile came back. Slower this time. Sharper. Like you knew exactly what you were doing now.

His daughter tugged your hand. “Can we go again?”

You didn’t break eye contact.

“Sure, sweetheart,” you said softly. “Let’s see if your dad’s watching.”

Nick swallowed. Hard.

He was watching, alright.

And falling fast.

[sunday-bug]

“That’s not a 10, it’s a problem.”

That line made me act up ngl

I LOVED THIS SO MUCH! So fun, soft, and sexyyyy 🥵

heyyyy!!!!

for the tiktok challenge do you need more inspiration?? I was thinking about when the girl tried some clothes and the boyfriend rated them. Don’t know if you can. If you can you’re a genius 😍

rate it, soldier

tried to divided for get it better. hope you like it!!!

It had been raining all afternoon in Brooklyn. A steady drizzle tapped against the apartment windows while Bucky sat on the couch, reading The Hobbit. He was in sweatpants, hair tied back in a messy bun, looking as soft as the storm outside. You, on the other hand, were prowling around with your phone like a woman on a mission. “Buck?” “Hmm?” “Want to do something fun?” “That depends. Last time you said that, I ended up waxing my legs on camera.” You burst into laughter. “That was one time! And admit it, your calves were silky smooth.” He didn’t even look up. “I still have PTSD from the sound of that first rip.” “Okay, okay. No waxing. I promise. This is harmless. It’s a TikTok challenge. You just sit there and rate my outfits. I walk out, do a little spin, you say what you think. Easy.” He finally looked over the top of his book, blue eyes narrowing. “That’s a thing people do online?” You shrugged. “Yup. It’s cute. The boyfriend rates the girlfriend’s outfits, the Internet swoons, and we get a couple’s trending moment.” His lip twitched. “I don’t need the Internet to know how whipped I am.” You gave him a look. “So you admit it.” "Didn’t say that," he grumbled. "But fine. If it makes you happy, I’ll be your fashion judge for the day.” "Yes!" You did a little victory dance. “Okay, camera’s going up. Stay right there. Look handsome.” “I always look handsome,” he muttered under his breath, flipping a page. You smirked and vanished into the bedroom.

Outfit #1: The Sundress

You walked out in a yellow sundress with little white daisies. Light, flowy, and cute — your go-to for coffee dates. You twirled in front of him, barefoot, all smiles. Bucky looked up and gave a genuine smile. “That’s… adorable. You look like the kind of girl people write songs about.” You snorted. “So…?” “9 out of 10.” “Why not 10?” “Because you’re holding out on me. I can tell.” You winked and disappeared again.

Outfit #2: The Bodycon Dress

Next came a black, skin-tight dress you only wore on rare nights out. It hugged everything. You walked slowly this time, striking a little model pose. Bucky’s eyes darkened just slightly. His book was abandoned now. “Damn,” he said quietly. “That’s trouble.” “Trouble?” “You walk out like that and I’m gonna have to break up fights.” You giggled. “So?” “11. Out of 10. That dress is a weapon.” You blew him a kiss and darted back into the bedroom.

Outfit #3: The Tactical Suit

This one took a little longer. You put on one of Bucky’s black compression shirts (tight, sleeves rolled), cargo pants, combat boots, and topped it off with his vest, the one he used during ops with Sam. When you walked out, hands on hips, he blinked hard. “Are you wearing my gear?” You smirked. “Damn right, soldier.” He sat up straighter, looking utterly confused and… turned on? “I— That’s not fair. That’s cheating.” “You like it?” “…I don’t not like it. But also, give me back my vest. 7 out of 10.” “Minus 3 for theft?” "Minus 3 for the psychological warfare," he muttered.

Outfit #4: The Loungewear Surprise

This one was sweet. Oversized sweatshirt (his), fuzzy socks, messy bun. The classic “just woke up” look. Bucky visibly softened. His face went from amused to something quieter, more tender. “...That one.” You blinked. “What?” “That’s the one. That’s the version of you I love best.” Your smile faltered a little in a good way. “Really?” He nodded. “You in my clothes, comfy, no makeup, just… real. That’s a 100 out of 10.” You actually had to run back into the room because your cheeks were so warm.

Outfit #5: The Lingerie

Okay, this one was a gamble. You’d saved it for last. A deep burgundy lace, delicate straps, barely-there coverage. It wasn’t something you wore often. Definitely not something you'd ever worn around him while sober. But the rain was still falling, your heart was thudding, and the camera was rolling. You stepped out slowly. Bucky’s jaw slackened. He blinked once. Twice. Then leaned forward slightly, elbows on knees, gaze locked. "…What the hell kind of challenge is this again?" he asked, voice low, gravelly. You did a slow spin, feeling suddenly bold. “Just want your rating, Sergeant.” He ran a hand down his face. “Nope. You don’t get to walk around like that and act like it’s a game. That’s not a 10, it’s a problem.” You laughed, backing away when he started to rise. “Bucky, it’s still recording-” "Good," he growled, stalking toward you. “Let the world know I’m marrying you.” The camera caught the moment he tossed you over his shoulder (you shrieked), and the video abruptly ended.

taglist -> @onlyjunisworld @moonlitmorgan @thewitchhofoz @peanutbutt3rcup @overwintering-soldier @thelastbluecookie @chronicallybubbly @staley83 @mistalli @morphoportis @iyskgd @imjusthere1161 if you wanna be added, reply here

[sunday-bug]

Saw this on Twitter for Joel Miller, but it’s also soooo Bucky coded

[sunday-bug]

These two better get their act together or I’ll do it for them!

Not Just Friends: Intro

Pairing: FWB!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You're Bucky's friend, and, yeah, sometimes you sleep together. Why can't he tell you that he wants something more?

Word Count: Over 1.7k

Warnings: FWB, dirty talk, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), referenced oral sex (f. receiving), longing, insecurities, snooping, unrequited feelings (or so he thinks), not communicating, bit of angst, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning and a beautiful idiot, okay?), Bucky's POV.

A/N: A new AU inspired by this nonnie. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411, but any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications as I no longer do taglists. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky held you close, your body still warm and your heart racing within your chest. You passed out seconds ago and he couldn’t help but smirk as he rubbed your back and stayed buried deep inside you. He wore you out in the best possible way, and his eyes slipped shut as he thought about what just transpired. It was nice being able to remember and not fear that someone would wipe the memories away.

“So fucking pretty,” he praised, thrusting harder and deeper into you, knowing you could take it. One of your hands fisted the sheets and the other gripped his back. He wanted you to leave marks all over him, the same way you left marks on his heart and soul for him to feel. “I know you’re close. Can feel you gripping my cock like a fucking vice.”

He didn’t say being inside you felt like home, as much as he wanted to, and didn’t dare breathe that he wanted you to feel the same way. Some things were meant to stay quiet, even when he wanted to scream how much he needed you. If he blurted out anything, he could blame it on the heat of the moment. 

“Please, Bucky. I need it,” you moaned when he slowed his pace, purposely dragging it out and making you beg for more. It felt good when you begged, and the way you rode his face earlier tonight told him you were desperate for more than one release. He’d be the one to give it to you. “Please, I need you.”

His eyes almost rolled back. Something fragile snapped within him as he rocked his hips, moving as deep as he could. He wanted to be so deep inside you he’d never get out. You needed him. HIM. He needed you, too. More than you knew.

“You and your greedy cunt trying to milk my cock for all its worth,” he rasped, affection filling his eyes before he blinked it away. “C’mon. Give it to me. Make a mess all over me and the sheets. Just like you did on my face.”

He moaned when you gushed around him with a cry, coating his cock, all while he fucked you through it. It didn’t take him long to follow you over the edge, groaning as he finished inside you. He didn’t use condoms since he wasn’t sleeping with anyone else and neither were you. It was selfish not to use that precaution, but he didn’t want anything between you.

And the smile you gave him before you passed out was enough to melt his heart.

He opened his eyes, willing himself not to get rock hard again. But watching and feeling you come apart, your pussy hot and pulsing around him, you babbling his name like a prayer, he wanted to savor it and play it on repeat in his mind like his favorite song. The knowledge that he was the one who drove you to those heights of ecstasy was addictive. He craved you. He’d never get enough of you. 

But he didn’t call himself your boyfriend.

“Fuck,” he whispered, brushing his lips against your forehead in a tender gesture though you weren’t awake. 

He wouldn’t say it was an accident the first time you slept together, but it did just… happen. The two of you were watching a movie together when you decided to throw popcorn at him. That turned into him pinning you down, jokingly demanding an apology while you giggled and refused. That laugh twisted something in his chest and the next thing he knew his mouth was on yours and clothes were on the floor and…

“This doesn’t change anything, right?” he asked once you were both dressed, your knees touching when he sat beside you.

The words tasted bittersweet and he regretted it the second they left his mouth because everything changed. He knew what it felt like to be inside you, to hear his name tumble from your lips with pleasure. He knew how to make you laugh, and you knew how to brighten his day. You were no longer just friends, but he didn’t ask you out either. 

The hurt in your eyes was obvious, but you asked in a carefully even tone, “You want to forget it?”

“I don’t want to forget,” he promised you, running a hand through his messy hair. How did he always manage to fuck things up? “Because that was…”

“Amazing?” you asked hopefully.

“Yeah,” he breathed. It was beyond amazing, a completely different level. Pleasuring himself got him off, but his hand couldn’t compare to the feel of your tight wet heat. “But you’re my friend, and I don’t want things to change.”

He inwardly winced. Friend. Not a coworker, teammate, or anything of that nature. You were friends. What kind of friend was he to sleep with you and pretend that it was just sex and nothing more? A cowardly one. But he wanted you in his life, however you’d have him. Maybe that was desperate, but what else could he do?

Something unreadable crossed your face before you smiled, making him think he imagined it. “Doesn’t change a thing, Barnes.”

His stomach sank and it wasn’t fair to feel upset since he was the one who started this. He just thought… it didn’t matter. “Bucky, not Barnes,” he corrected you. 

You nodded slowly, the air thick and unsure. “Bucky,” you whispered, starting the movie over. “Do you think this will happen again?”

He threw an arm around the back of the couch and hoped it would. “If it does, it won’t change a thing,” he lied.

Everything changed.

Bucky wasn’t sure when or how you both fell into this rhythm where he’d call you or vice versa, but you went to each other without question when one of you needed to blow off some steam. He wasn’t a complete asshole. He refused to immediately leave afterward. Taking care of you after meant everything, whether it was holding you or cleaning you off. You wanted that closeness, and so did he.

It made it easier to pretend that you wanted him for more than just sex, too.

But the more he slept with you, the harder it was to let you go. If he was at your place, he found reasons to stick around until he had to leave, suggesting to watch a movie or share a meal. If you were at his place, the way you were now, he’d kept a tight hold on you so you couldn’t slip away. He always insisted on dropping you off, too, so you wouldn’t have to find a ride back to your place. 

The way a boyfriend would.

Your aura and scent lingered long after you’d leave and Bucky would ask himself when you’d be back. He was living on scraps and stolen moments thanks to his own fucking mouth and inability to tell you how he felt. And he was beginning to starve. It was the kind of hunger that he couldn’t satisfy until poured himself out to you with his honesty, no matter what the outcome. You deserved more than just pieces of him, too. 

So, why couldn’t he say the words? Why couldn’t he tell you he had feelings for you? Sex clearly wasn’t the issue since you two were so compatible, and you two were open when it came to likes, dislikes, and where lines were drawn. There was trust in and out of bed. He enjoyed your company, too. He was able to relax around you in ways he couldn’t with anyone else. What was he so afraid of?

That he’d lose you without ever truly having you?

Your phone buzzing on the nightstand beside him got his attention. He frowned when he realized what time it was. It was late. Who was texting right now unless it was an emergency? No, an emergency would be worthy of a call, not a text. 

Bucky ran a finger along your cheek, making you sigh in your sleep. He couldn’t explain why, but his fingers itched to grab it and see who the message was from. That wasn’t like him. He wasn’t the jealous type. At least, he didn’t think he was. Not to mention looking at your phone was crossing a line, he knew that, but he couldn’t ignore the feeling in his gut.

“This is so fucking wrong,” he muttered the second he grabbed it. All he had to do was put the phone down and let you read it when you woke up. That was the right thing to do. But he didn’t do that. 

And curiosity, well, it killed the cat, didn’t it?

His throat went dry when he saw the message from a guy’s name he had never once heard you utter. He squeezed the device so hard he almost shattered it. It was the same sort of grip he felt around his heart.

“We still on for Saturday?”

He gritted his teeth and reread the message. He read it until the screen blurred. It took a minute for him to set it back on the nightstand so he could pull you against his chest and steady his breathing. 

“You’re meeting someone on Saturday?” he muttered, knowing he wouldn’t get a reply while you were deep in slumber.

All sorts of questions went through his mind, like who the hell was this guy? Why were you making plans with him? You would’ve told him if you started seeing someone, right? Was he overthinking it, or were you eventually going to your “relationship” with him?

Something cold and bitter crawled through his veins. Did this guy make you smile? Did he make your heart race? Would he know what it was like to make you fall apart? Hold you? Was he the kind of man who could be both your friend and a lover?

As quickly as his jealousy built up it deflated when he gazed at you, his blue eyes filled with pain he didn’t bother to mask in the dark. The truth he didn’t have the right to know. You didn’t owe him any answers. He wasn't your boyfriend. 

And that was all his fault.

I wonder who messaged you. And I wonder what it'll take for Bucky to not be an idiot and tell you what's what. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! More to come soon. ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[sunday-bug]

i like your grumpiness pt.1

Pairing: Sunshine!Bucky Barnes x Grumpy!Avenger!Fem!Reader (y/n) Genre: Fluff - grumpy reader - sunshine Bucky (is a warning) Word count: 1011 Summary: Bucky loves Y/N even if she's the grumpiest person on the planet. Is she tho?

Bucky Barnes had learned one thing very quickly about dating Y/N, mornings were not her friend. His apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the city outside. Bucky’s eyes fluttered open to the sight of Y/N sprawled across the bed next to him, her hair a wild mess of curls, and her brow furrowed like she was ready to storm the world. “Morning,” he whispered with a smile, reaching out to brush a loose strand of hair from her face. Y/N groaned, barely acknowledging him. “It’s too early for this. I hate mornings.”

Bucky chuckled. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.” She pulled the blanket over her head, mumbling, “I hate the sun. I hate the birds. I hate the fact that the bed is no longer warm. I just hate all mornings.” He studied her for a moment, the scrunched nose, the pouty lips, the sleepy grumpiness. It was adorable. And deeply endearing. “So, do you hate me too?” Bucky teased, nudging her arm. “Not yet,” she said, voice muffled by the blanket. “But you’re not helping.” He grinned and leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. “Come on, grumpy girl. The world’s not gonna conquer itself.”

“Then the world can just wait,” she shot back, pulling the covers tighter around her. In their little kitchen, he set the steaming mug on the table. “For you.” Y/N glared at the cup suspiciously. Bucky  Barnes was an amazing boyfriend but a terrible cooker, coffee included. “You expect me to drink that? You made it?”

“Try it.” She eyed the coffee again then eyed Bucky and then took a small cautious sip. Her face scrunched again but less harsh this time. “It’s... not terrible.”

“Not terrible?” Bucky pretended to be shocked. “I’ll take that as a win.” Her usual grumpy scowl slowly softening. “Maybe you’re not the worst at this.” Bucky smiled and pulled her into a hug. “See? Mornings aren’t so bad when you’re around.” Y/N sighed but didn’t push him away. “Don’t get used to it.”

Days went on with the usual routine of her grumbling, him patiently enduring, and occasionally teasing when she was just too grumpy. One afternoon, they found themselves at a Stark Industries rooftop garden. Y/N was seated on a bench, arms crossed, scowling at a butterfly that kept landing near her. “I hate bugs,” she muttered. Bucky chuckled beside her, shaking his head. “You’re a whole lot of grumpy.” She looked up at him, eyes narrowed. “Better than being a goody-two-shoes.” He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know... grump got its charm.” Y/N smirked, a dimly blush on her cheeks. “You’re just saying that because you like me.” He smirked back. “Guilty.”

One night, after a long day of missions and chaos, Bucky and Y/N found themselves alone in the quiet of their living room. Y/N was curled up on the couch, and Bucky sat beside her. “You know,” he said quietly, “your grumpiness? It’s kind of my favourite thing about you.” She looked at him, surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah. It’s real. It’s honest. And it means you care. You just show it in your own way.” Y/N’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “Well, you’re pretty good at dealing with it.”

“Only because I love you.” She sighed, the grumpy exterior melting away just a little. “I love you too, Barnes. Even if I am the grumpiest girlfriend in the world.” He took her hand in his, squeezing gently. “Perfect.”

Months passed, and nothing about Y/N’s grumpiness changed, except that Bucky loved her more for it every day. She was the first to grumble about the alarm clock, the last to get out of bed, and the loudest when she was hungry or tired. But she was also the one who always stood by Bucky’s side, fierce and loyal, and perfectly imperfect. And Bucky wouldn’t have it any other way. Like one night when the door of the apartment clicked open just as Bucky stepped inside, tired and dusted with the grime of a long mission. His shoulders sagged slightly with the weight of the day, and all he wanted was to collapse on the couch and shut out the world for a while. Y/N still recovering from a mission, found a way to occupy her free time. As he walked in, the scent of something delicious stopped him in his tracks.

“Doll?” he called, setting his duffel bag down. From the kitchen, she slowly emerged still limping. Hair tied back in a messy bun, arms crossed over her chest still wearing that trademark grumpy expression, but with something softer in her eyes. “Dinner’s ready,” she said simply. Bucky blinked in surprise, looking behind her at the table where all his favourite dishes were laid out perfectly: golden roasted chicken, creamy mashed potatoes, steamed green beans with garlic, and a small chocolate cake waiting for dessert on the counter.

“You made all this?” he asked, incredulous. “Yeah,” she muttered, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Figured you might like coming home to something that didn’t come out of a vending machine for once.” He smiled, genuinely touched. “This means a lot, you know.” Y/N shrugged her shoulders, but didn’t look away. “I know I’m not exactly the easiest person to live with. Or date. You deserved it.” She said easily. “Guess I needed something to occupy my time with.” said with a hint of sadness. She missed terribly being on field. Bucky sat down, “You’re gonna come back very soon, kicking our asses,” reaching out to squeeze her hand. “You’re the best thing in my life, grumpy or not. And this? It’s perfect.”

Later, as they settled on the couch, Y/N curled up next to him, her head resting on his shoulder. “I know I’m not sunshine and rainbows,” she said quietly, “but I love you. Even if I’m a pain in the ass sometimes.” Bucky kissed her temple. “You’re not a pain. You’re my person.” She grinned, the grumpiness melting away just for a moment.

“Good. ‘Cause I’m not going anywhere.”

taglist -> @onlyjunisworld @moonlitmorgan @thewitchhofoz @peanutbutt3rcup @overwintering-soldier @thelastbluecookie @chronicallybubbly @staley83 @mistalli @morphoportis @iyskgd @imjusthere1161 @herejustforbuckybarnes @punkprincesskingdom @thursdaylen if you wanna be added, reply here

[sunday-bug]

And that’s on being a god damn gentleman. Bucky Barnes setting the standard for men everywhere since 1917 😩

not like this, doll

Word count: 1.7k

Summary: A party at the Tower. Too much Asgardian liquor. A loose tongue. A supersoldier immune to alcohol. A kiss that could’ve been the beginning of something real… but not like this.

Warnings: Emotional tension, drunk confessions, interrupted kiss, alcohol, bittersweet ending with a promise.

Stark Tower had seen its fair share of parties, but nothing quite like this one.

Tony had said something along the lines of, “We deserve this,” and when Tony Stark says that, you know trouble's about to show up wearing a designer suit, backed by an international DJ, neon lights, and barrels—yes, actual barrels—of booze straight from Asgard.

Bucky Barnes didn’t trust alcohol. Especially not the kind that could burn Thor’s throat and make him laugh for hours. But that night, thanks to some light peer pressure from Steve and a particularly charming super-strong Avenger, he agreed to hold a drink. Not drink it—just hold it like a socially acceptable prop.

Everyone else was scattered around the main floor. Thor was teaching Rhodey how to dance—apparently, and this is a quote—“like the ancient Asgardians during a ritual to honor the dead so grapes could grow redder than usual.” Spoiler alert: never happened. Bruce and Tony were arguing about quantum physics like they weren’t both wearing suits. Natasha was laughing at something Clint whispered in her ear—probably some joke about how Wanda was trying (and failing) to flirt with Vision, who looked more interested in the giant lava lamp in the common area than the stunning woman in front of him.

And you...

You were at the bar. For the eighth time tonight. (Or at least you thought it was eight—you’d kinda lost track after the fifth shot of vodka.)

And he was watching you from across the room.

That black dress you had on? It had thin straps that danced on your shoulders, and a neckline that wasn’t scandalous—but it could definitely kill a man. Your red lipstick matched your laugh, and your flushed cheeks glowed like they were lit from within.

To Bucky, you were dangerous.

Because you’d been his weakness since day one.

“You planning to stand here all night like a statue?” Steve asked, sliding up next to him.

“I’m watching,” Bucky said, a little too flat.

“Watching or just completely gone?” Steve smirked, giving him a friendly pat on the back.

Bucky didn’t answer. His eyes were already back on you.

And that’s when you turned, drink in hand, locked eyes with him—smiled once, then again—and started walking his way.

Bucky swallowed hard.

He was gonna die.

“Sergeant Barnes,” you said with mock drama, stopping close enough for him to catch your perfume. “Lose something? Or were you just watching me like you’re on a secret mission?”

“Pretty sure you’re on drink number... a thousand,” he said, eyeing your glass. “Confirmed now.”

“Confirmed I have great taste,” you corrected, raising your drink. “This stuff is like liquid gold. It burns, but it makes you forget you live with a bunch of people who wreck stuff every Monday.”

Bucky raised a brow. Smirked. Barely.

“You good?”

“Deliciously drunk,” you answered, voice honest and sweet. “But not drunk enough to not know what I’m saying.”

“Famous last words before the hangover and regret hit,” he said dryly.

You laughed, then stepped closer.

“What about you? How many have you had?”

“I’m… stuck on sober mode. Booze doesn’t work on me. Super serum perks.”

“Ugh, that sucks,” you groaned. “You guys are all broken in your own weird ways.”

“And you’re not?”

“Oh, I am,” you grinned. “But I hide it with red lipstick and a killer smile.” You winked.

Bucky wanted to laugh. Wanted to kiss you.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he said—and then immediately cursed himself inside.

But you didn’t laugh. Didn’t deflect. Didn’t throw a sarcastic punch.

You just looked at him. Straight and soft.

“You know how many times I’ve wanted to hear you say that?”

“How many?”

“More times than I’m brave enough to admit.”

Music thumped gently in the background. Lights spun. But Bucky could only see your eyes.

“Can I ask you something?” you tilted your head.

“Always.”

“What would happen if I kissed you?”

Silence.

He didn’t blink.

Neither did you.

“Would you kiss me back?” you whispered.

“Sweetheart…” Bucky breathed, barely audible.

“You would, right?”

“You’re drunk.”

“So what? That makes everything I’m feeling invalid?” you said, a little louder. “I always hold it in, Bucky. Always. But not tonight. Tonight I don’t wanna pretend I don’t like you. That your silences don’t drive me crazy. That I don’t wish I could fall asleep in your arms instead of hugging a damn pillow every night.”

Bucky felt the ground tilt beneath him. It was everything he wanted. Everything he told himself he couldn’t have.

“You’re not in the right state for this, doll…”

“Why not? I want it.”

“I know you do,” he murmured. “I just need you to tell me when you don’t have a gallon of alcohol in your system.”

You stepped closer. Your hand shook slightly with the glass.

“Bucky, I mean it. I always have. This isn’t the booze talking. This is me—no masks.”

“And what if you don’t remember any of this tomorrow?”

“Then kiss me now and make sure I don’t forget.”

He couldn’t stop himself. He cupped your face with both hands. Felt your breath against his lips. And when your mouth brushed his—

It was like lightning.

Soft. Then heated. Then all-consuming.

Your body melted into his. Your hands slid over his chest. His fingers gripped your waist—low, too low to be proper, but never disrespectful. Not with Bucky. Never with Bucky. Your mouth was warm, honest, alive.

And then—he stopped.

He pulled back gently. Breathing uneven. Eyes locked with yours.

“Doll… not like this.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want it. God, I want it. But not like this.”

“Then when?”

“Tomorrow. When you’re sober. When you can look me in the eye and say it without fear. When it’s real and not some boozy courage talking.”

“What if I don’t have the guts tomorrow?”

“I’ll remind you,” he promised. “But I won’t take advantage of you. Ever.”

You didn’t cry. But you looked down. Hurt. Frustrated.

Bucky reached for your hand.

“C’mon. I’m taking you to your room.”

You walked in silence. Your steps wobbly. His hand steady on your lower back.

When you got there, he helped you take off your heels, turned around while you changed your dress into a sweatshirt, tucked you into bed, and took the empty glass from your hand.

Before leaving, he pulled the blanket over you.

You murmured, eyes half-closed:

“If I forget tomorrow… will you remind me?”

“Yeah, doll. I promise.”

You shut your eyes.

And Bucky walked out, heart shattered.

Because for the first time… he had something to lose.

[sunday-bug]

Bucky: I’m not jealous.

Y/N: You glared at a barista because he asked for my name.

Bucky: He said it too softly.

[sunday-bug]

CONGRESSMAN BARNES FUCKING YOU AGAINST THE WINDOW OF HIS OFFICE 💫😵‍💫💫 need

oh i know he's FILTHY. don't mind me and my very obvious hair pulling kink. minors dni

"that’s it, sweetheart. press those pretty tits against the glass," bucky snarls, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips as he yanks you back onto his cock with a filthy smack.

the cold window fogs under your panting as he fucks into you with rough strokes. each one makes you moan out loud you're sure the whole building can hear you.

"whole goddamn city can see what a desperate little whore you are," he rasps, his metal hand fisting in your hair to wrench your head back.

your nipples pebble against the glass. your reflection is a lewd portrait of debauchery—skirt shoved up around your waist, his hand on your love handles, pulling you back to meet every thrust.

"fuck, look at you," he says, landing a sharp spank that makes you sob out loud. "takin’ my cock like it's your only job. like you ain’t nothin’ but a cheap fucktoy."

below, the capitol shines under the sunset, oblivious to the way your drool slicks the window.

"gonna cum, baby? gonna let all those bastards watch me ruin in this nice silk blouse?" he says as his thrusts turn more possessive, slamming into you. "do it. mark up this window like the filthy slut you are."

[sunday-bug]

I'm losing my mind with nerdy buckyyy

I can't stop thinking about giving him head for the first time, poor boy never got his heavy balls sucked😶‍🌫️ he would be whining

Sorry for acting like a slut

this blog is pro-slut. if you're not a slut get out/j

also could you imagineeeeeeeee this????? ugh

it was an accident, really.

"oh my god— oh my god, what are you— fuck, fuck—" his voice cracks in desperation, fingers scrambling for anything to tug on.

his cock twitches against your cheek, drooling with precome—but that’s not what’s got him whining like a virgin.

no, it’s your lips wrapped around his heavy, neglected balls, sucking gently and experimentally, because hey—they were right there, all full and tight against the base of his cock, and you were curious. very curious.

you didn’t even think he’d notice with the way you were bobbing on his dick, but the second your mouth closed over one, his entire body froze in pleasure, like he’d been electrocuted.

"s’that— has anyone ever—? no, no, fuck, please—" he babbles, hand flexing uselessly in the air like he doesn’t know where to put them.

you hum, swirling your tongue around his balls. his back arches off the bed. "oh shit, oh fuck, i’m gonna— i’m gonna—"

he does as he says, cock pulsing as he spills suddenly down your throat.

but you don’t pull off. instead, you keep sucking his balls, milking him through it as he whimpers needily.

"no, no, no, too much— please—" he sobs, writhing under your touch.

but you just flick your tongue one last time before finally pulling back.

"you liked that, huh?" you tease, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

bucky stares at you, his dilated pupils swallowing the blue of his eyes. "i— i didn’t even know that felt like that," he admits.

[sunday-bug]

Oh wow that’s so nice to hear! I’ve watched that movie way too many times so he’s stuck in my brain 😃

Surrender to Me

Steve Kemp x Reader

The Menu

Starter with Frank by @soelstress

Side Dish with Lee by @buckybarnesfic

📍 You’re Here: Main Dish with Steve

Dessert with Bucky by @buckybarnes82

Word Count: 2.6k

Content: smut, p in v unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), it’s Steve Kemp so this is DARK

18+ NSFW Minors DNI

Synopsis: Steve invites his girlfriend to a potluck with his colleagues.

A/N: dividers made by @saradika-graphics ; I love our weird group chat. I hope you guys like this collab and how each person interpreted the prompts. 🥰

“Your knife skills are improving,” he says as he walks to the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water. Steve’s skin is glistening with sweat after his run around the lake and you bite your lip as you take in his physique.

“Thanks. I learned from the best,” you reply with a wink. He smirks as he takes a big drink. 

“I’m going to jump in the shower before I start making the enchiladas. Would you like to join me?” He purrs, waggling his eyebrows.

You gesture to the Brussels sprouts you’ve already started chopping up. “I can’t just leave these -” you start, but he interrupts you, wrapping his arms around your waist. The spicy scent of his deodorant mixed with sweat envelopes you, and you set the knife down gently on the cutting board. 

“They aren’t going anywhere,” Steve whispers in your ear, biting the lobe playfully. “Come shower with me. I’ll make it worth your while. Please.”

His breathy “please” is all you need to follow him. He warms up the water until steam starts filling the large bathroom. “Arms up,” he says, and you follow his direction, letting him undress you slowly. His hungry gaze trails down your bare skin before he undresses himself. He’s hard already, and he takes your hand, leading you into the steamy shower. There’s two shower heads, but he pulls you under his and tilts your head back, soaking your hair and exposing your throat. His lips find the delicate skin under your jaw and he nips softly, letting out the sexiest groan. Goosebumps prick on your skin even though you’re standing under the hot water. Steve knows exactly how to make you feel good without you having to utter a word. He never requires any direction, and in fact, often tells you what you need before you even know you’ve been aching for it. You don’t have to think with Steve, and deep down, you relish in the feeling of submission.

He lathers shampoo into your hair and kisses down your back, racing the suds running down your spine with his lips and winning. “Perfect,” he whispers before moving back up and rinsing your hair. You hum at the pleasure of him taking care of you. He shampoos his own hair as you take his length in your hand and work him over. His eyes roll back as he rinses his own shampoo away. He opens his eyes and looks at you darkly and you know you’re in for it. You’ve grown familiar with that look. He picks you in one swift motion and you wrap your legs around his waist as he lowers you onto his cock with a groan. You feel the cool glass of the shower door on your back and your body erupts in goosebumps once more as Steve snaps his hips up at an angle into you. He takes one of your nipples into his mouth and sucks gently before biting and smiling up at you and moving to the other. “I’m not going to last long, baby,” he whines, gripping the flesh of your hips as he ruts into you. “You feel too fucking good.” 

You know you’re close, but he’s closer. “Fuck, don’t worry. I’ll take care of you,” he grunts as his eyes squint shut. “On your knees. Now!” He picks you up off of his cock and sets you back on the shower floor. You fall to your knees with practiced ease and look up at him with a cocky grin before sticking your tongue out. He comes with a grunt, one arm on the shower wall for support as he paints your face with his spend. “That’s my girl,” he utters. You stand up and let the water fall over your face, washing away the evidence. 

After your steamy shower, Steve wraps you in a plush towel and kisses your forehead. “Okay, bunny. It’s your turn. Sit on the counter.”

You blush and shake your head. “We don’t have time, Steve. You still have to make the enchiladas and I have to finish my salad.” 

“I said get on the counter. Now,” he demands, looking from you to the white marble bathroom counter. “We have time.” He takes a step toward you and pulls off your towel before picking you up and sitting you on the counter. His smooth, warm hands grab either thigh and spread your legs. He licks his lips and bends over, planting kisses on the soft skin of your inner thighs. You hum, giving in to him.

“This is my amuse-bouche before my main course. Now let me savor it. Let me make you come so you’re nice and relaxed before you meet a bunch of new people,” he teases with a laugh, biting your skin and leaving a mark. So you do. And savor it he does.

After he wrings a leg-shaking orgasm from you, you let him brush through your wet hair. He loves it and asks to do it whenever he can. You love how it relaxes you, so you always say yes.

“So, are they going to like me? I’m nervous to meet everyone,” you say. One of Steve’s colleagues is throwing a potluck picnic for all the doctors and their significant others this afternoon. You are actually surprised that he invited you since you’ve only been dating for a few months, but he said it’s “time to show you off”. 

“They’re going to adore you. Don’t worry,” he says softly as he brushes your hair. “Just keep an open mind. Sometimes doctors can be eccentric - especially in the cosmetic field. Plus, I’ve told them how sweet you are and what a good cook you’re becoming. I’ve whet their appetites for you."

“You’re not that eccentric or weird,” you mutter, turning to face him and taking the brush from his hand. He smiles and cocks his head just so. “You just have questionable taste in art and home decor,” you tease him.

“Well, you’re still getting to know me, babe. I’m sure I have some surprises left for you.” Steve turns you back toward the mirror and plays with your hair. “Would you ever consider cutting it? I think right under here,” he says, pointing to your collarbone, “would suit you nicely.” 

“You think so?” You ask, combing through your long hair with your fingers. He nods behind you. “Well, I've been meaning to schedule an appointment to get some highlights, so maybe I’ll ask her to cut it, too.”

“Highlights?” Steve asks with a grimace.

“Yes, why?” You ask, confused.

“Your natural hair is just so beautiful. Don’t ruin it with bleach, babe.” 

“Oh, I didn’t realize you liked it so much. I’ll leave it alone then.” 

“Good girl,” he muses, moving to the sink to do his skincare routine. He does the same steps religiously after every shower, and he even got you into his tinctures, creams, and oils. You follow him step-by-step until you are exfoliated and glowing like the sun during golden hour. 

“There’s my gorgeous girl,” he says, kissing the top of your head. “Oh, I picked out a new dress for you to wear today. I hope you don’t mind.” 

“Wow, you didn’t have to do that, babe,” you say with surprise.

“I know, but I saw it on my lunch break the other day and I knew the color would bring out your eyes. Let me go get it.” 

You smile and start to do your makeup - soft and natural just like Steve prefers. He walks back in wearing a casual button down and jeans. He’s holding up a soft sage green dress with spaghetti straps and a low back.

“You don’t think this is too much for a picnic?” You ask, eyeing the silky dress. 

“Picnic?” Steve asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“I thought you said it was a potluck picnic,” you mutter. 

“Oh, that’s what they’re calling it, but it’ll be a bit nicer than a gingham table cloth and a cooler, love. You won’t look out of place in this. I promise. Just try it on,” he presses.

You smile and agree, letting him slip it over your head. He sniffs out a small laugh and bites his lip. “Yeah, it’s perfect, just like I knew it would be,” he utters, his breath ghosting over the exposed skin of your back.

“Are you sure it isn’t too open in the back?” You ask, twisting in the mirror for a better view.

“No, it’s so sexy, babe. It shows off your body, but not too much. I would tell you if it exposed too much, my love. It’s subtle and feminine, just like you,” he says sweetly, kissing your shoulder. “I’ll let you finish getting ready.” You smile and pick up your perfume, but before you can spritz it, Steve clears his throat.

“Maybe don’t wear that today. One of my colleagues is very sensitive to colognes and perfumes. Besides, your natural scent is delicious, babe,” he says with another wink. You put the small perfume bottle down and comply with his request.

The “potluck” looks like a very fancy dinner party and not like any BYOB cookout you’ve been to before. There’s not a folding chair, Solo cup, or paper plate in sight. The long wooden table is decorated with a white gauze runner, complete with foliage and jewel-toned candles in purposefully mismatched brass candle holders. It looks like the head table at someone’s wedding, but you suppose if you have enough money you can show off like this for a simple dinner party.

Drinks are flowing and everyone is dressed in subtle designer clothing. You feel a bit out of place. You aren’t a doctor. You don’t even work in the medical field. You met Steve by chance at a dive bar. You were both sitting alone reading. He ordered you a drink and moved smoothly onto the stool next to you. You talked about your books and life and now here you are - at a bougie dinner party disguised as a potluck with a bunch of plastic surgeons. Life can be funny that way. 

“Babe, this is Dr. and Mr. Petrulka. She works with me on burn cases. Skin grafts. That kind of stuff,” Steve explains. “Alice, this is my girlfriend.” He says your name and smiles. You extend your hand to shake hers and her husband’s. They are both dressed in all white and look younger than they probably are.

“It’s nice to meet you both,” you say shyly. 

“You too, sweetheart. Who do you see in town?” She asks nonchalantly.

“Sorry?” You ask, confused by her question.

“Who does your work?” She clarifies.

“My work?” You start again. Steve clears his throat and huffs out a small laugh.

“She hasn’t had any work done, Alice. She’s just a natural beauty,” he explains. “Good genes.” 

“Ah,” Dr. Petrulka muses, looking you over like a piece of meat. “You really are just gorgeous, darling. Such soft, youthful skin.” Her eyes flit from yours to Steve’s, and she gives him the faintest nod - if you weren’t paying attention you’d miss it.

“Oh, thank you,” you mutter, slightly embarrassed. What a forward question to ask someone you’ve just met. Steve leads you to the kitchen, his hand guiding you on your lower back.

“See? I told you they can be a bit eccentric. I’m sorry,” he says quietly with a sheepish grin.

You laugh softly. “Yeah, I mean, I’m not sure whether to be offended or not.” 

“She meant it as a compliment. You are stunning, my love. You know this,” Steve assures you.

When it’s time for dinner, everyone insists that you go first. After a few attempts at deflection, you’re at the front of the queue to get food. 

“Don’t be shy now. A little meat on a woman’s bones never hurt anyone,” an older gentleman with ruddy cheeks says with a wink. He clearly checks you out, but Steve isn’t there at the moment to notice or say anything so you just nod politely to the man with a tight-lipped smile. You look over the dishes everyone has prepared and notice a common theme - no meat. You know Steve is a vegetarian, but maybe some of the other doctors are too so you shrug it off.

You put a tiny sampling of everything on your plate, and once you’re through the line a young man hands you a glass of chilled white wine. He doesn’t say anything to you, but his expression is off - like he pities you. How strange. You smile softly and thank him before walking to the table to find your seat. There are small place cards with everyone’s names at each place setting, and your stomach drops when you see your name on a card at the head of the table. You pick up the card and look around. Steve makes eye contact with you and nods, so you sit down, but you feel so out of place. He quickly comes over and sits in the seat beside you and takes your hand. 

“Why am I at the head of the table?” You whisper to him, eyeing everyone else warily as they take their places.

“I’m sure it’s just where you fit. Don’t look into it,” he assures you, rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand. After everyone is seated, Steve stands up, a glass of wine in his hand. “It’s good to share a meal with friends. There’s nothing like breaking bread among people that truly understand you - no interest too strange, no hobby too unconventional, no appetite too exotic,” he says the last part with a hand on your shoulder as he raises his glass in a toast. “To surrender.” 

“To… surrender,” you mutter under your breath as you take a sip of your wine. It’s good - sweeter than you expected. Steve sits back down and winks at you. You give him a weak smile. The air is filled with the sounds of cutlery on ceramic, lively chatter, and Steve clearing his throat as you take your first bite of food - one of his sweet potato and pepper enchiladas. 

“It’s good, babe,” you say, looking up at him and seeing double. You drop your fork. “I think… this wine’s strong…”

All eyes are now on you as you sway in your chair. Steve steadies you with his hands and stands behind you now. How’d he get behind you so fast? Why is everyone clearing the table? 

“Just give in,” he whispers in your ear. “Be a good girl for me and give in.” 

“Wha-,” you start, but your mouth can’t finish your thought, which drifts away just as quickly. Your eyes flutter closed, and Steve catches your head before it slams into your dinner plate.

“There we go,” he says quietly, petting your unconscious little head.

“Mr. Petrulka, help me center her on the table,” Steve demands, and the man walks over, hooking his hands under your arms as Steve takes your legs. The two men lie your body down on the now-cleared dining table. Steve fixes your dress and hair, splaying it artfully around you. “Perfect.” 

He turns toward the insatiable crowd. “Does everyone have their cards ready?” Everyone pulls their name place cards from pockets and purses and folds them over, showing various numbers. “Good,” Steve says with a half smirk. He moves to your right leg and slips the light green dress up to your thigh, careful to maintain your dignity. 

“Welcome to the Potluck. We’ll start with the right thigh from hip socket to patella - femur included. Bidding starts at $75,000.” Cards fly up in unison. It’s going to be a long, fruitful night.

The End.

[sunday-bug]

You’re my favorite thing to ruin.

This was so hot OMG

The coveralls with nothing underneath? Sir I will have heart palpitations 😅

you said unhinged bucky smut requests and i said yes

what if bucky and reader friends with benefits rent an airbnb house with the goal of trying out a different position/k!nk in every room

this fic is 99% horny chaos, 1% airbnb liability waiver. thank you for coming to my TED talk. do not rent to them. ever.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content (18+), multiple sex scenes, public risk, roleplay, bondage, overstimulation, temperature play, food play, spanking, dirty talk, humor, language.

----------

You hadn’t even unpacked yet.

The suitcase was still by the door. The fridge was empty. You hadn’t done the Airbnb walkthrough or figured out how the hot tub worked or even checked for spiders under the bed.

Because Bucky had already bent you over the arm of the living room couch.

“This one’s for doggy,” he grunted behind you, hand smacking your ass with zero warning. “Obvious choice. Gotta start strong.”

You choked on a moan. “We just got here—!”

“Exactly. Gotta stay on schedule.”

Schedule.

As if there was a calendar involved in this.

Which—okay—technically, there was. A loosely shared Google Doc titled “Rooms to Ruin” with columns for “location,” “kink,” “approximate cleanup time,” and a few emojis you regretted letting him choose.

Bedroom? Overstimulation. Kitchen? Temperature play. Guest room? Bondage. Laundry room? Clothes stay on. Pantry? “Something filthy.” (Unclear. He’d just winked.) Hot tub? Underwater. Obviously. Back patio? Silence kink—because the neighbors. Garage? Roleplay. Mechanics and grease stains. Bucky’s idea. Obviously.

But the living room?

That was just for fucking.

Pure. Simple. Unholy.

“This couch is solid,” he grunted, rutting into you. “Sturdy. Love that for us.”

You wheezed into the cushion. “You’re unwell.”

“I’m efficient.”

You came twice before he even thought about pulling out.

The kitchen was next.

You barely made it into the room before he had an ice cube in his mouth and you up on the counter. His lips left a frozen trail across your stomach, your thighs, between your breasts—and every time you gasped, he smirked like a fucking menace.

“Cold, huh?” he whispered, pressing a slick, freezing kiss to your nipple.

You yelped.

He did it again.

Then again.

By the fourth one, you were shoving him backwards, grabbing the nearest bottle of syrup, and declaring vengeance.

You poured it down his chest like it was war.

Which, in hindsight, only turned him on more.

The kitchen table still has permanent scratches from his belt buckle.

The hot tub was supposed to be relaxing.

It was not.

The jets had barely started before Bucky was stripping off his swim trunks and tugging you into his lap, muttering something about “hydropressure makes everything feel tighter.”

“You sound like you read a Reddit thread.”

“I am the Reddit thread.”

You didn’t even know that meant.

But he was right.

Everything felt tighter.

You came so hard the neighbors might’ve called the cops.

Bucky high-fived you afterward.

“Three rooms down,” he said proudly. “You’re a fucking champ.”

“You’re a menace to hospitality services everywhere.”

“Damn right.”

Things escalated on day two.

The guest room had handcuffs hanging from the bedpost before breakfast.

Laundry room? Quickie with the dryer running and his hand shoved in your mouth to muffle the scream.

Pantry? Somehow involved peanut butter, a vibrator, and a very graphic misuse of a broom handle. You made him promise not to say “clean-up on aisle five” again or you were ending the trip early.

But the garage?

That’s where he lost his mind.

He showed up in coveralls.

Coveralls. With grease smeared on his cheek and a wrench in his hand and absolutely nothing underneath the zipper, which he oh-so-casually tugged down to his hips.

“Ma’am,” he said, in an absurd Brooklyn drawl. “Heard you got a leak that needs fixing.”

You stared at him.

“What the fuck are you wearing.”

“Character immersion.”

“…Where did you get the wrench?”

“Mind your business.”

You were laughing too hard to fight it.

Which is exactly when he lifted you onto the workbench and kissed you until your spine curved like a bowstring and the wrench clattered to the floor.

“Still think it’s dumb?” he whispered, unzipping your jeans with slick precision.

“…Shut up and fix my leak.”

By night three, you were wrecked.

Wrecked and sore and mildly concerned about your hip alignment.

You lay sprawled across the king-sized bed in the main room—your “final boss” location—and let out a low, pitiful whine.

Bucky popped his head up from the foot of the bed.

“You still alive?”

“Barely.”

He grinned.

“You tapping out?”

“No.”

You flipped onto your back with a groan.

“But if I die tonight, you better make the funeral hot.”

He crawled over you like a jungle cat.

“You wanna finish the challenge?”

“We made it this far.”

“Gotta get that gold star.”

He bent down, lips brushing your ear.

“Overstimulation was the plan in here.”

You shivered.

“Gonna give you everything, sweetheart,” he whispered, already parting your legs. “Every fucking inch. Over and over and over again until you’re crying into the sheets. That sound good?”

You whimpered. “Yes.”

“You’re my favorite thing to ruin.”

He didn’t stop until you begged.

Twice.

He let you wear the gold star sticker afterward.

Right on your tit.

When you checked out, the Airbnb host left a 1-star review:

“Do not rent to this couple. I found rope in the guest closet and a dent in the kitchen table. Syrup residue everywhere. Pretty sure someone moaned ‘fix my leak’ in the garage. Absolutely not.”

Bucky took a screenshot and made it his phone background.

“Worth it,” he said proudly.

You rolled your eyes.

“Next time, we’re trying a treehouse.”

His eyes lit up.

You didn’t speak for the next twenty minutes because he was already on Zillow.

[sunday-bug]

Good golly sir-

Ice Cream

Summary: You came for ice cream.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: light smut, strangers to?, sex with a stranger, unprotected sex, implied/mentions of oral (fem rec)

Story written for @ buckyboybingo (expired): Square 5: Moaning

Story written for @buckybarnesevents' Week 9 of Hot Bucky Summer 2025 - Free Week

Ice cream. You came to your favorite place to get strawberry ice cream with many strawberries and whipped cream. Maybe you wanted to go crazy and let them add sour worms this time.

You didn’t come here to let a stranger do unspeakable things to you in the restrooms. You didn’t come here for him to sink into your soaked hole after eating your pussy, not the ice cream he bought.

Still, you ended up full of his cock, whimpering into the hand he clamped over your mouth. Your lipstick and the ice cream you tasted stuck to his hand, but he couldn’t care less.

“Fuck, you’re so good for me, doll,” he cursed, the cool treat long forgotten. The vanilla ice cream melted on the vanities next to your purse, slowly dripping down onto the tile floor. It will soon be a sticky sea of ice cream, joining your strawberry dream. “I should come here more often.”

You laughed behind his hand. Not half an hour ago, you didn’t expect to be pinned against a wall by a stranger in the restrooms of an ice cream parlor.

It all went down when your eyes met his smoldering blue ones. He was running his hand over his scruffy beard, trying to decide which ice cream he wanted to taste.

His gaze didn’t leave your face, and you swallowed thickly when he told the girl behind the counter which ice cream he wanted. His deep, rough voice made you shiver, and your lower half screamed for this man’s attention.

He smirked when his eyes met yours again, knowing exactly about the influence he had on you and your poor body. Your eyes dropped to his big hands, moving back up his strong and thick body.

You didn’t see it, but while you were staring at his thick thighs, he was undressing you with his eyes, planning to get his hands on you the moment you moved your tongue over your lower lip.

You just knew that he was the kind of man who knew how to use his hands and body to drive a woman crazy.

“What if someone walks in on us?” He purred against your ear. “They’d call you a needy slut and me a lucky guy.” His mouth trailed open-mouthed kisses down your neck. “I’d kill them if they do.”

Your stranger buried his face in your neck, moaning with every deep thrust. He panted into your damp skin while his free hand moved between your legs to swipe his metal fingers over your clit.

The sound you made was inhuman. It felt like your whole body was thrumming when you gushed all over his cock. He pounded into you relentlessly until you were quivering again.

“That’s it,” he purred in your ear. “Fuck, I wish I could cum in you and fill this cunt up.” You hissed when he pulled out to stroke his cock. His cum joined the ice cream on the ground, ruining the floor even more.

Pressing your forehead against the tile wall, you struggled to calm your breathing. Your legs felt like jelly, and you couldn’t move. “Fuck,” you cursed yourself.

“Are you okay?” He carefully slid your panties back up your legs to cover your well-fucked cunt. “Doll? Did I hurt you?”

“No, I…” You were ashamed of yourself for fucking a stranger, but you couldn’t tell him so. “I can’t walk… My legs are…unsteady.”

He wrapped one arm around your waistline and kissed your neck again, lips lingering.

“How about I drive you home and buy you another ice cream we can eat and not let go to waste?”

You looked at the mess on the ground, a reminder of the sin you committed. “That would be nice,” you replied, unsure what the one-day stand etiquette says about taking your stranger home.

“Do I finally get a name, or do you want to remain a mystery?” He asked, still holding you upright. “I’m Bucky.”

“Y/N,” you breathed out. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It was a pleasure meeting you, too,” he laughed against your neck. “Let me clean this mess up and take you home…

You didn’t know if this chance encounter was more than a quickie at an ice cream parlor, but you were willing to take the risk for him, for Bucky.

[sunday-bug]

Ok Dom!Steve I see you sir 😅

obsidian

pairing: steve rogers x reader

summary: when a mission requires infiltrating an exclusive BDSM club, you and steve must convincingly play the roles of dominant and submissive. but when he takes control a little too well, you start to wonder if he’s really acting—or just finally showing you what he’s been holding back.

word count: 3,630

warnings: explicit content, smut ahead, minors do not interact, dom!steve, sub!reader, bdsm dynamics, oral (f receiving), p in v, power play, bondage, spanking, begging, punishment, orgasm control, dirty talk, possessive behavior, undercover mission setting

The meeting room smelled of cold coffee and pressure. Literally. The air was so thick I felt like if I took a deep breath, I might choke on the tension.

The report lay open on the table, right on the page showing the face of the man in question: Aleksandr Volkov. An arms trafficker, an information broker—basically everything you shouldn't touch, not even with gloves. He was linked to more attacks than I wanted to count.

Natasha began, perched on the edge of the table as if she weren’t discussing the most dangerous man on the continent. “This subject trusts no one—and when I say no one, I mean clinical paranoia. He only shows up if what he sees feels real.”

Steve frowned, clearly confused.

“What does that mean? What’s the mission?”

“Intercept a messenger,” Natasha replied. “He’s carrying a briefcase with highly classified intel. We don’t know exactly what’s inside, but we know it’s up for sale. And if it falls into the wrong hands, we’re screwed.”

My stomach tightened. “And Volkov has that information?”

“Yes. He’s the only one who knows the time, place, and identity of the exchange. But he never gives that up without something in return.”

She pulled out a small metal box and revealed a discreet black USB. “This contains sensitive data on two of his direct enemies—information he can use for blackmail or leverage. For someone like Volkov, it’s more valuable than money.”

Steve nodded, and I swallowed.

“So it’s a trade: we deliver this, he gives us the exchange details.”

“Exactly,” Natasha confirmed. “But there’s a catch.”

There’s always a catch. Always.

“Volkov doesn’t meet with strangers. He only deals with people he believes are part of his world—people who share his interests.”

I frowned. “What kind of interests?”

She exhaled. “Volkov is addicted to control. He moves in circles where power hierarchies are expressed through sexual dynamics—specifically... BDSM.”

Silence fell. The kind where you almost cough just to break it.

“Excuse me?” I asked, though I’d heard her loud and clear.

“He frequents an exclusive club—Obsidian. He doesn’t take calls, doesn’t reply to emails, doesn’t let anyone contact him. He only shows up if he’s convinced he’s witnessing an authentic Dominant/submissive dynamic. Without that, he won’t take the risk.”

“So you want someone to pretend to be that?” I asked, though I already knew.

Natasha’s gaze locked on mine. “We want you to do it.”

I blinked, hoping to reset the moment. “Me? Why?”

“Because you fit the profile Volkov finds desirable: presence, composure, emotional control—a gaze that doesn’t break easily. If he sees someone like you submit naturally, he’ll believe it’s real. And that will intrigue him.”

I looked at Steve. He didn’t look away.

I already knew what Natasha was going to say next.

“And the Dominant...?”

“Steve will be the Dom.”

My stomach flipped.

Neither of us said a word. We both knew what was at stake.

“You’ll have to look real,” Natasha added, serious. “As if he knows everything about you. As if you obey because you want to—not because you're forced. If Volkov sees control and willing surrender, he’ll talk.”

“And if not?” I asked quietly.

“He walks away. And we lose our only lead.”

I stayed silent. That night, though, sleep eluded me.

Not from nerves, but from need.

I spent hours researching—not to rehearse, but because if I was going to kneel before Steve—if I was going to play his submissive in front of a stranger—I needed to know what I was getting into.

And to my surprise... I didn’t hate it.

BDSM wasn’t what I thought. It wasn’t abuse or humiliation. It was trust, consent, desire elevated to the most intense, intimate form.

And even though I didn’t want to admit it, something in me ignited.

two days later – obsidian club

The club was more elegant than I’d ever imagined. There were no flashing lights or pounding music—just dim lighting, low lamps, and a deep, hushed melody that drifted through the air like a secret. Everything smelled of shadows and spiced perfume—the kind of scent you can't forget.

My throat went dry the moment we stepped inside. I wasn’t sure if I was more nervous about the mission, or about what Steve and I had to pretend—or worse, what I wasn’t even sure was pretend anymore.

A woman approached us—tall, immaculate, the kind who seems to hold the world under control. Hair pinned perfectly, lips a bold wine-red, tablet in hand. Her smile wasn’t kind, nor cold... just calculating.

“First time at Obsidian?” she asked.

Steve nodded without a word.

I stayed quiet—not because I couldn’t speak, but because in this environment, as a submissive, you don’t speak without your Dom’s permission. And Steve hadn't given it yet.

She glanced at me, sizing me up, then looked back at Steve. “What color collar will your submissive wear?”

Steve didn’t waver. “Red.”

She raised an eyebrow, as if amused. “Are you sure? Red means she already has a Dom—that she’s not available—that only her Dom may touch her.”

“I know,” Steve replied, voice low and firm. “That’s exactly the message I want to send.”

A jolt of heat shot from my neck down to my thighs.

The woman nodded and opened a side drawer, retrieving a small velvet box. She handed it to Steve with graceful precision.

He opened it to reveal a dark leather collar with a red gemstone set in the center.

“May I?” he murmured.

I nodded, my voice caught in my throat.

He placed the collar around my neck, fastening it with a patience that felt intense.

“Safe word?” she asked.

“Shield,” Steve said, holding me gently.

“Perfect.” She tapped on her tablet. “Room type?”

“Partial exhibition,” he answered without hesitation.

She raised her eyebrow again—subtle, curious about our choice. “That’s very popular right now. If you need any extra assistance... feel free to ask directly.” She looked at Steve as she said it.

The air in me tightened—her flirting was blatant.

How dare she even try it with Steve standing right in front of me?

Her smile narrowed.

Steve stayed silent, but he tightened his hold on my fingers and slid his hand to my waist—firm, protective, as if saying: “Relax. I’ve got you.”

And I don’t know if he did it for the mission... or for me.

But at that moment, I didn’t care. I felt his. Completely his.

“Follow me,” she said, leading us toward our destination.

When we arrived, the door to the room clicked shut behind us, and the silence turned thick, charged, nearly intimate.

The lights were warm and soft, focused on the bed like a stage. And in front, the glass: a wide observation window facing the corridor. Someone could already be watching. It could be him. Volkov.

I swallowed, feeling something inside me tense—not out of fear, but anticipation. And then I felt him. Steve.

His energy shifted the moment we crossed the threshold. He was no longer the Captain I’d trained with, or the man who listened in silence during our meetings. He wasn’t my mission partner anymore. He was something more. Larger. Firmer. More intense.

He was my Dom.

I didn’t know if he was acting or if he was simply allowing something inside him—something that had always been there, waiting for the right moment—to take over.

“Take off your dress,” he ordered in deep, authoritative voice.

My fingers trembled as I slid the straps down my shoulders, and the dress fell to my ankles. I stood there, barefoot, dressed only in black lace—tiny bra and panties that barely covered anything.

Warm air brushed over my exposed skin, but it was his gaze that made me shiver. I felt his eyes trace over me as though he were touching me already, lingering on my breasts, my waist, my thighs. Every part of me felt claimed without him even touching me.

Without a word, he pressed a knee onto the bed and gripped my waist, lifting me easily as if I weighed nothing. He turned me, positioning me in the center of the mattress as though shaping something that belonged to him.

He laid me on my back and slid his hands down my arms, taking my wrists with a firmness that made me gasp.

“Arms up,” he said, his voice low, running through me like an electric current.

I obeyed, feeling a strong pulse in my throat as I watched him retrieve a rope from the side drawer.

His fingers were precise, confident, calm. He tied my wrists to the headboard methodically, checking each knot’s tension, making sure I couldn’t move—even accidentally—making it clear that in this space, in this moment, control was his.

Then he moved down. His large, warm hands wrapped around my ankles, and with the same ease he’d lifted me before, he placed them in the bottom corners of the bed.

The mattress creaked under me as he tied me again, spreading my legs effortlessly, leaving me fully open and vulnerable before him.

I couldn’t close them. I was exposed.

“God…” Steve murmured as he dragged his fingers along the inside of my thigh, slowly, as if memorizing its texture. “You have no idea how beautiful you look like this.”

Before I could respond—or even process the moment—he reached toward my hip and with one firm, swift tug, ripped my panties, making me gasp in shock.

Air hit my bare sex, making me tremble.

He didn’t hesitate. He unclasped my bra with the same confidence, discarded it to the side without attention, then stood opposite the bed, staring at me completely naked.

He leaned over me, his mouth descending from my abdomen, past the curve of my navel, down to where I was exposed. Without words, without pause, he licked.

A moan tore from my throat, raw. Steve’s tongue was firm and deliberate, the warmth mixing with the moisture already gathering on me.

His hands gripped my thighs tightly, preventing any movement.

I arched, trying to push against him, but the ropes held me. All I could do was tremble, beg, and moan.

And then I felt it coming. That tension. The orgasm so close I could barely think.

“Oh God…” I gasped—but it was too late.

The orgasm ripped through me like a whip. I came without asking permission.

My back arched, my legs trembled against the restraints—and I let out a sound I couldn’t contain.

For a second, there was silence.

Then I felt his mouth lift away. His body moved up mine. His hand pressed against my cheek—not gently, but with control.

“Who gave you permission to cum?” he demanded.

I barely opened my mouth. I didn’t know what to say. The orgasm still pulsed inside me. I wanted to apologize, but shame and need choked me.

“I asked you a question.” Steve said as he squeezed my cheeks, forcing me to look at him.

“Nobody, sir. I’m sorry. I-I couldn’t hold it,” I tried to explain.

“You’re sorry?”

There was no warning.

His hand came up—and a firm, painfully pleasurable slap landed on my right breast. My nipple, already sensitive, flared as if on fire.

Another slap, this time on the left.

“This is for forgetting who decides here,” he growled, sliding his hand down to land a sharp, direct hit on my clitoris.

A high moan escaped my throat.

He descended again, traveling down my body until he reached where I needed him most. He opened me even wider with his hands, gripped my hips, and began licking me again.

And just as I was about to come again, he stopped.

“Not yet.”

“Please…” I sobbed.

“No.”

He did that to me three more times.

He pushed me to the edge where I felt I’d lose control—then suspended me there. Frustrated. Hanging.

“Please, Sir. Please. I beg you... I need to cum.”

Steve rose and positioned himself between my open legs. His erection was rock-hard, heavy—pointed directly at me.

“Are you going to ask permission this time?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Will you thank me for every second?”

“Yes…”

“Tell me who you belong to.”

“I am yours. Completely yours.”

And then he pounded into me in one deep thrust.

A scream ripped through me as my back arched, trapped between the mattress and the ropes.

“Oh God…” I sobbed, unable to stop.

Steve’s hands gripped my hips—hard, possessive—and he began thrusting wildly. He was all inside me, each thrust deeper than the last, pushing me to my limits, making me feel every inch.

He leaned in over me and grabbed my throat, tilting my face up.

“Look how you take me,” he murmured mid-thrust. “You do it so well,” he continued in a husky, lust-filled voice. “Your pussy is made for me.”

With each minute, his thrusts became more intense. The rhythm was brutal, relentless, like he couldn’t hold himself back, like he needed me as much as I needed him.

He filled me completely, again and again, with a devastating precision that made me forget my own name.

Then he slid a hand to my center. His fingers found my clit and began rubbing it hard, mercilessly, making me scream.

“Now cum for me, beautiful.”

I came with a trembling scream, tears stinging my eyes, my body aflame.

Just when I thought I couldn’t take any more, he came inside me—with a low, rough moan while burying his face in my neck.

We stayed like that for a few seconds, his breath warm against my neck. I felt his chest rise and fall, his hand stroking my side slowly.

“Good girl,” he murmured beside my ear.

Silence settled in, dense with ragged breathing and racing heartbeats still seeking rhythm.

I felt him move slowly. His hands slid down my arms, first untying the ropes from my wrists, then from my ankles.

“Does it hurt?” he asked softly, nearly husky but gentle.

I shook my head.

He covered me with a sheet without saying a word, got dressed quickly as if he didn’t want to leave me alone for long.

“I’ll bring you water,” he murmured.

When he came back, he sat beside me, holding a glass. He helped me sit up gently and held the glass while I drank.

“Slowly,” he murmured, his voice firm as obeying orders but full of care now.

Then he just sat there, looking at me like he wanted to memorize me.

“Thank you for trusting me,” he said.

“I’d do it again,” I whispered without thinking.

He didn’t respond with words. He pulled me close to his chest and held me tight.

He helped me dress afterward, unhurried.

When I was ready, he opened the door.

And we walked out together. As if something between us had changed forever.

[sunday-bug]

The uniform stays AWN 🫡

undercover

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: you’re desperate, aching, and bucky is the only one who can help. you find him in uniform, mid-mission. he tells you to go home—so you climb into his lap instead.

word count: 1,309

warnings: explicit content, smut ahead, minors do not interact, unprotected p in v, fingering, desperate/bratty!reader, teasing, uniform kink, begging, rough sex, dom!bucky, slight power play, dirty talk, light marking (neck/breast), undefined relationship tension, mild possessiveness, public-ish sex (car near forest/road),

It was nighttime, and I was wandering through the woods, hoping to run into Bucky Barnes. I needed him. For some unknown reason, I was burning with desire. I’d tried using my fingers, but they didn’t help. That’s why I decided to go look for Bucky.

I knew he was on an undercover mission, but being this turned on… and seeing Buck in uniform? It was just too tempting.

You could say my relationship with Bucky wasn’t strictly friendly. I liked him—a lot—and I knew it was mutual. Sure, we’d fucked countless times in all kinds of places, but neither of us dared to take the next step: dating. We hated labels and didn’t feel ready for a relationship. We just wanted to live in the moment, and we were happy with… whatever this was.

“Ma’am, you’re in a restricted area,” a voice said from a few meters behind me.

I smiled the second I recognized that voice—the one that made my body react instantly. “I guess you’ll have to arrest me, officer,” I said flirtatiously as I turned around. “Though if you’re going to cuff me, make it on the bed.”

Bucky’s eyes widened before he cleared his throat. “Shit, you shouldn’t be here. I’m on a mission.”

“I know. But I couldn’t resist seeing you in uniform, Buck,” I said as I stepped closer. “You look so handsome.” I reached him and placed my arms on his shoulders.

I leaned in toward his neck—his weak spot—and began planting soft kisses, slowly increasing the intensity until he started to breathe harder.

“Not here…” he mumbled as his pants began to feel tighter by the second.

“Let’s go to your patrol car, yeah?” I whispered, pulling back just enough to hover my lips over his, brushing them without closing the kiss. “It’ll be quick. Please.”

Bucky gave in. He grabbed my wrist and dragged me to the backseat of the patrol car, which was parked a few meters away by the road.

The moment we got in, I straddled him. His hands immediately gripped my ass and squeezed tightly.

We kissed hungrily, desperately needing each other. With Buck’s hands guiding me, I started rocking my hips back and forth, stealing breathy moans from him as I felt his erection pressing through his pants.

I broke the kiss to undo his belt, then pulled down his pants and boxers. He lifted his hips to help me get them off completely. I fumbled with his tie and shirt, needing them gone.

It was easy for him to undress me. I was only wearing a dress, and he tugged it off quickly, leaving me in nothing but my panties.

Luckily for both of us, I wasn’t wearing a bra.

The second the dress was off, he went straight for my breasts. His metal hand played with one nipple while his mouth focused on the other—licking, sucking, biting—drawing loud moans from me.

In a swift motion, we changed positions. Now I was lying on the seat, and Bucky was on top of me.

He ripped off my panties in a blink. His lips trailed down my neck, leaving marks, while his metal hand made its way between my legs.

I started stroking his abs, then moved lower to wrap my hand around him, pleasuring him slowly, drawing out deep, guttural groans.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” Buck growled when his fingers made contact with my folds.

He started rubbing my clit in slow circles with one of his fingers, making me moan and arch my back. Then he slid two fingers inside me, slowly at first, only to pull them out abruptly and repeat the motion over and over, teasing me like that.

“Fuck, Bucky…” I groaned. “Just fuck me already.”

“What was that, doll?” he asked, pretending not to understand.

“Don’t be an asshole. You know what I want,” I snapped.

The brunette suddenly stopped all movement, making me whimper in frustration.

“No, I don’t know,” he said with a smirk. “Why don’t you tell me what you need?” He aligned his cock at my entrance, pushed in just the tip, and pulled back out immediately. “Is this what you want?”

“Fucking fuck me already,” I moaned, rolling my hips in slow, desperate circles, needing him inside me.

Bucky thrust into me, starting a steady, delicious rhythm with his hips. I spread my legs wider, planting my right foot on the seatback and wrapping the other around his waist.

With each passing minute, his pace quickened. The sound of skin slapping echoed in the car, mixed with wet, obscene sounds every time he slid in and out of me.

His head rested in the crook of my neck, which let me hear every rough, guttural moan he let out—making me even hotter.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he growled.

“Harder,” I begged between moans.

“Like this?” he asked, slamming into me harder, pulling a loud cry from my lips.

“Yes, Buck—yes, just like that.”

Bucky moved one hand down and found my clit again, pressing in small, tight circles. The pressure built fast and strong, and my orgasm hit me hard, making my walls clench tightly around his cock—pulling his release right after mine.

I sat up to clean myself, but Bucky grabbed my wrist and pulled me back onto his lap, straddling him again.

“Who said we were done, sweetheart?” he murmured. “I bet you look even hotter riding my cock, don’t you think? We’ve got all night.”

[sunday-bug]

Paris is so lovely in the summer, isn’t it? 😏

punishment

pairing: bucky barnes & steve rogers x reader

summary: you thought you could get away with sneaking around—fucking Steve and Bucky behind each other’s backs. But when they find out, they’re not angry that you’ve been with both of them… they’re pissed you lied. And now, they plan to teach you a lesson you won’t forget.

word count: 1,146

warnings: explicit content, smut ahead, minors do not interact, dom!steve, dom!bucky, sub!reader, threesome (m/m/f), oral (m receiving), p in v, power play, spanking, hair pulling, light choking, dirty talk, orgasm control, punishment, pet names, light degradation, praise, creampie implied

I turned off the shower and wrapped myself in a towel.

Ah, I needed that. There was nothing more relaxing than a hot shower after a long mission.

I stepped out of the bathroom into my room—and yelped in surprise. Steve and Bucky were sitting on my bed, both wearing matching pissed-off expressions.

Oh shit. Did they find out?

“What are you doing here?” I asked, tightening the towel around myself.

“You thought we wouldn’t find out, huh?” Steve growled.

“F-Find out what?” I stammered.

“Oh, come on. Don’t play innocent.” the blond snapped. “We know you’ve been playing with us.”

“You mean fucking both of us,” Bucky chuckled darkly.

Shit. I didn’t think they’d figure out I was fucking with each of them behind the other’s back.

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied. “I-I didn’t do that.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“We don’t mind if you fuck us both. We’re not bothered by sharing,” Steve said, standing up and walking toward me. “What pisses us off is you doing it in secret…” He paused right in front of me. “…and lying to our faces.” His hand suddenly wrapped around my throat with just enough pressure to make my breath hitch.

“But we can fix that, can’t we, Steve?” Bucky added.

“Exactly. Know how?” Steve murmured, dragging his lips along my neck without letting go of my throat.

I shook my head, even though I already had a pretty good idea.

“I don’t want a punishment,” I muttered, frowning.

“Don’t act like a spoiled little brat,” Buck growled.

I scoffed and rolled my eyes.

“That just added to your list of punishments.”

“Fine,” I sighed.

Steve let go of my neck only to grab my wrist and pull me toward the bed where Bucky was still sitting.

“Let’s get rid of this first,” he said, tugging at my towel and letting it drop.

“You’re gorgeous,” Bucky said, taking a moment to look me up and down. “Come here.” He opened his legs slightly and motioned for me to sit.

I obeyed, settling between his thighs.

“We didn’t like your little game, sweetheart,” he murmured, trailing his hand along my inner thigh and biting at my neck. His fingers slid up until they reached between my legs, where he started rubbing circles over my clit. “So now, we’re gonna play with you.”

“I think one of us should take that pretty mouth of yours,” Steve said while undressing, “and the other can fuck your cunt to keep you nice and busy.”

“Oh, Bucky…” I moaned, rolling my hips for more friction.

“Shh, I didn’t give you permission to speak,” he said, stopping what he was doing. “On your knees. Now.”

I followed the order, getting on all fours on the bed. Bucky knelt in front of me while Steve moved behind.

“Come closer,” Buck said firmly. “Your lips drive me insane.” He paused. “You know what to do.”

I kissed all the way down Bucky’s abdomen until I reached his cock. I left wet kisses along the length of his shaft, then looked up into his eyes as I took him fully into my mouth.

I let out a squeal when I felt Steve’s hand land hard on my ass.

A soft moan escaped my lips—a mix of pleasure and pain—as his hand smacked my cheek again. I wasn’t exactly a masochist… but a little pain wasn’t so bad.

“I’m gonna cum if you keep making her throat vibrate like that,” Bucky growled.

“Up. Turn around,” Steve ordered. “I want those pretty lips around me now.”

I pulled Bucky’s cock out of my mouth and did what Steve told me.

“Open up,” he demanded, aligning his cock with my lips.

As I sucked Steve off, Bucky kept his hand busy between my thighs, spreading my slickness.

“You like it when I touch you like this?”

Maaaybe I’d play with them a little. It was fun watching them get all growly and possessive.

I let Steve’s cock slip out of my mouth just long enough to answer. “Honestly? Not that impressive, Buck.” I lied, then took him back in my mouth.

“Oh yeah? You sure?” he asked, pinching my clit. “Because this—” he gave it another squeeze “—is swollen, you little tease,” he growled. “And you’re soaking.” he added, running his fingers through my entrance.

“Enough,” Steve groaned, close to release. “I want to cum inside you.”

I held back a moan as Bucky’s long fingers slid into me and Steve pinched my nipples. The one time the other Avengers overheard me moaning loud by accident, they teased me for days.

“Don’t hold back those pretty little sounds.”

“I don’t want us to make noise,” I muttered.

“No noise? I’m gonna fuck you so hard you won’t be able to stop moaning my name,” Steve said darkly.

Steve flipped me around so he was behind me. “You’re gonna take Bucky in your mouth while I fuck you from back here.”

“And don’t forget you’re not allowed to cum without our permission, got it, doll?”

Steve aligned himself with my entrance as I bent down to take Bucky’s cock between my lips. He thrust into me in one hard stroke, giving me no time to adjust to his size before he started fucking me.

Bucky grabbed a fistful of my hair to guide my movements, while Steve gripped my hips and pounded into me—harder and faster with each thrust.

“Ah—Steve,” I moaned, pulling off Bucky’s cock. “Steve…”

“You wanna cum, sweetheart?” he asked. I nodded. “Too bad. You’re not allowed to yet.”

“But—” I was cut off by Bucky shoving his cock back into my mouth.

“Ah, you're so fucking good at that,” he groaned. “Fuck—do that again,” he ordered.

I repeated the motion with my tongue, and I could feel Buck getting closer with every second.

“Shit…” he came in my mouth.

Steve pulled out of me and flipped me onto my back. Now I was flat against the mattress. The blond spread my legs and slid back inside.

“Steve—ah, fuck…” I moaned. “I wanna cum, please…”

“Look at how Steve’s fucking you,” Bucky growled, tugging on my nipples. I looked down and moaned at the sight of Steve’s cock slamming in and out of me. “You like that, huh? You like how he fucks you?” he asked, rubbing my clit.

“Please…” I whimpered. “I need to cum, please…”

“What do you think, Buck? Should we let her?”

“Are you gonna be a good girl? No more lying to us?”

“Fuck—yes, I promise,” I cried, tears welling up from the overwhelming sensations. “Please…”

“Maybe you should hold it a little longer,” he teased.

“No—please, I can’t take it anymore,” I whimpered. “I need to cum.”

Steve growled as he came inside me. “Cum for us.”

[sunday-bug]

Wow thank you! That feels like such a compliment 🥹

Surrender to Me

Steve Kemp x Reader

The Menu

Starter with Frank by @soelstress

Side Dish with Lee by @buckybarnesfic

📍 You’re Here: Main Dish with Steve

Dessert with Bucky by @buckybarnes82

Word Count: 2.6k

Content: smut, p in v unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), it’s Steve Kemp so this is DARK

18+ NSFW Minors DNI

Synopsis: Steve invites his girlfriend to a potluck with his colleagues.

A/N: dividers made by @saradika-graphics ; I love our weird group chat. I hope you guys like this collab and how each person interpreted the prompts. 🥰

“Your knife skills are improving,” he says as he walks to the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water. Steve’s skin is glistening with sweat after his run around the lake and you bite your lip as you take in his physique.

“Thanks. I learned from the best,” you reply with a wink. He smirks as he takes a big drink. 

“I’m going to jump in the shower before I start making the enchiladas. Would you like to join me?” He purrs, waggling his eyebrows.

You gesture to the Brussels sprouts you’ve already started chopping up. “I can’t just leave these -” you start, but he interrupts you, wrapping his arms around your waist. The spicy scent of his deodorant mixed with sweat envelopes you, and you set the knife down gently on the cutting board. 

“They aren’t going anywhere,” Steve whispers in your ear, biting the lobe playfully. “Come shower with me. I’ll make it worth your while. Please.”

His breathy “please” is all you need to follow him. He warms up the water until steam starts filling the large bathroom. “Arms up,” he says, and you follow his direction, letting him undress you slowly. His hungry gaze trails down your bare skin before he undresses himself. He’s hard already, and he takes your hand, leading you into the steamy shower. There’s two shower heads, but he pulls you under his and tilts your head back, soaking your hair and exposing your throat. His lips find the delicate skin under your jaw and he nips softly, letting out the sexiest groan. Goosebumps prick on your skin even though you’re standing under the hot water. Steve knows exactly how to make you feel good without you having to utter a word. He never requires any direction, and in fact, often tells you what you need before you even know you’ve been aching for it. You don’t have to think with Steve, and deep down, you relish in the feeling of submission.

He lathers shampoo into your hair and kisses down your back, racing the suds running down your spine with his lips and winning. “Perfect,” he whispers before moving back up and rinsing your hair. You hum at the pleasure of him taking care of you. He shampoos his own hair as you take his length in your hand and work him over. His eyes roll back as he rinses his own shampoo away. He opens his eyes and looks at you darkly and you know you’re in for it. You’ve grown familiar with that look. He picks you in one swift motion and you wrap your legs around his waist as he lowers you onto his cock with a groan. You feel the cool glass of the shower door on your back and your body erupts in goosebumps once more as Steve snaps his hips up at an angle into you. He takes one of your nipples into his mouth and sucks gently before biting and smiling up at you and moving to the other. “I’m not going to last long, baby,” he whines, gripping the flesh of your hips as he ruts into you. “You feel too fucking good.” 

You know you’re close, but he’s closer. “Fuck, don’t worry. I’ll take care of you,” he grunts as his eyes squint shut. “On your knees. Now!” He picks you up off of his cock and sets you back on the shower floor. You fall to your knees with practiced ease and look up at him with a cocky grin before sticking your tongue out. He comes with a grunt, one arm on the shower wall for support as he paints your face with his spend. “That’s my girl,” he utters. You stand up and let the water fall over your face, washing away the evidence. 

After your steamy shower, Steve wraps you in a plush towel and kisses your forehead. “Okay, bunny. It’s your turn. Sit on the counter.”

You blush and shake your head. “We don’t have time, Steve. You still have to make the enchiladas and I have to finish my salad.” 

“I said get on the counter. Now,” he demands, looking from you to the white marble bathroom counter. “We have time.” He takes a step toward you and pulls off your towel before picking you up and sitting you on the counter. His smooth, warm hands grab either thigh and spread your legs. He licks his lips and bends over, planting kisses on the soft skin of your inner thighs. You hum, giving in to him.

“This is my amuse-bouche before my main course. Now let me savor it. Let me make you come so you’re nice and relaxed before you meet a bunch of new people,” he teases with a laugh, biting your skin and leaving a mark. So you do. And savor it he does.

After he wrings a leg-shaking orgasm from you, you let him brush through your wet hair. He loves it and asks to do it whenever he can. You love how it relaxes you, so you always say yes.

“So, are they going to like me? I’m nervous to meet everyone,” you say. One of Steve’s colleagues is throwing a potluck picnic for all the doctors and their significant others this afternoon. You are actually surprised that he invited you since you’ve only been dating for a few months, but he said it’s “time to show you off”. 

“They’re going to adore you. Don’t worry,” he says softly as he brushes your hair. “Just keep an open mind. Sometimes doctors can be eccentric - especially in the cosmetic field. Plus, I’ve told them how sweet you are and what a good cook you’re becoming. I’ve whet their appetites for you."

“You’re not that eccentric or weird,” you mutter, turning to face him and taking the brush from his hand. He smiles and cocks his head just so. “You just have questionable taste in art and home decor,” you tease him.

“Well, you’re still getting to know me, babe. I’m sure I have some surprises left for you.” Steve turns you back toward the mirror and plays with your hair. “Would you ever consider cutting it? I think right under here,” he says, pointing to your collarbone, “would suit you nicely.” 

“You think so?” You ask, combing through your long hair with your fingers. He nods behind you. “Well, I've been meaning to schedule an appointment to get some highlights, so maybe I’ll ask her to cut it, too.”

“Highlights?” Steve asks with a grimace.

“Yes, why?” You ask, confused.

“Your natural hair is just so beautiful. Don’t ruin it with bleach, babe.” 

“Oh, I didn’t realize you liked it so much. I’ll leave it alone then.” 

“Good girl,” he muses, moving to the sink to do his skincare routine. He does the same steps religiously after every shower, and he even got you into his tinctures, creams, and oils. You follow him step-by-step until you are exfoliated and glowing like the sun during golden hour. 

“There’s my gorgeous girl,” he says, kissing the top of your head. “Oh, I picked out a new dress for you to wear today. I hope you don’t mind.” 

“Wow, you didn’t have to do that, babe,” you say with surprise.

“I know, but I saw it on my lunch break the other day and I knew the color would bring out your eyes. Let me go get it.” 

You smile and start to do your makeup - soft and natural just like Steve prefers. He walks back in wearing a casual button down and jeans. He’s holding up a soft sage green dress with spaghetti straps and a low back.

“You don’t think this is too much for a picnic?” You ask, eyeing the silky dress. 

“Picnic?” Steve asks, eyebrows furrowed.

���I thought you said it was a potluck picnic,” you mutter. 

“Oh, that’s what they’re calling it, but it’ll be a bit nicer than a gingham table cloth and a cooler, love. You won’t look out of place in this. I promise. Just try it on,” he presses.

You smile and agree, letting him slip it over your head. He sniffs out a small laugh and bites his lip. “Yeah, it’s perfect, just like I knew it would be,” he utters, his breath ghosting over the exposed skin of your back.

“Are you sure it isn’t too open in the back?” You ask, twisting in the mirror for a better view.

“No, it’s so sexy, babe. It shows off your body, but not too much. I would tell you if it exposed too much, my love. It’s subtle and feminine, just like you,” he says sweetly, kissing your shoulder. “I’ll let you finish getting ready.” You smile and pick up your perfume, but before you can spritz it, Steve clears his throat.

“Maybe don’t wear that today. One of my colleagues is very sensitive to colognes and perfumes. Besides, your natural scent is delicious, babe,” he says with another wink. You put the small perfume bottle down and comply with his request.

The “potluck” looks like a very fancy dinner party and not like any BYOB cookout you’ve been to before. There’s not a folding chair, Solo cup, or paper plate in sight. The long wooden table is decorated with a white gauze runner, complete with foliage and jewel-toned candles in purposefully mismatched brass candle holders. It looks like the head table at someone’s wedding, but you suppose if you have enough money you can show off like this for a simple dinner party.

Drinks are flowing and everyone is dressed in subtle designer clothing. You feel a bit out of place. You aren’t a doctor. You don’t even work in the medical field. You met Steve by chance at a dive bar. You were both sitting alone reading. He ordered you a drink and moved smoothly onto the stool next to you. You talked about your books and life and now here you are - at a bougie dinner party disguised as a potluck with a bunch of plastic surgeons. Life can be funny that way. 

“Babe, this is Dr. and Mr. Petrulka. She works with me on burn cases. Skin grafts. That kind of stuff,” Steve explains. “Alice, this is my girlfriend.” He says your name and smiles. You extend your hand to shake hers and her husband’s. They are both dressed in all white and look younger than they probably are.

“It’s nice to meet you both,” you say shyly. 

“You too, sweetheart. Who do you see in town?” She asks nonchalantly.

“Sorry?” You ask, confused by her question.

“Who does your work?” She clarifies.

“My work?” You start again. Steve clears his throat and huffs out a small laugh.

“She hasn’t had any work done, Alice. She’s just a natural beauty,” he explains. “Good genes.” 

“Ah,” Dr. Petrulka muses, looking you over like a piece of meat. “You really are just gorgeous, darling. Such soft, youthful skin.” Her eyes flit from yours to Steve’s, and she gives him the faintest nod - if you weren’t paying attention you’d miss it.

“Oh, thank you,” you mutter, slightly embarrassed. What a forward question to ask someone you’ve just met. Steve leads you to the kitchen, his hand guiding you on your lower back.

“See? I told you they can be a bit eccentric. I’m sorry,” he says quietly with a sheepish grin.

You laugh softly. “Yeah, I mean, I’m not sure whether to be offended or not.” 

“She meant it as a compliment. You are stunning, my love. You know this,” Steve assures you.

When it’s time for dinner, everyone insists that you go first. After a few attempts at deflection, you’re at the front of the queue to get food. 

“Don’t be shy now. A little meat on a woman’s bones never hurt anyone,” an older gentleman with ruddy cheeks says with a wink. He clearly checks you out, but Steve isn’t there at the moment to notice or say anything so you just nod politely to the man with a tight-lipped smile. You look over the dishes everyone has prepared and notice a common theme - no meat. You know Steve is a vegetarian, but maybe some of the other doctors are too so you shrug it off.

You put a tiny sampling of everything on your plate, and once you’re through the line a young man hands you a glass of chilled white wine. He doesn’t say anything to you, but his expression is off - like he pities you. How strange. You smile softly and thank him before walking to the table to find your seat. There are small place cards with everyone’s names at each place setting, and your stomach drops when you see your name on a card at the head of the table. You pick up the card and look around. Steve makes eye contact with you and nods, so you sit down, but you feel so out of place. He quickly comes over and sits in the seat beside you and takes your hand. 

“Why am I at the head of the table?” You whisper to him, eyeing everyone else warily as they take their places.

“I’m sure it’s just where you fit. Don’t look into it,” he assures you, rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand. After everyone is seated, Steve stands up, a glass of wine in his hand. “It’s good to share a meal with friends. There’s nothing like breaking bread among people that truly understand you - no interest too strange, no hobby too unconventional, no appetite too exotic,” he says the last part with a hand on your shoulder as he raises his glass in a toast. “To surrender.” 

“To… surrender,” you mutter under your breath as you take a sip of your wine. It’s good - sweeter than you expected. Steve sits back down and winks at you. You give him a weak smile. The air is filled with the sounds of cutlery on ceramic, lively chatter, and Steve clearing his throat as you take your first bite of food - one of his sweet potato and pepper enchiladas. 

“It’s good, babe,” you say, looking up at him and seeing double. You drop your fork. “I think… this wine’s strong…”

All eyes are now on you as you sway in your chair. Steve steadies you with his hands and stands behind you now. How’d he get behind you so fast? Why is everyone clearing the table? 

“Just give in,” he whispers in your ear. “Be a good girl for me and give in.” 

“Wha-,” you start, but your mouth can’t finish your thought, which drifts away just as quickly. Your eyes flutter closed, and Steve catches your head before it slams into your dinner plate.

“There we go,” he says quietly, petting your unconscious little head.

“Mr. Petrulka, help me center her on the table,” Steve demands, and the man walks over, hooking his hands under your arms as Steve takes your legs. The two men lie your body down on the now-cleared dining table. Steve fixes your dress and hair, splaying it artfully around you. “Perfect.” 

He turns toward the insatiable crowd. “Does everyone have their cards ready?” Everyone pulls their name place cards from pockets and purses and folds them over, showing various numbers. “Good,” Steve says with a half smirk. He moves to your right leg and slips the light green dress up to your thigh, careful to maintain your dignity. 

“Welcome to the Potluck. We’ll start with the right thigh from hip socket to patella - femur included. Bidding starts at $75,000.” Cards fly up in unison. It’s going to be a long, fruitful night.

The End.

[sunday-bug]

🔵🔵🔵ICYMI POST 🔵🔵🔵

Starter by @soelstress

Main Course by @sunday-bug

Side Dish by @buckybarnesfic

Dessert by me here!