danzer8705

[danzer8705]

This was so amazing!

Sinnerman

Summary : Bucky Barnes is obsessed with a singer at his favourite jazz club.

Pairing : Mob Boss! Bucky Barnes x Jazz singer! reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : Mafia AU. Possessive behaviour. Infatuation. Mentions of emotional, physical, and sexual abuse (not by Bucky), alcohol consumption, forced engagement, fake death, protective!Bucky, eventual happy ending, lots and lots of sexual tension, sexual themes, power dynamics. (Please let me know if I miss anything!!!)

Word count : 7.4k 

Requested by : Ko-fi request from @ruexj283 <3

Note : If you’d like to be on the taglist, message me! It gets lost in the comments sometimes. Enjoy!

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Masterlist

The club smelled like cigars and sin, just the way Bucky liked it.

It was his haven — his favourite spot to cool down after a long day. He loved the dim red lights, the haze of smoke curling beneath the chandeliers, bourbon on his tongue, jazz in his eardrums. He came for the music, sure, but more so for the control. He owned this place in all but paperwork — the bartender knew what to pour without asking, the manager nodded whenever he walked in, and the girls didn’t even dare make eye contact with the crime boss, just the way he liked it— he never liked attention that invited further questions about his… business.

Until you.

That night, you stepped onto that stage like the room had been waiting for you.

Oh, Bucky thought. A new singer. 

Fuck, no one warned him about you. Your voice was as thick as honey, your face sweet as sin. You were dressed in a black and slinky dress, your curves caught the light just right, your lips wrapped around the mic like a lover, looking out into the crowd like you weren’t afraid of a damn thing.

Bucky was fucked the second you opened your mouth.

“Won’t you come along with me,” you sang sweetly, “to the Mississippi?”

He whispered a curse to himself, fingers tightening around his glass. You weren’t just singing — you lived the music, bled it out in those sultry notes. You had the crowd in the palm of your hand. But Bucky… you had him by the throat.

“We’ll take the boat to the land of dreams…”

His eyes never left you. Not once. The music slowed, swelled. You held the last note just a little too long, and his mind went places it shouldn't have.

“Steam down the river, down to New Orleans.”

He imagined your lips bruised from his teeth, mascara running as you sobbed out another note for him, only him, somewhere deep in the cabin he had in the woods, where he kept all his most sentimental items. He closed his eyes and imagined no noise but your voice and the creak of the wooden floor under his boots. He’d keep you there — pretty little thing, singing just for him.

God, the things he’d do. The things he wanted to do.

But he didn’t.

Not yet.

When your set ended after ten songs and you disappeared backstage, Bucky stayed in his seat, half-hard, half-crazed, drunk on something far more dangerous than the whiskey in his glass. Obsession had a name now. Obsession had a pretty voice and a perfect body he was still dying to feel in his lap.

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a silver money clip — peeled a few hundreds off like dead skin. He gestured to the bartender.

“Send a bottle of Blanton’s and this—” he slid a folded note across the bar “—to her dressing room.” 

The note was simple.

"Sing for me again. -J.B.B."

And then he left, boots echoing in the alley outside, teeth clenched so tight he tasted blood from his gums.

He’d see you again. He had to.

Because Bucky Barnes never left things unfinished — especially not obsessions.

—

Over the next few weeks, the jazz club turned into a shrine.

You were seducing every man and woman in the room, looking right through them all, like they were insects under your heel — and he was no exception.

Oh but he was.

Because unlike the others, Bucky didn’t beg. He didn’t chase. He simply wanted. And when Bucky Barnes wanted something, the world rearranged itself in his favour, right?

Your voice haunted the velvet-lined walls, and Bucky Barnes made sure the goddess on that stage was worshipped properly. He sent everything backstage, from diamonds, to silk, to perfume from Paris, to lipstick in a custom gold case — the exact red shade he imagined smeared on his skin. It always with the same card, always ending in the same initials: — J.B.B.

But you never responded.

No thank you. You didn't even give back coy little notes. You did not even glance his way after the music stopped.

You sang, you smiled, you disappeared behind that red velvet curtain like a mirage. And it was driving him insane.

He watched you from the shadows night after night, never missing a set. A cigarette untouched in his hand, arms tight, eyes following every movement of your hips as you swayed in time with the music. You were wearing them.

The diamond drop earrings.

His diamonds.

They kissed your throat as you sang and caught the stage lights like stars. He’d picked them himself — rare, handcrafted, perfect for your delicate ears. He’d imagined your fingers brushing them, your neck bare save for their shimmer. He wanted to see them on you.

And tonight, he did.

But when you turned, he didn’t see a glance in his direction. You did not say a word, not a word. Not an acknowledgement.

You’d just finished your final number, a slow version of My Funny Valentine that made a grown man at the bar weep into his bourbon. The spotlight dimmed. 

When you stepped into the dressing room, a waiter stepped into your dressing room, clutching his tray nervously. "Miss? Uh, there's a gentleman asking for you."

You tilted your head, smiling like a cat that already knew what was waiting. "Hmm… bring him in."

The door opened.

And in walked Bucky Barnes — tailored to kill in a three-piece midnight suit, eyes like the ocean. You recognized him instantly.

The girls have told you about the mob royalty— the killer who looked like a god who didn’t discriminate against whom he put a bullet through. People disappeared when Bucky Barnes wanted them to. Men with ambition feared him. Women with sense stayed away.

But you just blinked, feigning innocence. You weren’t going to satisfy him like that. 

“Hi,” you greeted, almost amused.

He didn’t answer at first, staring at the curve of your thighs beneath your robe, the sharp point of your stiletto digging into the plush carpet, the glitter of his diamonds in your ears.

“Were the earrings not enough to get your attention, sweets?” he said finally, his voice rough.

You blinked at him, genuinely puzzled. You reached up, brushing your fingertips against one of them.

“Oh,” you said, your voice light. “These were from you?” You gave him a sheepish little smile, like a cat playing with a bird. “Sorry,” you said, and laughed, “I get so many gifts I forget who sent what.”

That shattered something in him.

And all those notes, all those boxes, all the hours he spent picking out the perfect shade of red, the perfect scent, the softest lace for your skin — all of it just ended up buried under gifts from other men.

That little ottoman in the corner — he’d heard about it in the last few days— a joke among the staff. Your gift box, they’d say, the graveyard of failed suitors.

That was when you cocked your head and said, “Wait. Who are you, exactly?”

God.

Bucky took a slow step forward. His teeth clenched so hard he could feel the pressure in his jaw. Still, his voice came out calm.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” he said. “But my friends call me Bucky.”

“Is that what we are?” You raised a brow, “Friends?”

He gave a smirk. “We will be.”

You hummed, looking him over like he was a piece of art you hadn’t quite decided on. “Didn’t expect a man like you to send me diamonds.”

Whatever that meant. For all he knew, you were just trying to get under his skin.

“I sent more than diamonds,” he said, stepping even closer. “You never answered.”

You shrugged. “I don’t usually respond to men who try to buy me.”

“You wear the earrings.”

“Because they’re pretty,” you said innocently.

You walked across the room, as if knowing exactly what was on his mind, and popped open the ottoman.

Bucky’s blood went cold.

Inside were jewelry boxes, perfume bottles, lingerie, notes.

So many fucking notes.

“That’s where all the gifts go. I don’t have time to sort them all. There’s just… so many.” You turned back to him, smiling like sin. “It’s sweet, though,” you added lightly. “All these men trying to impress me.”

A nerve twitched in his cheek.

He wanted to burn the whole pile. He wanted to take the earrings off your ears gently and push the pin through the eyeballs of all these men. He wanted you marked by him — in bruises, in scent, in his name whispered into your skin until there was no room for anyone else.

He wanted to destroy it.

To flip the ottoman, scatter everything, scream mine like a fucking animal.

Instead, he walked toward you. When he stopped, he was close enough to feel the warmth of your body, to smell your perfume. Your breath hitched — just slightly — and he caught it.

But instead, he took a slow, calculated step toward you.

“None of those men matter,” he said slowly.

You raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “No?”

“They don’t even know how to touch a woman like you.”

You gave a little laugh “And you do?”

“I’d learn you,” he said, taking another step. “Every sound. Every look. I’d ruin you for anyone else.”

You pretended to be amused, but your breath was already shallower. He could tell. 

“So dramatic,” you teased, stepping back toward the mirror, deliberately putting distance between you. “All this because I didn’t say thank you?”

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he said.

“Don’t I?” you whispered, sweetly mocking. “You look like you want to strangle me and kiss me at the same time.”

He looked down. “Something like that.”

You tilted your head, lashes low. “And what exactly do you want, Bucky?”

“I want you to look at me when you sing,” he said darkly. “I want you to wear those diamonds and know they’re from me. I want you to stop letting a dozen pathetic men think they’ve got a chance.”

“Get in line,” you whispered.

My fucking god.

But still — you leaned in close. So close your lips almost touched his jaw. 

“What,” he asked through gritted teeth, “do I have to do to get your attention?”

Your lips brushed his ear. “Try harder.”

Then you pulled away with a soft, smug smile and turned back to your mirror, reaching for your lipstick— the one he gave you.

It was pretty clear— he was dismissed.

Bucky stood behind you, breathing shallow, watching the way your hand trembled just a little as you uncapped the lipstick.

So… you weren’t entirely immune.

Good.

—

He became impossible to ignore.

His attention became more deliberate. More romantic, possessive in a way that felt carved into the bones of the earth. Bucky Barnes didn’t just want you. He worshipped the very ground you walked on. He moved heaven, hell, and every dollar in between to make sure you knew it.

And he did it beautifully.

Every night, your dressing room transformed.

Fresh roses, red as blood, climbed the walls like ivy. You tried to count them once, just for curiosity. You gave up somewhere around two hundred. Their sweet scent wrapped around your throat every time you stepped inside. Even when you went home, it lingered in your hair, on your sheets. 

This was Bucky’s scent. This was Bucky’s intention.

Then came more gifts. Not tokens — treasures. You’d find them tucked into satin-lined drawers you had in your dressing room. Designer gowns in every shade he’d ever seen you in, stitched to fit your curves like a second skin. He bought out the entire fall collection of a Parisian house you once mentioned in passing. You opened the boxes one by one, gowns tumbling out.

There were perfumes — rare, discontinued blends that couldn’t be found in stores. He must’ve hunted down perfumers in underground auctions to get them. Each bottle had the same engraving:

Don’t want you wearing anything that’s not mine. — J.B.B.

Oh, did he keep his promise. 

He upgraded your shoes. Italian leather stilettos, and then ballet flats for after your set. 

And the jewelry — Christ, the jewelry.

The diamond earrings were just a start. He gave you a delicate bracelet that you’d worn every night since. He gave you a choker of black opals that complimented your eyes. A silver anklet with sapphires so dark they looked black in the shadows. Each piece came in velvet boxes with his handwriting tucked neatly inside.

There were nights you tried to reject it all. You’d say to the staff and band backstage, “He’s insane. Who needs this much lace?” but even they noticed the way your voice faltered when you said it.

See, you used to throw out letters from men after one read — now, you hid his in a drawer. You kept every one. You read them when you couldn’t sleep. You memorised the way he described you.

And you did crave it. 

You loved it.

You loved how he knew you preferred gin over bourbon, so he sent crates of imported gin from Belgium. He knew your feet ached after sets, so a footstool appeared beneath your vanity, carved with roses. He bought the painting that hung in the corner of your dressing room— the one you said reminded you of your childhood— and replaced it with the original, pulled from a gallery in Rome.

And then the world started changing around you.

The other admirers you had vanished. Gifts started dwindling from everyone else. You didn’t know where they went, and you were too scared to ask. The banker, the actor, the smarmy rich boy with a champagne smile, the countess who offered you a villa in Sicily — all gone. One left town. One was caught in a scandal. One had a car accident. One ended up in the hospital with a broken jaw and no memory of how it happened.

Bucky never brought them up.

And though part of you resented that you couldn’t toy with your audience anymore — couldn’t keep them orbiting you like moths — another part of you… loved it. You loved his singular obsession on you, loved the tunnel vision he got when he looked at you.

Still, when the curtain fell and the stage lights went out, you packed your things and went home to your father and told him everything. 

—

You’d just finished your set tonight, when a waitress leaned in and whispered, “Mr. Barnes is waiting for you in his booth.”

You knew which one she meant.

The private one, high above the main floor. Bucky rarely let anyone join him there — just his tight-lipped entourage. But tonight, as you approached, he barely glanced up before giving a command, “Leave us.”

His men didn’t argue.

You slipped into the booth as they filtered out, leaning in just enough to tease. “Fancy seat for a man who claims he doesn’t chase,” you teased, lips curled into a sweet smile. 

Bucky didn’t smile — but there was something in the way his eyes flicked up that made you feel seen. “I don’t chase,” he insisted. “I watch. Different thing entirely.”

You leaned back, kicking one heel off lazily. “Mmm. Well, while you’ve been watching, I’ve noticed I’ve lost a few admirers lately.” You pouted, dragging the tip of your finger around the rim of his half-drunk glass. “One used to bring me opera tickets. Another had a private jet. I was building a little collection. And now they’re all…” — you fluttered your fingers — “poof.”

Bucky didn’t flinch.

“Tell me, Bucky.” You leaned closer, teasing. “Did you kill them?” 

He didn’t answer at first. He just hummed, then he reached for his bourbon. He sipped, and finally — infuriatingly — shrugged. “Define kill.”

“Jesus,” you shook your head.

“Or maybe I just gave them… a little nudge.” He tilted his head, looking at you from beneath his lashes.

You batted your lashes. “So you just threaten them until they cry into their daddy’s wallets?”

“Not exactly,” he said smoothly, twirling the glass between his fingers. “Some people hear a whisper and imagine thunder. I can’t help what they’re afraid of.”

“Bucky…” you sighed, “what does that even mean?”

He just leaned back and gave you a maddeningly unreadable smile. “Some things just… work themselves out.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“I’m consistent,” he corrected.

Before you could come up with a snarky comeback, he reached down beside him and produced a slim black box, tied with a red silk ribbon. “Here.”

“What now?” You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “The deed to the building?”

“Not yet.” He paused, as if seriously considering it. “Open it.”

Inside was a set of lingerie — deep burgundy silk and delicate black lace, soft as you imagined clouds to be, the kind of thing meant to be seen. It was stitched with your initials on the inside band — not his, like many other men would — and for a moment, you were stunned silent.

This just feels so… intimate.

“Bucky…” you said, quieter now, fingers skimming the lace. “This is… beautiful.”

“All yours,” he smiled. 

You leaned in to kiss his cheek and in the movement, your skirt hitched just enough for the hem to slip high along your thigh.

Just high enough to reveal the faint purple of a bruise.

His eyes dropped, and his body tensed immediately. “What happened?”

You cursed under your breath before feigning innocence. “Oh, that?” You tugged your skirt down quickly. “I’m just clumsy. Slipped on some stairs backstage. You know how I am.”

He said nothing, just stared. His fist clenched slightly.

You kept smiling — too wide to be genuine. “Don’t look at me like that, Bucky. I’m not porcelain.”

“I know,” he said simply, but he didn’t believe you. Not for a second.

Still, he didn’t press. Didn’t raise his voice or question again. Instead, he knocked twice on the side of the booth. A waiter appeared as if summoned.

“Bring me the Cristal,” he said. “The '56 with a bucket of ice.”

Minutes later, a gloved waiter returned with the most expensive bottle of champagne the club had — nestled in crushed ice and frosted glass. Bucky took it without a word and dismissed the server with a glance.

Then, he wrapped the bottle in a linen napkin and gently pressed it to your thigh.

The chill made you hiss through your teeth. “Jesus, that’s cold.”

“I know, I know,” Bucky lulled. “Sit still. This’ll help.”

His touch was careful and never inappropriate. Not once did his fingers stray. Not once did his eyes flick up your clothing. He didn’t try to peel your skirt higher, didn’t crowd your space, didn’t make a single move you didn’t allow.

Still, he sat with you in that shadowed booth, icing your bruise with four-figure champagne, his own glass untouched beside him. For a second, you wondered if he’d burn cities if you asked. Or even if you didn’t.

“Good girl," he murmured under his breath. 

Fuck.

You couldn’t look at him. 

“You didn’t have to…” you muttered, maybe a little embarrassed.

“I wanted to,” he insisted, eyes still on the bruise. 

After a good fifteen minutes, the bruising became more mild and less angry. 

And… you didn't really feel it anymore.

It did help.

He carefully poured two glasses and held on out to you.

You just shook your head, smiling faintly. “Not tonight.” After all, your father probably wanted you home sober.

He nodded, setting it down and turned back to you.

“Need anything else iced?” he asked with dry amusement.

“Depends.” You laughed softly. “You got enough champagne for the rest of my body?”

“I could buy the vineyard,” he said, all too serious. “If that’s what it takes.”

You bit your lip, heart thudding a little too fast.

After that, he didn’t touch you beyond the bottle. He didn’t even lay a hand on your waist, your thigh, your cheek — even though you knew he wanted to. 

—

It was a week later when Bucky Barnes was in his usual place. Not a single night had passed without a gift sent backstage.

But tonight…

Tonight you stepped onto the stage wearing black sheer fabric across your skin, your heels clicking like gunshots. The lights hit you in all the right places, illuminating a shiny something new on your left hand.

Bucky saw it immediately.

A diamond ring.

It was not subtle. Worse yet, it was not his.

The music hadn’t even started yet, and Bucky Barnes was frozen with rage.

You had an engagement ring on your finger. A big one.

His jaw ticked once.

Twice.

You didn’t look his way. Not once. Not even when you adjusted the mic and let your lips linger near it like a kiss. 

Still, he could tell you were wearing the lingerie he gave you — he could see the faint black lace strap peeking out from the deep plunge of your dress. 

But all he could think about was the ring. A fucking ring on your finger.

His fingers curled into fists on the table.

He could barely hear the band start behind you. He couldn’t even taste the drink in front of him. He couldn’t  breathe past the blood pounding in his temples.

You were smiling, singing— your voice as honeyed and sultry as ever — but to him, it was venom. Every time you raised your hand, the diamond caught the light, winking like the devil.

Was this a joke?

A punishment?

He couldn’t even look away. He couldn't think about anything except the fact that someone — some other man — had dared to put that ring on your finger while his lingerie lay against your skin. 

And you… you knew exactly what you were doing.

You sauntered across the stage, hips swaying in rhythm, that ring gleaming like a brand. Bucky could see the faint indentation of the garter belt strap against your hip under the cling of your dress. His teeth clenched so tight, he could feel the ache in his gums.

He wanted to tear the ring off your hand and replace it with diamonds of his own.

It didn’t belong there.

You didn’t belong to someone else.

—

After your set, after the velvet curtain fell and the stage lights dimmed, sweat started pooling down your neck. 

You knew before you even reached your dressing room that he was waiting.

You stepped inside, and there he was.

Bucky Barnes was waiting in the light, suit perfectly pressed, rage rippling beneath his skin like a dog barely leashed. 

He was seething.

His eyes dropped immediately to your left hand— to the glittering ring.

He hated it. He knew the stone was too big for your liking— you liked it small and dainty. That was when you saw the muscles in his forearm twitch.

“Who’s that from, huh?” He asked. 

You let the question hang for a second too long, deliberately pulling the pins from your hair, letting them fall around your shoulders. You walked slowly toward your vanity, knowing he was watching every sway of your hips like a predator tracking prey.

You met his eyes in the mirror and smiled, fake and honey-sweet.

“Oh, just a fella my daddy wants me to marry,” you said with a lightness that didn’t quite reach your eyes. You reached up to toy with the ring, twisting it idly on your finger. “He’s rich. Handsome, but mean.” You turned. “Not nice, like you.”

Bucky let out a bitter laugh, stepping forward into a pool of light. “I’m not fucking nice.”

You shivered.

There it was—his truth. He was not nice, but protective. Dangerously, obsessively attentive.

He stalked toward you slowly, like he was trying not to break glass. You could practically feel the tension pouring off of him.

“You wore my lingerie onstage tonight,” he murmured, looking at the strap peeking out.

You bit your lip. “Did I?”

“You wanted me to see it.”

“Maybe.”

You were playing, but he wasn’t. His expression darkened, his eyes dropping again to the ring.

“You don’t love him,” he said. It was a question.

You turned back to the mirror, reaching for the lipstick he gave you. “Who says I don’t?”

He took another step forward. He was so close now, you could feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“Because you still wear everything I send you,” he said, looking at the pile of paper on the side. “You read my letters. You haven’t missed a single one.”

You didn’t argue—he was right.

“So tell me…” he continued, “Why the fuck are you wearing another man’s ring?”

You tried to joke again— tried to deflect. “Maybe I like the attention. You boys get all riled up.”

He didn’t laugh.

Instead, he leaned in just enough for his breath to brush your cheek. His voice was a growl, “You like me riled up, sweetheart?”

You turned your head, lips inches from his. “I like knowing you’re watching. I like that you’d burn the world if I asked.”

He still didn’t touch you.

But his eyes burned into you, holding himself back like a beast on a leash, and somehow… that made it worse.

“You think I’d still want you with his ring on your hand?” he asked, voice harsh. “You think I’d share you with someone who doesn’t even know what perfume you wear?”

You swallowed hard. Your mouth was dry, your knees… shaky.

You turned fully to face him, eyes searching. “Bucky—please.”

Your hand reached up, cradling his cheek gently. 

He breathed out through his nose, like he was trying to smother wildfire in his mind. Still, his hands stayed at his sides. His control was infuriating, and it only made you want him more.

“I won’t touch you,” he said, voice almost regretful. “Not unless you take that fucking ring off.”

You stared at him.

And then, with trembling fingers, you slipped the engagement ring from your finger and dropped it onto the vanity with a small, deliberate clink.

“Good girl,” he murmured, dark satisfaction curling into his smile.

His hands reached for you then— fingertips brushing your waist like he was learning you note by note. You felt his breath at your throat before his lips even touched your skin, and when they finally did—

Oh.

He kissed you like he’d waited centuries. His hands cupped your jaw, your back, your hips. The kiss deepened, and your knees buckled, his arms catching you before you fell.

“You don’t want to marry him,” he growled against your mouth.

“No,” you breathed. “I don’t.”

“Say it again.”

“I don’t want him. I want you.”

That was the only permission he needed.

He lifted you up onto the vanity and whispered all the filthy, possessive things he’d been holding back for weeks.

His hands were on either side of your face, holding you. Your thighs parted naturally, your heels slipping against the stool as he stepped between them. His tongue slid against yours and your fingers tangled in the lapels of his jacket, tugging him closer, closer, until your hips tilted against his and you could feel exactly how badly he wanted you.

Your lipstick smeared, your breath came out in whimpers, and still—he never once lost control.

You gasped into his mouth when his hand curled around the back of your neck, his thumb brushing your earlobes. 

“Fuck,” you whispered against his lips, “I can’t—can’t think.”

He gave a dangerous chuckle and pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. His pupils were blown, his control hanging by a thread.

“Stop thinking, darling,” he whispered against your skin. 

You surged up to kiss him again, and this time it was messy, desperate—your  body pressing into his, your hands sliding beneath his jacket to feel more of him. He let you, just for a moment. 

Then he pulled back fists clenched tight.

“Enough,” he rasped, eyes blazing.

You blinked, dazed. “What?”

His fingers slid to your hips, gripping firmly— as he pulled you forward to the very edge of the vanity. His lips brushed your cheek, down to your ear.

You tried to chase his mouth again but he gently pushed you back with a hand on your thigh, shaking his head.

“I’m not fucking you here,” he growled. “You’re not some backstage fantasy,” he said. With a smooth motion, he helped you down off the vanity, keeping you steady when your legs wobbled. “I’m taking you home.”

“Home?” you echoed.

“My home,” he clarified, brushing your tangled hair back. “Where you can scream if you want.”

You shivered.

He reached for your coat, draped it over your shoulders, and kissed the top of your head.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let me ruin you comfortably.”

—

Bucky's penthouse was exactly what you’d imagined— dark wood, steel, and bulletproof glass. It sat above the city, high enough that the chaos below couldn’t touch him. 

From what you heard, no one ever got this far. No one ever made it inside.

Except you.

No one else was here.

No guards. No staff. No distant footsteps. This was a space no one entered unless they were meant to stay.

He brought you in without a word, his hand firm on your lower back as he guided you across marble floors. 

He didn’t offer you a drink or make small talk.

Bucky walked you into his bedroom like he was leading you to a confessional. As if he was finally going to sin the way he’d always wanted with you.

When he finally turned to face you, his eyes were darker than you'd ever seen.

“You sure?” he asked.

You nodded, heart already in your throat. “I’ve never been more sure.”

That was all he needed.

He stepped into you and kissed you again. His jacket hit the floor first. Then your coat, your shoes, his tie. The tension between you was molten, almost unbearable. 

He touched you like he’d memorised every curve without ever laying a hand on you.

He laid you down on your bed. His hands skimmed beneath the hem of your dress, and then higher, higher, until—

Fuck. 

His hand was on your hip, and his thumb had just brushed the edge of ink into your skin.

Bucky froze completely.

Then he pulled back and knelt in front of the bed.

You watched the moment realization hit.

His eyes locked on the tattoo on your right hipbone, just beneath the strap of the lace underwear he had bought you. Black ink— a skull with tentacles. 

The mark of a rival, of Alexander Pierce’s syndicate.

“What the fuck…” he rasped, heart caught between betrayal and disbelief. “That’s Pierce’s crest.”

You looked down lazily, like you’d forgotten it was even there, then let out a dry, amused sound.

“Oh,” you said, mock-sweet. “That old thing?”

He looked like he’d been shot.

He stood slowly, hands dropping from your skin. 

Your heart twisted.

“Daddy says hello,” you scoffed, propping yourself on your forearms now.

Bucky stared at you like he didn’t even know your name anymore.

“You…” he breathed, shaking his head. “You’re his daughter?”

You tilted your head in shame, but didn’t deny it. 

His fists clenched at his sides.

Pierce. Fucking Pierce. He knew the man had an apprentice he adopted as his own daughter. He had heard whispers of an heir’s engagement. 

He didn’t realise it would be… you. 

“You’re engaged to Brock Rumlow,” he realised, saying the name through gritted teeth, as if the name burned his tongue. 

“In name only,” you said quickly.

“The son of a bitch torched my cache on 52nd!” he nearly shouted

You bit your lip, hating that you were making excuses. “He didn’t do it personally. Just ordered it.”

“Oh, great,” Bucky snapped, his hands flying up. “Then it’s totally fine.”

You could see it behind his eyes—see the brutal, bloody instincts pulling him in two different directions. 

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t do the same if you had the intel.”

“But I didn’t,” he snapped. “Because you kept me distracted.”

You tilted your head, unbothered by his fury, by the way he looked like he might put a bullet in the wall just to bleed off the rage.

He ought to step away and find a less maddening obsession. He ought to send you back to your father in a body bag. Fuck, he had killed people for less. 

But he was in too deep now. 

“Why?” he growled. “You get off on making me want you?”

You sat up now, brushing your fingers down his bare chest. Your eyes didn’t quite meet his.

“How was I supposed to know,” you said, defensive now. “That I was going to fall in love with the man I’m spying on?”

You loved him?

You—this woman who outsmarted him, danced around him, haunted him—you loved him?

He should’ve grabbed the nearest gun. Should’ve asked you what intel you’d passed on. Should’ve demanded to know how many of his secrets you’d whispered into your father’s ear.

But instead… he smiled.

Just a little. Just for a second.

“You love me,” he said, almost to himself.

“Bucky…” You reached down and hiked your skirt higher, the fabric slipping over your thighs until the black lace revealed more skin marked by bruises. Some were fading, but there. 

One above your hipbone, as if someone had gripped your waist in place, and another over your tummy. 

Bucky's stomach dropped.

Your voice was almost a whisper. “My fiancé,” you said bitterly. “He touches me when I ask him not to. You… always ask.”

Bucky’s eyes darkened. He looked at the bruises like they were mortal sins.

“I’ll kill him,” he said to himself, quiet as the grave.

He already suspected it, but he didn’t want to believe it. He just found it so difficult to even think that someone touched you without love. That someone put their hands on your body and didn’t worship it.

Fuck, he hated how much he cared. 

You were supposed to be a spy. A trap. But here you were, with tears clinging to your lashes and bruises blooming like violets and you hadn’t asked him for revenge.

You asked him to understand.

“He’s mean,” you whispered again, “but you… you’d never hurt me.”

You expected him to yell.

You didn’t expect the way he suddenly closed the space between you, grabbed your face in both hands, and kissed you like it was the last thing he’d ever do.

It was not rough, not bruising. He kissed you like a man dying of thirst and finding water for the first time. 

His hands were everywhere, palms sliding over your ribs, your back, your arms, anchoring you to the bed.

“You love me?” he whispered against your lips, as if he couldn’t believe it.

You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks, breathless and shaking. “I tried not to”

He hoisted you up, pushing you back on the bed until your back hit the headboard. You reached for him, pulling him down with you. His body was all tension, all hunger, but his eyes were tender.

He hovered above you, lips tracing down your neck, your collarbone. You arched into him, gasping his name like a prayer.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped. “Tell me now, sweetheart, or I’m not letting go of you ever again.”

“Don’t stop,” you begged. “Don’t you dare.”

“Then take it off,” he ordered, voice wrecked.

You pulled the dress up and over your head, revealing the bruises, the lace, the curve of your body. He hissed when he saw the full extent of the marks, dragging his fingers along your skin.

“I should’ve known,” he cursed to himself. “I should’ve fucking known.”

He kissed your stomach, slowly dragging your soaked lingerie down your hips, his mouth trailing behind the path of the lace. He reached your hipbone and paused. His lips ghosted over the tattoo. He kissed your thigh, just beside the bruises, and you sobbed.

He kissed every inch of your skin like he was rewriting the damage Rumlow had done. 

Then… he took his time.

He worshipped you.

He dragged your pleasure out until you were sobbing into his neck, clawing at his back, begging him to stop teasing and just take you—until finally, finally, he did.

“Fuck,” he gasped, forehead pressed to yours. “I’ve been dreaming of you. Every fucking night, princess.”

Tears slid from your eyes. You were overwhelmed by the stretch, the need, the overwhelming feeling of being wanted—not used, not claimed, but desired.

It wasn’t about power, not anymore. It was about need and connection and love so stupidly strong it felt like it could tear the sky apart.

Your fingers clawed into his back, your legs tight around his hips as he fucked ou. He watched every change in your expression. Every gasp, every whimper. He kissed you through every little tremble in your voice.

He grunted your name like a mantra, his hand gripping your throat—not hard, just there—a reminder who your loyalties should lie with.

And you took all of it, screaming his name breaking again and again beneath his hands, his mouth, his body.

And when you came beneath him, he followed you into the abyss.

Afterwards, he didn’t pull away. He didn’t even move. He held you there, forehead to yours, both of you still shaking.

You were quiet, lips still swollen from his kisses, heart threatening to burst through your ribs.

You touched his face. “You should hate me.”

“I did,” he said, kissing your cheek. “For about five seconds.”

You could only laugh.

Then he pulled back, just enough to see your face, to make sure you heard him.

“I don’t care who your fucking father is,” he said. “I don’t care what deal he made with the Rumlows. No one gets to treat you like a pawn. No one gets to hurt you, okay?”

You nodded, smiling through your tears.

“Okay.”

—

A year later… 

Bucky Barnes finally got his wish.

He got you.

Not just on your knees, not just in his bed, not just in pretty two-pieces — no. 

He got all of you. 

That dark though he had when he first saw you? He got it. 

He got you his cabin surrounded by evergreens, miles from the rest of the world.

Six months ago, Bucky helped fake your death — a fiery car wreck on a rainy night outside of the city. The funeral was closed-casket. Rumlow didn’t even show up. Alexander Pierce wore black and whispered to his men that someone would pay. But no one ever found a body.

And now here you were.

Hidden.

The cabin was tucked into the woods, an hour from anything that mattered, and only 30 minutes from the small town that knew you both as Mr. and Mrs. Barnes — newcomers who only paid in cash and loved black coffee and kept mostly to themselves. 

Bucky bought the land under a different name, of course. It’s untraceable, just to make sure Pierce would never use you as his pawn ever again. To make sure Rumlow would never place a hand on you. 

You spent your time planting vegetables in the garden and singing with the birds every morning. He chopped wood shirtless just to get a reaction out of you.

He married you shortly after your fake death, a private ceremony with only two of his closest men as witnesses. So now, he spent most of his days playing house with you — which is absurd if you think too hard about it.

The infamous James Buchanan Barnes — mob royalty — wiping down countertops and building you a porch swing just because you mentioned it off-handed one day.

He could still snap a man’s neck with one hand. Still has a gun in every drawer. Still keeps a go-bag under the floorboards.

But now, he reads next to you in bed.

He sleeps with his arms around your waist and his nose in your hair.

He does the dishes.

You kept your diamonds — tucked away the ottoman he managed to transport discreetly— but you haven’t worn them in months. You used to live off silk and lace, but now you live in oversized sweaters and cotton panties, lounging across Bucky’s lap with a book while he traces lazy circles on your thigh as he rubbed herbal ointments on the bruises that never quite disappeared.

You still get gifts, of course, because he can’t help himself.

But they’re different now.

He gave you boots for the cold, handmade pottery from a local artist, and a woven scarf in your favorite shade of green. Things that say I see you instead of I own you.

Every once in a while, when he’d go to the city for one of his business trips, he’d still buy you Cartier just for the hell of it. 

In return, you wore his shirts, made him breakfast, smushed his cheek against yours after he shaved. You teased him about the way he always kissed your ring when he thought you weren’t looking.

Today, you were slicing peaches by the sink, the hem of Bucky’s shirt you stole this morning brushing your thighs every time you moved. The cabin windows were cracked open, letting in a breeze that smelled like pine and rain. His favourite soup simmered on the stove, and the radio played sleepy jazz in the background.

It was the kind of evening you never thought you’d live to have.

And Bucky was sitting at the kitchen table, shirtless, reading a book he’d never admit was romance. 

You glanced over your shoulder and caught him staring.

“Y’know,” you said playfully, flicking a bit of cinnamon onto the peaches, “you’ve been spending less and less time in the city lately.”

He made a low groan in his throat. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.” You licked the cinnamon off your finger, knowing it would drive him crazy. “Almost like your… business is running itself.”

He chuckled — the kind of laugh that always made your toes curl.

You leaned against the counter, crossing your arms. “Just saying, someone’s gotta keep your empire from burning down. And you’ve been out here pretending you’re a farmer.”

Bucky rose from the chair. “Well, now I’m thinking…” He walked and stopped in front of you, crowding into your space, sliding his hands beneath your shirt to rest against the bare skin of your waist. His thumbs brushed lazy circles just above your hips. “…I might just retire.”

You lifted your eyebrows. “Retire?”

He kissed your nose, your cheek, then the corner of your lips.

“Let Steve and Sam run the show,” he said. “They’re ready. Besides—” he leaned in, whispering now, lips brushing your ear— “I’ve got more money than I could ever spend in a lifetime, and only one woman I give a damn about sharing it with.”

You melted into him instantly, wrapping your arms around his neck, cheek pressed to his warm chest as you swayed to the gentle sound of Nina Simone’s Sinnerman.

“And who might that be, Mr. Barnes?”

He held you tighter and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“You, Mrs. Barnes,” he said simply. “Only ever you.”

You listened to the steady thump of his heart and only heard calmness.

“Retirement does sound lovely,” you whispered, letting your hands drift down his back, your fingertips tracing the scars there. “No more blood or deals. Just you, me, and these peaches.”

“And a cat,” he said into your hair.

You looked up, eyes wide. “Are we getting a cat?”

He grinned. “You want a cat?”

“I always want a cat.”

“Then we’re getting a cat,” he said like it was a goddamn decree.

You kissed him, soft and messy, the cutting board and the peaches and the stove completely forgotten.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes a little glassy.

“I’d still kill for you, though,” he added casually. “Just so we’re clear.”

You laughed, sniffling. “You say that so sweetly.”

“Just facts, baby,” he said. “Anyone ever tries to hurt you again—” he kissed your neck, “—I’ll paint the whole fucking forest red.”

“I know.”

See, the obsession never left. 

It lingered, peeking out in the way his eyes tracked your every move, in how he still slept with a knife within reach, in how he looked at you like he wanted to crawl under your skin and live there. 

It should’ve scared you, but goddamn you, a sick, twisted part of you loved that somewhere deep in this domestic life, he was still willing to ruin the world for you.

-end.

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@badl4nder @natalia42069

[danzer8705]

a decent man

pairing: andy barber x shy!reader

summary: your friends dare you to get the hot older guy at the bar to buy you a drink, but when andy barber gets a look at you, he can’t help but drag you into the back hallway and show you the dangers—and pleasures—of approaching strange men in bars.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), age gap (andy's in his 40s and reader could be anywhere from mid/late 20s to early 30s), smut, semi-public, mutual masturbation, thigh riding, fingering, cum play/cum marking, daddy kink, praise kink, light degradation, a little bit of fluff

work count: 3.3k

a/n: day 17 of my 30 day writing trope challenge was bet/dare dating, which i had to look up to be sure i knew what it was. i wasn't totally sure how i could do it in a short-ish fic so i decided to adhere to it a little more loosely 😅

i've never written for andy before and i've watched maybe like five minutes of defending jacob so i doubt this reads anything like his actual character but he's hot so i tried!!! anyway hope y'all enjoy some smut!!

-

You sidled up to the bar trying to project all the confidence you didn’t feel, hoping the man you were approaching didn’t notice you were shaking like a leaf. When you slid in next to where he stood, you finally got a good look at his face, instead of just glances from across the bar. 

He was handsome—soft-looking brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard to match, a kind mouth that looked like it knew how to kiss, bright blue eyes that spoke to a hidden kindness and the longest lashes you’d ever seen on a man. He looked old enough to have a serious job, like a professor or a lawyer or something. He also looked old enough to be someone’s dad—not to someone your age, but to someone who was in middle school or high school. He was intimidating, you realized, and suddenly you were shaking harder.

“Hi,” you whispered so quietly you didn’t know how he’d ever hear you over the sounds of music and drunk people laughing in the raucous dive bar. It took all your determination not to run back to your table and cower behind your friends.

Whether he heard you or noticed your presence some other way, the handsome man turned the full force of his gaze on you. Those ocean blue eyes of his were penetrating as he took in your face. Something in his expression softened, and it wasn’t until it did that you realized he’d been looking at you warily, like he hadn’t wanted to be approached but wasn’t angry to find you were the one interrupting his solitude while he stood at the bar nursing a drink.

Nervousness and the way the man was looking at you made your heart flutter in your chest while your fingers twisted together in front of you to keep them from shaking too much. You’d planned to give the man a line, something clever and sassy, but instead, all thought of lying fled your mind and the truth spilled from your lips. 

“My friends dared me to see if I could get you to buy me a drink,” you blurted. You couldn’t believe you’d just admitted that—how embarrassing. Your eyes widened and you felt your face heat. Not knowing what else to do, you turned, ready to give up and flee back to your friends. 

The man’s hand on your hip stopped you, though, and your gaze flicked up to his in surprise. A small smile curled the edge of his mouth and his eyes danced with amusement.

“Well, you’re in luck, sweetheart, because your honesty earns you a drink,” he said, raising his other hand and signaling to the bartender. It was the first time you’d heard his voice, the sound of it rich and deep, worming its way into your chest and settling heavily in your lower belly. His hand was still on your hip, the warmth of his palm making you want to press into his side, seeking more of his heat. The man turned back to you. “What’ll it be?”

Blinking slightly dazed eyes at the bartender, you rattled off your normal drink order. As the bartender moved away to get your drink, the man you’d approached got your attention by squeezing your hip in his big hand.

“I’m Andy, what’s your name, sweetheart?” he asked, those blue eyes of his sparkling in the dim yellow light of the dive bar. You answered and his mouth spread in a charming smile. “Pretty name for a pretty girl,” he said, his hand sliding up to your waist and tugging you closer into his side.

Tripping a little over your feet, you went willingly, your hands pressing to his chest for balance. You had to tilt your head back to look up into Andy’s face, and you found him smiling down at you. His arm settled around your lower back and something about the hold struck you as possessive, but you liked it too much to protest. A thought flitted across your mind, too quick for it to really sink in, but you wondered what kind of man drank alone in a dive bar—and you wondered what exactly you’d gotten yourself into.

Before you could think too hard about it, the bartender deposited your drink on the bar top. Andy passed it to you before grabbing his own glass of dark amber liquid, clinking it against yours. “Cheers to your honesty, sweetheart,” he murmured, taking a sip. 

You took a big gulp of your drink, not really knowing what else to do with yourself. Your friends had dared you to get this very attractive man to buy you a drink, but you hadn’t thought about what would happen after that. 

It turned out, Andy wanted to get to know you in exchange for the drink. He asked about your job (dull, but it paid the bills) and your friends (well-meaning but meddlesome) and if you had any family (yes, but not in the area). He also told you about himself, and you learned you’d been right when you thought he looked like he had a serious job since he was a lawyer—and you were right about being old enough to be a dad. Genuine affection filled his voice when he spoke of his son, though it drained away when his ex-wife came up. 

You weren’t sure if it was your drink or the easy conversation, but you finally got comfortable with Andy. You leaned harder into his side when he made you laugh and he proved strong enough and willing enough to support you. By the time your drink was finished, you were feeling warm and delighted to have conquered your fear of approaching a man you’d never met—especially since it had turned out so well. 

“I should probably get back to my friends,” you said reluctantly as you placed your empty drink on the bar top, glancing over at the table where your friends were laughing uproariously about something. “But thank you for the drink, Andy,” you said sincerely, looking up into his bright blue eyes.

Andy grinned, setting his own drink down on the bar top so he could wrap both arms around your waist. He started walking you backward, ducking his head so he could whisper in your ear. “I have a better idea, sweetheart.”

Both your hands were pressed to Andy’s chest, but you didn’t push against him. Instead, you let him lead you where he wanted to go, your heart rate kicking up with excitement. Andy turned and tugged you into the back hallway of the bar that led to the bathrooms, but he kept going past those doors, turning a corner and pressing your back against the wall of a little alcove just outside a storeroom. 

Looking up at Andy, his face was cast entirely in shadow, except for the glint of his eyes as he stared down at you. “Wh-what are we doing?” you asked nervously. You weren’t scared, but the potential of fear thrummed beneath your skin. 

Andy didn’t answer your question, ducking his head and nuzzling against your cheek, his beard deliciously rough against your soft skin. “You’re a good girl, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he asked instead. 

“Y-yes,” you answered, though the stuttered word came out more as a question. Your breath came quicker while your heart beat faster in your chest. Your body was responding to Andy’s closeness and you felt yourself yearning for him to touch you.

Humming low in his throat, Andy’s hands roamed over your sides, trailing down until he found your thighs beneath the hem of your short, flared skirt. “Good girls like you should know better than to approach strange men in dark bars, sweetheart,” he murmured, something like reproach in his tone, but he sounded so much more sinful. 

“Wh-what—Andy,” you tried to ask, but your question was cut off as you gasped his name when his hands pushed up under your skirt. He grabbed you around the backs of your thighs and shoved his knee between your legs, hiking you up against his body until you were pressed against him from core to chest.

“Call me daddy,” Andy purred, his mouth so close to your ear it felt like he was speaking directly into your mind. “Here in the dark, I’m your daddy, sweetheart.” He dragged his lips across your cheek, the softness of his mouth a direct contrast to the scratch of his beard.

Just that teasing touch had you moaning softly, your hips squirming against Andy as heat flooded your body from his request. You’d never called a man that and just the idea felt oh so dirty. You couldn’t help but test it out. “Daddy,” you whispered, hands clinging to Andy’s shoulders, still clad in his suit jacket.

He responded with a filthy groan, and then his lips found yours. Andy kissed you hard and rough, like he wanted to consume you. His mouth worked against yours and it was all you could do to kiss him back with just as much fervor, your hands grasping and clinging to him, digging into his soft brown hair and trying to pull him closer. 

But the longer Andy kissed you, the more he softened. His kiss became less harsh and demanding, but his mouth was just as desperate as it claimed yours. He bit gently and sucked on your lips, plunging his tongue into your mouth with such slow intensity it was like he wanted to crawl inside your very being and possess your soul.

When Andy finally pulled away, you were breathing hard and felt wild with need. One of his hands fisted in your hair at the back of your head and the other had a hold of your waist in a bruising grip. “Tell me, sweetheart,” he bit out, having to pause to draw in his own ragged breath. “Tell me you don’t make a habit of approaching strange men in bars.”

“No,” you whispered breathily, your hips squirming, trying to find friction against your throbbing slit and humping slightly against his thigh. “My friends dared me because it’s been too long since I met anyone—but I was so scared you’d reject me.” You winced at the sound of your small voice admitting your insecurity. You didn’t know what it was about Andy, but you couldn’t stop being honest with him.

Andy let out a harsh, self-deprecating chuckle. “Like I could ever resist that sweet smile of yours,” he muttered, almost to himself, before he caught your lower lip between his teeth, nipping at your soft skin. You whimpered into his mouth, and he soothed you with his tongue. “But you’re lucky I’m a decent man, sweetheart,” Andy said when he pulled away, his hand on your hip guiding you to writhe against his body. “You’re lucky I know exactly what to do with good girls like you.”

“Wh-what’re you gonna do with me, daddy?” you asked, finding the glint of Andy’s gaze in the dark hallway. Your eyes had adjusted enough that you could see a grin spread across his face. 

“I’m gonna let you ride my thigh like the filthy little slut you are and then I’m going to send you back to your friends with my mess between your legs, sweet girl,” Andy said, his voice dark with devious intent. To punctuate his statement, he grabbed your hips with both hands and pushed his knee between your thighs until your panty-covered slit was pressed hard against his toned thigh. 

You gasped, body arching into Andy’s as you ground against him, rubbing your clit and your soaked slit until you moaned wantonly. It felt so good, all thoughts flew from your mind. The only thing that mattered was Andy and the way he made you feel. He kept speaking, his voice wrapping around you in the dark hallway. 

“That’s it, be a good girl for daddy and take what you need,” Andy urged, his voice low next to your ear. 

His breath gusted over your neck and you shivered, your hands clinging to his shoulders as you humped against him. A hard, thick length pressed against you with every roll of your hips and you couldn’t help but wish you could help him get off. When one of your hands snaked down to grip the bulge in his pants, though, Andy grabbed your wrist and pinned it to the wall at your back. 

“No,” he hissed, bouncing his leg against your soaked apex and making you cry out softly. “Good girls do as they’re told—now ride my thigh, sweetheart,” Andy ground out through gritted teeth, forcing you down on his muscled leg harshly. 

You bit your lip against a whimper as you rode him harder, humping against Andy in desperate movements as you chased your release. But no matter what you did, you couldn’t get there. You were sweaty and your muscles ached and you finally let loose the frustrated sob that had been building your throat. “Please, daddy, I need more,” you begged desperately. 

Andy pushed your hair back from your damp face as he stared down into your frantic gaze, shushing you. “It’s alright, sweet girl, daddy knows exactly what you need,” he said comforting you with a kiss to your temple. He slid one of his hands down your body and wedged it between his thigh and your panty-covered pussy. “Ride daddy’s hand, sweetheart, be a good girl for daddy and make yourself cum all over my hand,” he ordered in a gruff voice, his beard coarse against your cheek.

After taking a deep breath, you renewed your efforts, humping against Andy’s hand. All the while, your lips moved around whispered pleas, begging him to help you find your release, “Please, please, please, daddy.”

“Such a good girl,” Andy said, keeping up a steady stream of filthy praises. “Being such a good slut for your daddy, getting yourself off on his hand and his leg in the dirty back hallway of this dive bar—you’re a good girl just begging to be made a slut, aren’t you, sweetheart? Need a decent man to bring out the slut in you, don’t you, baby?”

“Yes, daddy,” you said on a gasp, barely hearing his words but knowing you agreed with their intent. You could feel yourself getting closer the more he spoke and you worked your hips harder against his hand. “Only wanna be a slut for you, daddy.”

“Perfect,” he praised in that deep voice of his, the sound of that word sinking deep into your heart. “My perfect, good girl, my precious slut.” Andy ground the heel of his hand into your clit harshly while his fingers prodded your slit through your panties and you threw your head back as you teetered on the precipice of your release. “Cum for me, sweetheart, cum for daddy.”

“Daddy,” you wailed as you tipped over the edge and dove straight into pleasure. It coursed through your body, making your limbs clench, your hands fisting the lapels of Andy’s suit jacket as wave after wave of bliss crashed over you. It was too much and so good and all you could do was take it and you never wanted it to stop.

Andy ducked down and captured your lips with his, helping you stay quiet as you rode out your orgasm, his hand still working against your pussy. He kept it up until you finally let go of his jacket and slumped against the wall behind you. You breathed heavily, trying to catch your breath, and Andy pressed his forehead to yours. 

When you felt like you had some control over your body again, you looked up into Andy’s face, finding the light of his blue eyes in the darkness. “Thank you, daddy,” you said a little shyly, unsure if you should still call him that now that the moment was over.

Andy smiled as he kissed you sweetly, like a reward. “You’re welcome, sweet girl,” he murmured. “But I’m not quite done with you yet.”

A breath hitched in your throat, and you wondered what he meant—though he didn’t make you wait long. Andy’s hands brushed against your core and then you heard the telltale sounds of him undoing his belt and fly. He groaned when he fisted a hand around his hard length. You looked down, but couldn’t see much—though you saw enough to know he was long and thick. Renewed lust bloomed in your core and your pussy throbbed in need.

“Daddy’s gonna cum in your panties, baby,” Andy whispered in a hoarse voice. “And you’re gonna walk around with my seed making a mess out of that sweet little cunt of yours for the rest of the night, got it?”

“Oh god,” you moaned as Andy tugged down the front of your panties. He looked at you, a question in his gaze and you nodded your agreement. “Yes, daddy, wanna feel your warm cum in my panties—please,” you begged.

“Good girl, fuck, you’re such a perfect little slut,” he praised, his voice rough as gravel as he stroked his cock furiously. “Gonna carry daddy’s load in your panties all night—fuck—a constant reminder of who you fucking belong to, isn’t that right, baby?”

“Yes, daddy, yes, I belong to you,” you whispered, hands carding through Andy’s hair and your nails scratching through his beard. He ducked down and captured your lips in a hard kiss as his fist moved faster. Andy’s tongue was plunging into your mouth when he groaned against your lips and you felt his whole body tense. Warm wetness spurted against bare pussy lips, and you couldn’t hold back a moan of your own. Andy shot his load into your panties, some of it getting on your skin, and your hips twitched, your pussy throbbing from the feel of him marking you with his cum. 

Andy slumped forward, his free hand pressed to the wall next to your head. You brushed soft kisses to his cheeks and nose and lips while he caught his breath. You felt him smile against the sweet caress of your lips. 

When he was recovered, Andy tucked his cock away and pulled your panties back up, settling them in place. The wet, sticky mess in them pressed against your folds and you closed your eyes, moaning low in your throat at the deliciously dirty feel of it. Andy pulled your skirt back down over your thighs and pressed an affectionate kiss to your lips. 

“Good girl,” he murmured and you couldn’t help but smile at the praise.

“Thank you, daddy,” you said, more confident than the last time.

Andy led you back to the bar, snagging his phone from where he’d left it on the bar top next to his glass. He had you put in your number, then kissed you on the cheek and sent you back to your friends. Just like he’d promised.

For the rest of the night, you couldn’t stop yourself from squirming and feeling the sticky reminder of what Andy had done with you in the back hallway of the dive bar. He stayed at the bar all night, drinking alone and occasionally glancing over at you. When you and your friends finally stood to leave, he caught your eye and nodded at you. A moment later, you felt the buzz of your phone in your pocket. 

The night air was pleasantly cool against your heated cheeks as you pulled out your phone. Let me know when you get home safe, sweet girl, read the message from Andy. You couldn’t hold back the silly smile from crossing your face, and your friends—who you hadn’t given all the details to but who knew you’d given the man at the bar your number—all cackled and screamed happily for you. 

You typed out a quick message before heading home with your friends, already excited for the next time you’d get to see Andy.

Back in the bar, the corner of Andy’s mouth curled up in a smile when he read your response, Yes, daddy. He couldn’t wait to show you what else a decent man could do with a good girl like you.

⫸⫸30 Day Writing Trope Challenge Masterlist⫷⫷

[danzer8705]

Holly Hell this melted my brain!!!! 🔥🔥🔥

eighteen hours.

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: Weeks apart on separate missions leave you and Bucky Barnes aching, desperate, and one heartbeat away from unraveling. The reunion? Eighteen hours of pure, breathless release.

Disclaimer: 18+ (mdni!), explicit smut content, p in v, multiple rounds, overstimulation, edging, mutual desperation, shower sex, window sex, kitchen counter sex, use of restraints (soft), masturbation mention, lingerie tease, squirting (f), super soldier stamina, mild teasing from tb* members

It started like any other assignment.

A sharp morning. Polished boots. Steel chairs arranged around the Watchtower’s mission table. The kind of day where even the light felt clinical—too white, too bright, too final.

Valentina entered with a clipboard in hand and that usual glint in her eye, the one that said she already knew something you didn’t want to hear.

“Barnes, Yelena, Alexei, Bob—Bucharest first. Bogotá by week three. Rotating safehouses. No crossovers.”

You stiffened.

“Walker, Ava, and…”

She looked straight at you.

“You—Algeria. Then east through Istanbul. Targets on the move. You’re expected to stay mobile and out of range.”

The silence afterward said everything.

That pause before your name wasn’t a slip.

It was surgical.

Across the table, Bucky’s jaw tensed. He didn’t look at you, but his shoulders rolled tight. His metal hand flexed once, resting flat on the table like he was physically grounding himself.

This wasn’t routine.

This was designed.

The room shifted. Teams gathered their gear. Orders confirmed.

But neither of you moved.

Bucky brushed your fingers beneath the table—the kind of small, hidden touch that wasn’t meant to say goodbye. It was a promise.

We’ll find each other.

However we can.

—

Packing was mechanical.

Weapons, suits, coordinates, clearances.

Everyone was buzzing around the hangar level, focused on countdowns and jet fuel. But Bucky caught your wrist with a glance that made your breath hitch—then gently steered you down a side corridor.

He didn’t stop until you ducked into a quiet auxiliary room—once used for archive storage, now mostly forgotten. The lights were dim. A narrow bench ran along the wall. A few old mission files sat boxed in the corner.

He shut the door behind you.

“Just for a minute,” he said, voice low. “Just wanna be where you are.”

You barely nodded before he pulled you into his chest. He held you like he needed it—not tight or desperate, but complete. His warmth poured into you as you buried your face into the space between his neck and shoulder.

You ended up straddling his lap on the bench, both of you half-armored, half-undressed—hands roaming like you were trying to memorize every line, every scar, every breath.

“I hate this,” you muttered into his neck.

“I know.” His voice was steady. Anchoring. “But we’ll be okay.”

His mouth found the slope of your shoulder. Then your collarbone. Then lower—teeth grazing before lips closed around your skin and sucked.

You gasped—part surprise, part pure heat.

“Bucky—”

“Gonna leave a few. Let ‘em wonder how many more are where they can’t see.”

He left another. And another. The bruises bloomed warm beneath your skin—high enough that your tactical suit wouldn’t cover all of them.

When he pulled back to look at you, his pupils were blown wide, lips kiss-bitten and breath ragged.

“You’re mine,” he murmured. “Even if they split us across the damn planet.”

You ran your hands up under his shirt, nails scratching lightly across his ribs—grounding yourself in the solidity of him.

“You’ll text me when you can?”

“Every chance I get.”

“Even if it’s just one word?”

“Even if it’s just a photo.”

You smirked. “Of what?”

He grinned, leaning back like he had all the time in the world—even though you both knew better.

“I’m waiting for boob pics, love. Minimum one per timezone.”

You laughed into his neck and kissed his jaw, soft and smiling.

“You’re such a menace.”

“You love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

When the comm finally buzzed for final departure prep, you lingered another moment, forehead pressed to his.

“We’re good?”

“Always.”

And then you slipped out—his warmth still clinging to your skin, and his hickeys hidden beneath your collar like the loudest secret in the world.

—

The first few days weren’t unbearable.

Busy hours blurred the worst of it—briefings, drone recon, field scans. The kind of missions that demanded your hands stay full and your focus sharp. You told yourself it helped. That staying in motion kept the ache at bay.

But the nights were something else entirely.

By the third night, sleep wouldn’t come. The cot beneath you was too narrow, too cold. You rolled over instinctively and reached for the other side—empty. Your palm flattened against the mattress like it could summon him there.

It didn’t.

You’d already stripped out of your tactical suit, skin flushed from a lukewarm shower and a restlessness that refused to settle. The mirror over the sink caught your reflection just as the last of the sun dipped beneath the window—warm dusk light casting gold across your damp collarbone, your bare shoulder.

You grabbed your comm. Lifted your phone.

Pulled down your undershirt just enough to let the neckline dip low—sweat clinging to the curve of your breasts, a faint bruise from his mouth peeking out beneath the edge of the fabric.

The angle was deliberate.

Head tilted back. Lips parted. Not a full reveal. But it said everything.

Still thinking about the way your hands fit around my waist.

Bet you’d wreck me if you were here.

You hit send before you could talk yourself out of it.

—

His reply came six hours later. No text. Just an image.

The lighting was shit—whatever rooftop he was on barely lit by the glow of city spill—but it didn’t matter.

He was shirtless.

Dog tags heavy and low over his chest.

Hair a little messier than usual, as if he’d just run a hand through it before taking the shot.

But the part that made your thighs press together?

His sweatpants.

Slung low. Way too low. Obscene, really—the waistband clinging just above the vee of his hips, and beneath it? A thick, unmistakable bulge pressing upward. Not subtle. Not suggestive.

Hard. Veined. Heavy. Angry.

Like he’d taken the photo mid-thought, right before palming himself. Like maybe he had.

Your name was probably still on his tongue when he snapped it.

You sucked in a breath, cheeks hot, and held the screen to your chest like it could warm the parts of you he was supposed to be touching.

This was manageable, you told yourself.

Just teasing. Just playing.

It would pass.

—

It got worse.

What started as playful—just a little edge, a little fun—turned into something raw. Unbearable. Every picture, every breathy message only twisted the knife deeper.

Bucky cracked first.

The signal finally held long enough for him to send a voice note.

You were mid-gear check when it came through, tucked into a corner of the safehouse with your earbuds in.

“Woke up with my hand around my cock,” he rasped, voice low, wrecked. “Thought it was you at first. Swear to God, I could feel you there. Your breath on my neck, your legs wrapped around me. Then I realized I was alone again.”

A pause. A harsh exhale.

“And fuck, baby… I nearly lost it.”

You played it three times.

Nearly dropped your comm on the third.

—

You didn’t just tease back. You retaliated.

The next photo was a mirror shot—deliberately filthy. You stood in the dim light of your bunk, chest bare, your breasts fully visible this time, no shame. One hand was sunk into your panties, fingers clearly pressing against the soaked fabric. The other held your phone steady, angled to catch the full view: your messy hair, parted lips, heavy-lidded eyes, and the slick glint of sweat on your chest. No caption. Just raw hunger in pixels.

This help you sleep tonight? Or should I take more?

He didn’t respond immediately. But when he did, it was short.

You’re not playing fair.

My cock’s been hard since sunrise. Haven’t touched it. Saving every second of this for you.

You sent a quick clip later—just a few seconds long. You didn’t even speak in it.

Just six seconds. The camera angled low—your hand slipping beneath the blanket between your thighs. No real view, just the movement. The blanket shifted slightly with every circle you traced over your clit. Soft moans escaped—broken, breathy, like you were trying to stay quiet. Then a whimper—his name, trembling from your lips. No skin shown. No climax caught. Just the sound and the hint and the promise of you falling apart.

Bucky watched it on repeat like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

—

Then came Ava.

You’d crashed hard that night—exhausted, sweaty, and stripped down to just your lingerie. The maroon lace set he liked. The same one he’d picked out. It had become a habit—wearing it when you missed him. A reminder. A tether.

Ava had been reviewing footage by the window for perimeter movement when she caught it.

The camera was focused outward. But the mic had picked up your sleep sounds in the background.

She wasn’t trying to be cruel when she played it back.

She just raised an eyebrow and pressed play—a grin tugging at her lips as the soft moans filled the air. You were murmuring his name. Restless. Breathless. Like you were dreaming of him—no, feeling him.

“Mmh… Bucky—please… inside me… deeper—oh god… please—”

Your voice cracked on the last word, a sharp gasp like you were right on the edge.

You could’ve died.

“Jesus,” Ava had laughed, not unkind. “Want me to send it to him? Y’know, for motivation?”

You didn’t answer fast enough. She already hit send.

—

He didn’t laugh.

He didn’t even text back. Just disappeared for a few hours.

Locked himself in the bathroom of the Bogotá safehouse, palms braced on the sink, sweat dripping from his temple to his jaw. The floor was cold. His cock throbbed painfully in the tight grip of his tactical jeans, already slick with precum from the sound of your voice in his ear—played over and over again like a goddamn drug.

He groaned low, forehead resting against the mirror as he finally undid his fly—reached in and freed himself with a hissed curse.

Hard. Angry. Red at the tip and twitching. His hand flexed uselessly beside him, trembling from restraint.

He closed his eyes and whispered, “Fuck, baby… what are you doing to me…”

But he didn’t stroke.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t dare.

Not without your hands.

Not without your thighs tight around his hips.

Not without your voice whispering that he could let go.

So he tucked himself away again—biting down hard on the side of his fist until it bruised, his pulse roaring like a storm.

Later, when the signal held again, he finally texted:

This was supposed to help.

All these videos. These fucking pictures.

It’s making everything worse, doll.

I need you so bad, I swear I’m gonna lose my mind.

—

He stopped sleeping properly.

The circles under his eyes were darker now, sharp enough to draw questions if anyone had the nerve. His mouth was constantly pressed into a tight, agitated line. The usual post-mission calm he carried—that calculated, steady presence of command—was cracking.

Every time he sat down to write up route plans, his hands twitched. His left hand—the metal one—wouldn’t stop flexing. Clenching. Releasing. Like he was trying to ground himself in anything that wasn’t your voice moaning his name.

The last time he tried to issue orders midbriefing, he nearly snapped a comm tablet in half.

“Safehouse Delta’s too close to the highway,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’ll reroute south. Four klicks. We’ll—”

He trailed off.

Everyone stared at the map table, then at Bucky—who was clearly no longer looking at anything but the wall. Or rather, through it.

His jaw clenched again. He tried to redirect.

“We’ll send Bob first to—”

But Bob was already looking sideways at him.

“You gonna pass out?”

“No.”

“You look like your brain’s buffering.”

“I said I’m fine.”

But his voice had cracked. Just slightly.

Yelena leaned back in her seat with a dramatic sigh, chewing on the end of a protein bar like this was better than Netflix.

“Alright,” she announced loudly, “I’m just gonna say what everyone else is thinking.”

Bucky didn’t even turn his head.

She kept going.

“You’re clearly about three days from spontaneously combusting from blue balls. You’ve been staring at walls, misreading maps, and grinding your teeth like it’s a fetish. Which—respectfully—gross.”

Alexei smothered a laugh. Bob coughed loudly into his fist.

“You need to jerk off or jump off a building,” Yelena finished, deadpan. “Pick one.”

Bucky finally looked up.

His eyes were bloodshot. His voice was tight when he replied.

“I’m not jerking off.”

That shut them up.

Yelena blinked. “…Okay. That’s not where I thought that was going.”

“I’m saving it. All of it.” His hand twitched again. “She deserves every goddamn second of it.”

A pause. The silence stretched—not awkward, just charged.

Even Alexei nodded solemnly, as if that was the only acceptable answer.

Yelena rolled her eyes but muttered, “Romantic. Disgusting. Continue suffering, I guess.”

—

Later that night, Bucky paced the rooftop alone. Fingers twitching. Breath uneven.

He pulled up your last photo again.

Your hand between your thighs. Lips parted. That little text below it:

I’d spread for you right here on this cot if you were with me.

He groaned into his palm.

Pressed the heel of his hand against the painful bulge in his pants.

Didn’t move. Didn’t stroke. Just gritted his teeth and endured.

“You better be ready for what I’m gonna do to you,” he muttered into the dark.

—

It was just after 7:00PM when the jet touched down.

The sky above the Watchtower was bruised in golds and fading gray, clouds curling low like dusk had rolled in too early. Your shoulders ached. Muscles stiff from too many hours strapped in gear, too many days sleeping with one eye open.

Your boots hit the floor with more weight than usual—the kind that didn’t come from exhaustion alone. It was something else. Something thick in your chest, pressing behind your ribs.

Inside the compound, it was unusually quiet.

Operatives passed by in pairs. Brief nods. No chatter.

Ava veered off toward medical, threw a wink over her shoulder, and mouthed, “Go get your man.”

You didn’t smile. Not yet.

Not until your fingers brushed the key panel of your shared room, and the door clicked open beneath your touch.

Something shifted the moment you stepped inside.

The air smelled like candle wax, clean linens, and something warmer underneath—musk and sandalwood, with a trace of vanilla. The room glowed gold in low light. Flickering candles burned on the desk, by the bed, and one small one beside the bathroom mirror.

It was quiet. But not empty.

He was there.

And the second he saw you, his face lit up.

“Hey,” Bucky breathed, already halfway to his feet. His voice was low but clear, as if speaking pulled breath right back into his lungs. “You’re home.”

That ache—the one locked in your chest—snapped clean open.

You dropped your duffel just as he reached you, arms wrapping tight around your waist, your cheek pressed against his collarbone. He smelled like soap and steel and something distinctly him—warm skin, freshly showered, a hint of cologne that clung to his shirt.

He didn’t devour you. Didn’t grope, didn’t rush.

He just held you.

One arm around your back, the other cradling the back of your head. His lips brushed the top of your hair.

You clung back like it might hold you together.

His hand ran slowly down your spine. You could feel the control in it—the way his chest rose hard against yours, like he was barely keeping the rest of him contained.

“I changed the sheets,” he murmured softly. “Lit a few candles. Put your shampoo out. Thought maybe you’d want a hot shower first.”

Your heart cracked, melted, rebuilt itself.

You nodded against him, cheek brushing the curve of his neck.

“You remembered.”

“Of course I did.” His smile touched his voice, even as his hand lingered low on your back. “You always say you wanna feel clean before we get dirty.”

That earned a small laugh from you—quiet, but real.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, cupping your cheek in one hand. His thumb brushed gently beneath your eye, like he was checking you for damage.

“I missed you,” he said. “Like breathing stopped.”

You kissed him, soft and slow—lips barely parting, just enough to feel the warmth of him beneath the quiet.

“Missed you more.”

He didn’t rush you when you stepped out of your gear. Just watched with quiet reverence, helping peel the layers off your shoulders and arms. He kissed your shoulder once—right over the old bruise he left weeks ago—and whispered:

“I’ve been thinking about this moment for 36 days. But I’m not rushing it. Not until you’re ready.”

Then he took your hand, kissed the inside of your wrist, and nodded toward the bathroom.

“Go on. I’ll be right here.”

—

You hadn’t even closed the door behind you.

The steam was already thick, curling from the shower where hot water slammed against tile. You peeled your clothes off slowly, shaking the last of the travel dust from your skin, limbs heavy from the mission—but your chest felt lighter. He was here. You were home.

You stepped into the spray and let it hit you.

Heat flooded your shoulders. Rolled down your spine.

The ache you’d ignored for weeks cracked wide open across your bones.

You arched slightly under the pressure of the water, fingers dragging slowly down your stomach. Your thighs pressed together at the memory of his voice—his lips on your neck, his hands gripping your hips like they belonged there.

You knelt briefly to grab a bottle you knocked over. Bent forward. Stretched.

And then—

“Mmh…”

Just a sound. A breath.

But it came from somewhere deep—unconscious, raw, and aching. It slipped from your throat like his name was caught beneath it.

The floor creaked.

You turned, startled—and everything inside you tightened.

He was there.

Bucky Barnes. Standing in the doorway of the bathroom like something ancient and carved from firelight. His chest rose fast, hard, like he’d sprinted across the room. Hair damp with sweat, not water. Shoulders tight. Fists clenched at his sides.

And he was naked.

Completely.

You hadn’t even heard him undress. But there he stood—broad, solid, his cock achingly hard and already slick with precum, flushed dark and twitching with every strained breath he took.

His eyes drank you in.

Steam wrapped around his body, clinging to every line of him. You watched his jaw twitch, chest heave. His cock twitched again—another thick drop of precum beading at the tip.

“Baby…”

His voice cracked. A breath. A prayer. Hoarse and wrecked.

“Please…”

“Please stop torturing me.”

But he didn’t move. Not yet.

Like he was waiting for your permission—even now, even while unraveling at the seams.

You reached for him.

One hand. Simple. Open. You pressed your palm to the center of his chest—felt the hammering heartbeat beneath it, the way his breath hitched.

He whimpered.

The sound broke from his lips like it had been fighting its way out for days. He stepped forward, cupped your waist, then your jaw, thumb trembling against your cheek.

“You’re real,” he whispered. “Fuck—you’re here.”

You smiled softly. Nodded.

He stepped into the shower with you—no hesitation this time.

The water soaked him instantly, but he didn’t care. He was already soaked in you. The scent. The need.

His hands were everywhere. One warm, the other metal, both reverent. They dragged up your spine, gripped your hips, held your face like it was holy.

“Missed you,” he rasped between frantic kisses.

“Missed your mouth. Your voice. Your thighs. The way you sound when I’m inside you—fuck, baby, I’ve been dying.”

Your back hit the tile with a dull thud. His body pressed into yours, all solid heat and desperation.

His cock bumped against your stomach—hot, heavy, leaking.

He gasped. “Touch me… please, just—let me feel you.”

You did more than touch.

Your hand curled around the base of him, felt him throb in your palm. He swore low against your neck, forehead pressing to yours as his hands skimmed lower, between your thighs.

“Jesus, sweetheart—”

His fingers slid through the slick between your legs.

“You’re soaked…”

He groaned. Slid two fingers inside you.

You gasped, walls clenching hard around the intrusion.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Tight… tighter than I remember. You really waited for me?”

You bit his jaw. “I didn’t even let myself finish, Bucky. You ruined me.”

That was all it took.

He gripped your thighs, lifted you off the ground like you weighed nothing, and pinned you to the shower wall. You wrapped your legs around his waist, arms around his neck.

“Hold on to me,” he breathed. “That’s it… Good girl.”

He lined himself up. Slick head pressed against your entrance. And then—

He sank in.

One thrust. Deep. Full.

You both cried out—voices echoing in the tile and steam.

The stretch. The heat. The sudden, perfect fullness.

He fucked into you with short, desperate thrusts—buried all the way, hips snapping with precision. You met him every time, nails clawing his back, gasping against his mouth.

Your orgasm ripped through you without warning—sharp, wet, loud.

“James, I—I’m coming!”

“I’ve got you. Let go. Soak me, baby.”

You did. You clenched so hard around him he almost collapsed.

He followed seconds after—buried deep, groaning your name as he came hard inside you, hips jerking, forehead pressed to your shoulder. His body trembled with the force of it. He held you there, still wrapped around him, his cock twitching inside your pulsing heat.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “Not letting you out of this room for days.”

You kissed him through the fog, smiling against his lips.

“Good. I’m not going anywhere.”

—

Your legs were still shaking when he carried you out of the bathroom.

No towel. No words. Just the heat of his arms around you, the steady thump of his heart against your ribs, and the way the air between you still crackled like static. You smelled like him. He smelled like you. It wasn’t over. It had only begun.

He laid you on the bed like something sacred.

Candles glowed around the room, casting golden halos over damp sheets and flushed skin. The maroon lace slip sat untouched where he’d left it—delicate, sheer, wicked.

You reached for it with trembling fingers.

But Bucky caught your wrist gently. “Let me,” he said.

His voice was lower now. Hoarse. Reverent.

He lifted the slip over your head slowly, letting the lace fall like a whisper down your body. It hugged your hips, clung to your breasts just enough to tease—translucent and sinful. His lips brushed your spine as he adjusted the straps, hands shaking.

“I thought about this every night,” he murmured, lips brushing your shoulder.

“Fantasized about it. About you, straddling me in this. Had to lie there with my fists clenched, cock aching, just—breathing through it. Didn’t touch myself. Not once.”

His voice cracked. “Didn’t want to waste a single drop that wasn’t for you.”

You whimpered.

He hovered above you now—fully naked, flushed, his cock already hard again. Veined and glistening, twitching with the pulse of how badly he needed to be inside you.

But he didn’t rush.

Didn’t even move until you cupped his jaw and pulled him down into a kiss.

Mouths met softly, then harder.

Tongues sliding slow.

His body sinking into yours, heat to heat, heartbeat to heartbeat.

You grabbed the back of his neck and whispered against his lips, “Come here. Let me ruin you.”

He groaned, deep in his throat, and you flipped him onto his back, straddling his hips with shaking thighs. The lace slip rode up your thighs, leaving nothing in the way when his cock pressed hot and heavy against your dripping heat.

“Fuck, baby,” he gasped. “You’re soaked through.”

You leaned down, your breasts brushing his chest, and ground your hips against his length. “You did this,” you whispered. “With every text. Every picture. Every breath.”

He was gone. Let you take full control.

You gathered the hem of the lace slip, just enough to bare yourself to him, and guided him in—sinking down slowly, inch by agonizing inch, until he was buried to the hilt.

Both of you moaned, raw and open, mouths slack with need.

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, head thrown back, fists clenched in the sheets.

“Still so tight, baby. Still fucking perfect.”

You started to move—slow at first, grinding your hips in deep, lazy circles that dragged the tip of his cock right against your most sensitive spot. His hands clamped hard on your thighs, trying to keep his control, but you didn’t make it easy.

“You gonna come again just from riding me?” he asked, breathless.

You nodded. “Already close.”

He groaned, slipping one hand between your bodies to rub firm, precise circles over your clit.

“There you go… let me feel you. Let go for me.”

And you did.

Your second orgasm hit like a goddamn wave—crashing through your spine, stealing your breath, squeezing around his cock so tight he choked on a moan.

He didn’t last much longer.

You kept grinding, whispering filth into his ear—how full he made you feel, how wrecked you were for him, how you still weren’t done.

That tipped him.

He came hard with a strangled moan, cock pulsing deep inside you, hips jerking as he flooded you for the second time. His arms locked around your waist as he gasped into the crook of your neck, trembling from the force of it.

You stayed like that, slumped against his chest, bodies stuck together with sweat and slick and heat.

“You alright?” he asked, voice scratchy.

“I’m feral,” you whispered back. “And I’m not finished.”

He chuckled, still panting. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not tapping out anytime soon.”

—

Later.

The wine sat untouched on the desk.

The lace slip lay discarded in a crumpled pile on the floor.

The candles had burned halfway down, wax pooling thick at the base.

And you?

You were flushed. Sweaty. Trembling.

Knees sinking into the mattress as you straddled his thighs once more, this time with your back to him—hips hovering, your whole body tingling.

He leaned against the headboard, sweat shining on his chest, watching you like a man possessed.

“You sure?” he rasped, voice ragged and frayed.

You didn’t answer.

You just reached back, gripped his cock at the base, and lowered yourself onto him slowly—inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt inside you.

Both of you moaned. Loud.

Deep.

Almost pained.

Your hands braced against his shins behind you for leverage, thighs spread wide as you rode him hard—your ass slapping against his hips, slick and flushed with every bounce.

“Oh, fuck—”

His hands gripped your waist like he was anchoring himself.

“Jesus, sweetheart—you’re still so fuckin’ tight…”

You started to move—slow, heavy grinds, rolling your hips like you needed every inch of him rooted inside you. Bucky gasped behind you, his hands traveling from your hips to your thighs to your breasts, groping, squeezing, completely feral.

“You ride me like it’s the only thing keeping you alive,” he growled.

“Look at that ass—fuck, I can see it bounce every time you fucking slam down.”

You moaned—head tilted back, chest rising and falling—sweat glistening between your breasts.

And then—his fingers slid between your thighs from behind. Two of them, circling your clit with ruthless precision.

“I wanna feel you come again, baby. Let me feel you fucking gush on my cock.”

Your thighs trembled. Muscles locked. Your core started to spasm.

“Bucky, I—I think I—fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Do it. Come on, baby. You’re dripping, you’re so fucking close—let it happen.”

You broke with a cry.

Legs shaking. Hands digging into his thighs.

Your pussy clamped down hard, and then it hit—

You squirted.

Hard.

Hot wetness sprayed between your thighs, down over his cock, soaking the sheets. Bucky let out a strangled moan, clutching your waist like he was going to lose his mind.

“Goddamn—fuck, look at you. You’re gonna make a fucking mess, aren’t you, baby?”

He didn’t stop.

He snapped his hips up into you, relentless now—grinding deep as your soaked cunt fluttered around him, so overstimulated your vision blurred.

“Still want more?” he panted, thrusting up again, angling perfectly.

“I can feel how much you need it. So greedy for me—so fucking full of my cum, and still not satisfied.”

You couldn’t answer. You just moaned, nodding wildly, nails dragging down his thighs, thighs shaking uncontrollably.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his breath hot on your shoulder as he leaned forward, one hand now wrapped tight around your throat.

“You gonna come for me again? Gonna make a mess on my cock one more time?”

“Yes—James, please—”

And you did.

A second wave slammed into you.

You screamed, back arching, body locking as you squirted again—wetter this time, gushing down over his balls, onto the sheets, soaking everything beneath you.

Bucky lost it.

“Shitshitshit— I’m coming—fuck, baby—I’m—”

He grunted, jerking up into you with three final brutal thrusts as his cock pulsed deep inside you, filling you again, so hot you felt it flood your walls.

You collapsed forward onto the mattress, his arms catching you just before you slumped completely. He held you tight from behind, your body still twitching, both of you covered in sweat, slick, and release.

“Holy fuck,” he breathed, voice dazed, completely gone.

“You just… soaked me, baby.”

You half-laughed, half-whimpered. “I couldn’t help it. You broke me.”

“Good,” he growled, kissing your neck. “You can break me next.”

—

You should’ve been done.

You should’ve been shaking, satisfied, breathless from three rounds and nothing left to give.

But you weren’t.

The ache still lived in your bones.

The emptiness still throbbed between your legs.

And when Bucky’s lips brushed your temple—slow, tender, trembling—you felt it in him too.

He needed more.

You both did.

The sheets beneath you were damp. Your thighs were slick. Your chest rose with every sharp breath, nipples flushed and sensitive, body still twitching from your last orgasm. And still… the hunger hadn’t dulled.

“You okay?” he whispered against your throat.

“No,” you rasped, voice cracking.

“I need you again. Right fucking now.”

Bucky exhaled a shaky breath. His cock twitched against your thigh—already stiffening again.

“Jesus, doll… you’re insatiable.”

He kissed your jaw. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Then he shifted—slow but deliberate—and suddenly, your wrists were gathered above your head. You gasped at the motion, but his grip was careful, tender. He reached for the discarded shirt at the foot of the bed and looped it around your wrists—soft, warm, not tight.

“Just wanna keep you here,” he murmured, kissing your palms one at a time.

“Let me take care of you.”

Your stomach fluttered. Your thighs clenched.

And when he dropped between your legs, your breath hitched so hard your back arched off the bed.

“James—”

“Shhh,” he purred, brushing his stubble along the inside of your thigh.

“Gonna keep you right here, sweetheart. Gonna make you come until your body forgets what rest feels like.”

His tongue dragged through your folds—slow, warm, filthy.

The first flick over your clit sent your hips off the bed—but he was already holding you down, fingers firm, spreading you open like he was fucking home.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he growled into your cunt, voice rough with disbelief.

“Jesus, baby, you taste like both of us… fuck. You’re perfect.”

He devoured you.

Long, slow licks that lapped up his own cum still leaking from you. Wet, obscene noises filled the room—every slurp, every moan against your pussy like it was the only thing that ever mattered.

You whined. Cried out. Legs trembling.

His mouth worked faster, tongue flicking your clit with maddening precision—soft then hard, gentle then firm, always changing, always knowing exactly how to ruin you.

“Bucky—fuck—baby I—”

Your voice broke.

Your hips bucked.

You were so close again, already, already—

He pulled back.

“Not yet,” he rasped, lips wet and eyes dark.

“Not until you beg for it.”

You sobbed—from the overstimulation, from the ache, from how badly you needed to fall apart.

“Please—please, baby, I can’t—just let me—let me come, please—!”

That broke him.

He groaned, deep and guttural, and latched onto your clit with his mouth wide and relentless—tongue flat, dragging fast and rough, his fingers digging bruises into your thighs.

You exploded.

A scream ripped from your throat as your orgasm hit like a strike of lightning—your whole body shook, fists clenched, toes curled, thighs trembling. You gasped so hard your ribs ached. The headboard thudded behind you.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice soaked in reverence.

“One more, baby. Just one more for me.”

You didn’t even get to respond.

Didn’t even breathe.

Because his tongue never stopped.

He kept sucking—soft at first, then harder—until another wave curled sharp behind your ribs. You sobbed his name, pulled at the binds, tried to run but couldn’t move.

You came again.

Harder.

Legs seizing, slick gushing between your thighs, soaking his face, your body curling from the sheer force of it.

He kissed your trembling thighs through the aftershocks.

Pressed his forehead to your belly.

“You okay?” he whispered.

“I don’t even know where I am,” you panted.

“And I think I like it.”

—

Later—

Maybe thirty minutes.

Maybe five.

Time had stopped meaning anything.

It warped, curled, bled together beneath the hum of overstimulation and breathless ache.

You lay curled on your side, one leg bent, sheets tangled around your calves. Sweat cooled on your skin in sticky rivulets. Your breathing had started to even out, but your body still pulsed from the inside—too full, too stretched, too tender to be still.

And then—

The mattress dipped behind you.

You felt his warmth before you felt his hands.

He slid in close—chest to your back, thighs pressed to yours, breath curling against your neck.

His lips brushed your shoulder.

“Still want me?” he asked, voice soft as fog.

You answered with a sigh. Reached back without looking, your palm wrapping around the hard length of him, thick and hot and already twitching against your fingers.

“Always.”

You rocked your hips back, slotting yourself perfectly into him.

He kissed your spine.

Tucked his face into the crook of your neck, and whispered like a man undone.

“I’ll never stop wanting you.”

One hand lifted your top leg, just slightly—fingers gliding over your thigh. His other arm wrapped low around your waist. You felt the weight of him, the warm press of his tip teasing at your entrance—slow, so fucking slow—until he finally pushed inside.

“Jesus Christ,” he gasped, as if the heat of you had burned him.

“You’re still tight. Still fluttering around me.”

You whimpered.

He thrust deep.

Steady. Gentle.

Every movement an unspoken prayer.

No rhythm. No pace. Just a rolling, molten motion—his cock dragging deep and slow, slick with everything you’d already shared, stroking right against the spot that still trembled.

“I could live here,” he breathed. “I want to live here.”

Your hand gripped his forearm where it wrapped across your middle. He pulled you back against him with every gentle thrust, grounding you in the heat of his body, his breath stuttering where it ghosted along your neck.

“You’re so good to me,” he murmured. “So fucking good.”

“Still feels like a dream,” you whispered.

“Then don’t wake up. Just… stay right here. Let me have you like this.”

Your eyes fluttered shut. Tears stung, soft and sudden. It wasn’t pain—it was too much pleasure. Too much love. The way he moved inside you like your body was a temple. Like every inch of you was his.

“Tell me you’re mine again,” he whispered, voice breaking.

You choked on a moan.

“I’m yours, James. Always.”

You came first—slow and quiet. A gentle quake that rippled from your core outward, your body trembling against him as your inner walls clamped down tight. You gasped softly, a sob in your throat, your hands fisting in the sheets.

“That’s it,” he murmured, kissing your shoulder.

“Let go, doll. Let me feel you.”

He wasn’t far behind.

He buried himself deep, groaning low into your hair, his whole body taut as his release surged inside you again—slow and warm, his cock pulsing deep as he held still, hips locked to yours.

You lay there, body slack and soft, his cock still inside you.

He didn’t move. Didn’t pull away.

His fingers traced lazy shapes on your belly, his lips pressing soft, almost absent kisses to your damp shoulder, your neck, your cheekbone.

“You okay?” he asked eventually, voice quiet.

You nodded.

“I think I’m in love with you again.”

He smiled against your skin. “Good. I never stopped.”

—

Your body was trembling again.

Not with the sharp, writhing spasms of climax—but the deeper, low-grade tremor of exhaustion.

The kind that came after too many orgasms and too little rest.

Muscles fluttering, breath short, limbs weak. You felt boneless and heavy, like your body had melted halfway into the mattress.

And yet—

Your core still throbbed.

Your nipples still ached.

Your cunt still ached for him.

He noticed. Of course he did.

Bucky sat back on his heels beside you, eyes trailing over your form with something like worship—something like worry.

His hand reached out slowly. Brushed your sweat-slicked hair off your forehead. Pressed a soft kiss there.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice gentling. “You with me, sweetheart?”

You nodded once, eyes glassy. Your throat was too dry to speak right away.

“Breathe for me. C’mon.”

His thumb stroked your cheek.

“You look wrecked.”

“I am…”

Your voice came out hoarse.

“I’m so tired.”

That broke his heart a little—you could see it in the way his brows creased. His jaw clenched like he was trying to talk himself down from his own feral hunger.

“Then let’s stop, okay?” he offered softly. “Let me clean you up, hold you for a bit. You need rest.”

But your hand was already moving.

Shaky, slow—but determined.

You reached between his legs and wrapped your fingers around the base of his cock.

Still hard.

Still thick and flushed and leaking at the tip like he’d never finished.

His breath caught.

“Baby—”

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, tears suddenly springing to your lashes.

“Please, don’t stop. I need you.”

He looked stricken.

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” he murmured. “I don’t wanna take too much.”

“Then be gentle,” you gasped, stroking him slowly.

“But don’t pull away. I need more. I want you again. I want you.”

His restraint cracked like glass.

With a low, ragged sound, Bucky leaned down to kiss you—soft, shaky, like a prayer being answered. He whispered against your lips.

“Tell me when to stop, baby. Or I won’t.”

You nodded.

Wrapped your arms around his neck.

Pulled him into you.

He guided your legs open with reverent hands—watching your face the entire time, watching for any flinch or hesitation. You were sensitive. Sore. Spent.

But not done.

“I love you,” he said quietly, kissing the inside of your thigh.

“So much it hurts.”

You barely had breath left to answer.

“Then have me,” you whispered. “Take what’s already yours.”

His cock slid into you slow—so slow—inch by inch, the stretch deep and aching, but your body welcomed him like he’d never left.

He moaned into your throat.

“Fuck, baby… still so tight. I can feel your pulse around me.”

He moved gently. Just the slow grind of his hips, the full drag of his cock over soaked, sensitive walls. His hand slid under your back, pulling you flush to his chest.

“You tell me when to stop. You hear me?”

“Don’t stop,” you whimpered. “Just keep giving me all of you.”

And so he did.

With every thrust, he kissed you. With every shift of his hips, he whispered your name. His fingers stroked your side, your hip, your waist—every inch of skin he could reach. You shook beneath him, moaning soft and high each time he bottomed out.

“You’re incredible,” he rasped. “You’re still taking me like it’s the first time. My perfect girl.”

Your orgasm crept in like fog, soft and wet and overwhelming.

You came with a shuddered cry, barely able to hold him, but your body squeezed around him tight—fluttering, spasming, claiming him all over again.

“That's my girl,” he whispered, voice shaking. “So fucking good for me.”

And then he followed—hips stuttering, forehead pressed to yours as he groaned your name like a benediction. His cock throbbed deep inside, spilling more warmth into the mess already flooding between your legs.

He collapsed next to you, immediately pulling you into his arms. Your body was trembling. His thumb stroked your cheek.

“No more unless you ask,” he murmured against your hair.

“I’ll only give you what you want.”

—

The sky was beginning to lighten.

A dusky indigo bled into grey, softening the skyline behind the Watchtower’s windows. But inside the room, time was a blur of candlelight, heat, and the thick, dizzying scent of sweat and sex.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d fully caught your breath.

Your whole body felt glass-thin. Shivering. Sensitive. The sheets clung to your skin with sweat, and your legs barely worked. But the ache was still there. Nestled low. Pulsing. It didn’t fade.

Bucky’s palm slid over your thigh—soft, slow, as if testing your response.

His voice came a moment later, raspy and hesitant. “Sweetheart… we can stop. You need rest. I can wait.”

But you turned to him, eyes half-lidded, lips parted. Your fingers found his, laced through them.

“I want more,” you whispered. “Please… take me there.”

He exhaled like you’d just saved his life.

Guiding you gently toward the windows—your legs shaky, but moving—he kissed your shoulder and whispered, “I’ll be gentle. Just let me see you.”

The whole room swam around you, golden in candlelight and glimmering sweat.

The skyline stretched before you. Towering buildings, distant lights. No eyes. Just your reflection—flushed, ruined, hair damp and tangled across your shoulders.

“Fuck,” Bucky exhaled when he saw you.

“Look at yourself, baby. Look what I’ve done to you.”

You braced your palms against the cool glass, breasts pressing to it as your body arched. The contrast of heat and chill made you gasp. Bucky moved in behind you, spreading your thighs with his knee. One hand on your hip. The other wrapped around his cock, dragging the head through your soaked folds.

“Still dripping,” he muttered. “Even now. Jesus, you never stop, do you?”

“I need it,” you whispered. “Still need you.”

He didn’t make you wait.

Not this time.

He slid into you with one deep, brutal thrust—your bodies colliding with a smack so loud it echoed off the glass. Your moan fogged the window instantly, your hands flattening harder against it.

“Bucky—fuck—”

He set a hard rhythm, pulling your hips back to meet every thrust, the wet sound of your bodies filling the room. You could barely stand, legs shaking, forehead pressed to the glass.

“That’s it. Just like that,” he groaned. “So fucking perfect like this. My girl. My pussy.”

His hand slid around your throat—not squeezing, just holding, grounding. His mouth hovered by your ear.

“You were made for me,” he said. “Fucking built for this.”

“Harder,” you begged. “Please—please don’t stop.”

“Look at your reflection,” he rasped. “Look how good you look. Look how you’re taking me.”

You opened your eyes—and the sight of yourself, cock-stuffed, sweat-slick, wild-eyed, flushed and wrecked against the window, nearly sent you over the edge.

He thrust harder. Faster. Your thighs trembled violently.

“Gonna come,” you sobbed. “Can’t—Bucky—I can’t hold it—”

“Then don’t,” he growled. “Come for me, baby. Come with the whole fucking city watching.”

You shattered.

Legs giving out.

A scream ripped from your throat as your orgasm slammed through you like lightning. Your vision blurred. Your body buckled. Bucky caught you before you hit the ground—arm locking around your waist as he kept moving, groaning into your neck.

“Fuck—fuck—gonna fill you again—”

His hips snapped hard, once, twice—and then he came with a guttural sound, spilling inside you with a heat that pushed out around the edges. His head dropped to your shoulder, body shuddering as he emptied himself again.

You stood there for a long time—pressed to the glass, panting, twitching. Your hands limp against the windowpane. Bucky held you like you were breakable.

“You okay?” he whispered.

You nodded faintly.

“Good. ‘Cause we’re not done.”

—

The sun was climbing now.

Pale gold spilled across the Watchtower skyline, casting long streaks of light onto the floor like it was forgiving the sins you were still committing.

Your whole body ached—but not in the way that begged for rest.

It was a deep, needy pulse. Faint, but still there. A hunger that wouldn’t let go.

You stumbled barefoot into the kitchenette, still bare, still slick between your thighs, wearing nothing but Bucky’s hickeys. Your hair was tangled. Your lips were swollen. Your legs trembled with every step.

Your hand landed on a protein bar. You peeled it open with shaking fingers and leaned on the counter for support.

“You better be looking for food,” you said over your shoulder, breathless and hoarse.

You heard the footsteps.

But they didn’t head for the fridge.

Bucky’s body pressed into you from behind—solid, burning hot, and still hard. He slid one arm around your waist, the other reaching up to gently move your hair aside so he could press a kiss to your neck.

“I am hungry,” he rasped, his voice low and feral.

“Just not for that.”

“Bucky,” you groaned, half-laughing, half-destroyed. “I can’t even feel my legs—”

“Good,” he whispered. “You don’t need ‘em.”

Before you could blink, he bent you over the kitchen island.

Your palms slapped down on the cold countertop, and you gasped as your bare nipples brushed the smooth marble.

You didn’t even get the chance to speak.

He lined himself up and pushed in fast—no prep, no warning, just the slick glide of his cock stretching you open again, sliding back into your wrecked body like it was home.

“Fuck, Bucky—!”

“Still so wet,” he growled behind you.

“Still squeezing me like you want more.”

His hands slid to your hips, gripping tight, pulling you back against him with every hard thrust.

This wasn’t slow.

This wasn’t tender.

It was filthy, frantic, barely-in-control fucking. Not because he didn’t care—but because he still needed you that badly.

The sound of skin slapping echoed in the tiny space. The sticky squelch of your soaked cunt taking him again and again filled the air. Your moans bounced off stainless steel and tiled walls.

You dropped your head onto your forearm.

“We… already did this—eight times,” you whimpered.

“I know,” he growled, fucking into you deeper.

“And you’re still fuckin’ perfect. Still taking it all.”

“You’re gonna kill me—”

“Then what a fucking way to go, sweetheart.”

He slid a hand around your front, fingers seeking out your clit, stroking with maddening precision. The way he touched you was still worshipful—even in this chaos.

Your whole body clenched.

“You want one more?” he asked, voice thick, rough, hungry.

“You got one more in you for me, doll?”

“Yes—yes—please—just one more—!”

You came hard. Your scream was ragged, echoing through the kitchen, and your knees nearly gave out from the force of it. The overstimulation blurred your vision with white-hot static, but your body still took every inch of him.

Bucky groaned deep and low, hips jerking as he spilled inside you one last time—his cock pulsing, his chest pressed to your back as he moaned your name like a blessing.

He didn’t sag against you. Didn’t drop.

He stayed upright, body still buzzing, cock still twitching inside you. You could feel him—full, ready again. You were the one shaking. Not him.

“Jesus Christ,” you whispered. “You’re still hard.”

“Told you,” he murmured, breath warm against your ear.

“I could do this for days.”

“James…”

He slid his arms around your waist from behind and pulled you upright, holding you there with his cock still buried deep.

“I’ll stop if you need me to,” he whispered.

“Just say the word.”

You leaned your head back against his shoulder, heart thudding weakly.

“…I think my soul already came twice.”

Bucky laughed softly. Kissed the crown of your head.

“Rest, baby. I’ll still be here when you wake up. Hard as a fucking rock.”

—

You didn’t know what time it was when you finally woke.

Only that the light outside was warmer. Honey-gold, slipping through the windows in slow streaks. The world felt distant. Blurry. But the weight behind you wasn’t.

Bucky’s arm was still around your waist, his chest pressed along your back. Warm. Steady. His breath ghosted over the back of your neck in a soft, familiar rhythm.

Your body ached in the best ways—sore thighs, puffy lips, bruised hips—but it was the ache in your chest that hummed the loudest.

You blinked. Shifted slowly.

He stirred.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice still sleep-rough.

“You okay?”

You turned to face him—carefully, slowly—and found his eyes already open, watching you.

“Mhm. Everything hurts,” you whispered. “In a good way.”

Bucky smiled. Just a little. One of those soft, private smiles he saved for no one but you.

“Told you I’d wreck you.”

“You did. Multiple times.”

He chuckled, then leaned forward to kiss you.

No tongue. No hunger. Just warmth. Lips brushing yours with slow reverence, like he was re-learning your taste now that the storm had passed.

You melted into it.

Pressed your forehead to his.

His fingers traced lazy lines across your spine, slow and aimless.

“Missed this,” he whispered. “Missed you.”

You whispered it back. Quiet. Honest.

Then let the silence settle over you both for a while—safe, sacred, slow.

Eventually, after a second nap and a shower where no one tried to fuck anyone against the tiles (God bless you), you both managed to drag yourselves into clothes and make your way toward the common area.

Bucky wore a black tee and gray sweatpants that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. You were in a loose hoodie and biker shorts—though judging by the soreness between your thighs, sitting might be a challenge.

His arm was around your waist the whole walk.

Your legs still wobbled slightly, and he adjusted his pace to match yours. Not a word about it. Just his warm palm pressing steady against your hipbone like a grounding wire.

—

The squad was already gathered around the Watchtower’s long dining table.

It was pasta night.

Yelena sat at the end, spooning pesto onto her plate with war-like intensity. Ava nursed a glass of wine. Bob looked half-asleep. Alexei was double-fisting garlic bread.

John Walker looked up the moment you stepped into view.

“Oh look,” he said dryly. “It lives.”

You flipped him off without stopping.

“Someone got their back blown out,” Ava added sweetly, raising her glass.

“We heard everything,” Alexei boomed. “Whole floor shook.”

“I had to wear my noise-canceling headphones,” Bob mumbled, half amused, half scarred.

Yelena didn’t even look up from her plate.

“I placed eight rounds in the pool. I win. Pay up, losers.”

You covered your face with your hands.

Bucky didn’t blink.

Just leaned in close, mouth brushing your ear, voice low and smug.

“We could’ve made it nine.”

You choked on your wine, burst out laughing, and slapped his chest as he grinned like the devil himself.

And when his hand slipped onto your thigh under the table—warm, firm, possessive—you didn’t move it.

You just smiled.

And yeah…

You weren’t done.

💜 @iamthatonefangirl @sonja-blayde

[danzer8705]

halloween is the perfect time for tricks—and treats

pairing: soft!dark friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: steve rogers is tired of being stuck in the friendzone and when he overhears you planning to pick up a one night stand at your mutual friend's halloween party, he decides to play a little trick on you—one where you'll both be getting a treat.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, dubcon (because steve's wearing a mask), piv sex, unprotected sex, pervy behavior (both steve and reader are huge pervs tbh), BDSM themes, masturbation (m), dirty dancing/dry humping, ass play, fingering (f receiving, vaginal and anal), finger sucking, dirty talk, degradation, praise kink, filming/recording/taking photos during sex, exhibitionism, breeding kink, super possessive behavior, talk of branding, talk of being friendzoned (even tho the friendzone is not fucking real), hair-pulling, aftercare, pet names (angel) — let me know if i missed something!!

word count: 19.4k

a/n: i think this remains the longest one shot i've written, even a year later, which is kind of wild!! this one really did get away from me. but man oh man does it have everything i love, most especially golden boy steve rogers who's actually, secretly, a filthy perv. god this might be one of my most favorite steve fics i've written. so i hope y'all enjoy it too!! ♡ (also again the friendzone is bullshit and not real and don't ever let a man tell you otherwise!!!)

halloween fics masterlist

-

“God, I need to get fucked,” you groaned in a hushed voice in the living room of your friend’s apartment. The quiet that followed indicated you were talking on the phone, the soft tinny sound of someone else speaking reaching even to the hallway.

At your words, the apartment’s owner, Steve Rogers, paused just out of sight in the hallway, shamelessly listening in on your conversation, his dick twitching in his pants at the desperate need in your voice. He’d been friends with you for a couple years and, almost the entire time, he’d been trying to figure out how to make a move on you without being creepy.

Steve liked you—a lot. He liked spending time with you, he liked listening to you laugh and he liked how you seemed to feel safe with him. But he wanted more, and the things he wanted to do to you…He thought you’d shy away if he said any of them out loud in your presence. The problem was, he couldn’t tell if you liked him the way he liked you, or if you thought of him as just a friend. You’d never told him you didn’t have feelings for him, but you’d never hinted at wanting more either. And you’d dated other guys, but you’d never dated him.

No, Steve thought, you just tortured him and played innocent. You cuddled up to him on his couch, acting all innocent as you pressed your tits into his side and rested your head on his chest while you watched movies together. You’d ask him to spoon you sometimes, your soft ass pressing against his lap, just laying there while Steve’s cock would get hard for you. He’d lay there until you fell asleep, your sweet breaths puffing out against his bicep, then shove his hand in his pants and tug on his cock, thinking about slipping his fingers between your legs to find you wet and willing for him. He’d imagine fucking you in your sleep, sliding into your warm, wet hole and filling you up with his cock. Sometimes he’d picture coming deep inside your pussy without you waking up, claiming you while you were none the wiser, and other times he’d imagine you waking up and the look on your face when you realized your friend was fucking you. He’d come in his boxers like a fucking teenager with you sleeping in his arms completely unaware.

Steve’s friends had tried to help him get out of the friendzone—Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson had plenty of suggestions for how to see if you’d ever think of Steve as more than just a friend. But Steve knew he had to play his hand exactly right or he’d risk coming off like a creep, and girls like you didn’t date creeps. So he’d bided his time, he’d kept his need on a tight leash, taking what he could get when what he really wanted was to pound into you with his cock. But he was getting frustrated and he didn’t know how much longer he could hold himself back, not when he knew you were lounging on his couch talking about how much you needed to get fucked.

“I mean, Steve’s hot as fuck and all…” you trailed off in the other room and Steve perked up at the sound of his name.

Sure, you’d complimented him before. When he’d taken you as his date to his boss’s wedding, you’d told him how handsome he’d looked in a suit while you smoothed your hands over his chest. It had taken all his self control not to yank you against him so you could feel how hard you made him from just those small touches. Instead, he’d thanked you politely and offered his arm, like the gentleman he’d convinced you he was.

But, Steve realized, you’d never called him hot before. He’d never known you thought about him like that and pride bloomed in his chest at the compliment. At the same time, something warned him he wasn’t going to like how you finished your sentence. He was right.

“I just—I don’t know if he can really fuck me, y’know?” you muttered into your phone, clearly trying to keep your voice down so he wouldn’t hear. He was meant to be grabbing some snacks for your movie night, and they shook in Steve’s hand as he got more and more irritated by your words. “He’s a gentleman, he doesn’t exactly give off ‘I’ll fuck you like a slut’ energy.”

Frustration blinded Steve’s vision for a moment. That was why you’d never given him a chance? You thought he couldn’t fuck you properly? You thought he was too much of a gentleman to treat you like a slut? He’d never known about this side of you. Even with how close you’d become as friends, you’d kept it carefully hidden from Steve. And he’d kept his own dark desires hidden as well, too worried they’d scare you off before he had a chance to show you how good you could be together. But you were just as depraved as he was.

Frustration morphed into relief and then elation. If you wanted to be treated like a filthy slut, Steve thought, then he’d show you exactly what he was capable of. Having made up his mind to prove you wrong, he almost stormed into the living room and ripped the phone from your hands to bend you over and fuck you into the couch, but your next words stopped him.

“Sam’s Halloween party it is, then,” you said, finality in your voice like you’d come to a decision. Steve already knew it didn’t have anything to do with him. You’d written him off as an unacceptable partner, but he’d show you how wrong you were, making a decision of his own. “Yeah I’ll send you pics of my costume—it’s so slutty, it’ll be perfect.” You giggled, the sound shooting straight to Steve’s cock.

He gripped his hardening dick through his pants, stroking himself idly to the sound of your voice while a plan formed in his head. It hadn’t taken him long to piece together your idea to pick up some guy at Sam’s Halloween party, and Steve decided he could use that to his advantage. Besides, he wanted to see exactly how slutty your Halloween costume was—and he wanted to see just how much of a pathetic, needy little slut you could be under the right circumstances. Steve let go of his dick, using his hand to get his phone out and order the perfect mask for his plan.

After all, what kind of friend would he be if he let you fuck some random guy? You could pick up someone who was dangerous, who didn’t respect your boundaries—or worse, someone who couldn’t satisfy you. Steve knew he could satisfy you, he reasoned, slipping his phone back in his pocket and returning his hand to his dick. He jerked his cock harder in the hallway outside his living room, listening to you laugh on the other side of the wall.

Really, he thought, it was his responsibility as your friend to make sure you were safe, to make sure you were fucked by someone you could trust. Who could you trust better than your good friend Steve Rogers? He stroked his cock harder to the sound of your voice, imagining you on your knees and staring up at him with your eyes wide while you sucked his length into your throat. He came to the thought of coating your pretty face with his come, your giggles echoing in his ears as he spilled himself inside his jeans.

As he turned away and silently padded back down the hallway, heading toward his room to change, Steve only grew more confident in his plan. He knew he could satisfy the filthy little slut in you and then, if you let him, he’d finally have an answer to how you felt about him. So what if he had to trick you into it? It was Halloween, the perfect time for tricks—and treats.

-~-~-

You walked into Sam Wilson’s wild Halloween party on a mission, determination in your strut and conviction in the tilt of your chin. Ever since telling your best friends Yelena Belova and Kate Bishop about your need to get fucked and all three of you deciding Sam’s Halloween party was the best place to find a guy to satisfy you, it was all you could think about.

After talking to them on the phone while you were at your friend Steve Rogers’ place for a movie night—and waiting for him to come back with snacks, which took forever—you were worried you’d leave a wet spot on his couch from thinking about being bent over and railed in the woods behind Sam’s house. You didn’t, thankfully, since you weren’t sure how Steve would’ve reacted. He was such a polite gentleman, he probably would’ve pretended he didn’t see it. You couldn’t imagine your blond-haired and blue-eyed golden boy of a friend shoving your face in the wet spot and fucking you hard enough to hurt as punishment for getting his couch messy.

Well, you could imagine it, and the thought made you wet as fuck, but the problem was you didn’t think he’d ever actually do it. And that was exactly why you weren’t looking to your best guy friend to satisfy your need to get fucked. Steve seemed like he would be a little too vanilla in bed for your tastes and you didn’t have the energy to spend weeks and months introducing him to what you liked, what you needed. Better to find some random guy who’d fuck you filthy and then fuck off in the morning.

Pushing aside thoughts of Steve and how you wished he was just as wickedly depraved as you, you refocused on Sam’s Halloween party. Your eyes scanned what you could see of the first floor of the house from just inside the front door, looking for someone to catch your eye. The foyer opened up into a large living room where all the furniture had been pushed against the walls, making room for a DJ table blasting loud music and a big dance floor that was already crowded with people dressed in all kinds of costumes.

There were some fun creative ones, playing on the year’s biggest memes, then there were the guys who put in barely any effort, dressing like a lumberjack or just getting a mask from a Halloween store. And, of course, there were plenty of girls dressed in all manner of slutty costumes. Not that you were judging anyone for dressing slutty—your costume was literally lingerie.

You wore a little white silk cami dress you’d found in the lingerie section of an online shop, the neckline dipped low and the bottom hem barely covered your ass. To turn it into an angel costume, you’d paired it with white patent leather mary jane heels, some small fluffy white wings strapped to your shoulders and a headband lifting a feathery halo above your head. Both Yelena and Kate had wolf-whistled when you’d finished getting ready, assuring you it would be easy to pick up a guy at Sam’s party.

Before you’d found anyone in the living room that you thought might do the trick, Yelena and Kate each looped an arm through yours and led you down the hallway to the kitchen at the back of the house. It was crowded, but not nearly as bad as the living room. You and your friends made a beeline for the host, who was dressed like a king—complete with crown and scepter—and holding court like one in front of a group of girls dressed like slutty nurses and sailors.

Sam greeted you and your friends warmly, kissing each of you on the cheek as he hugged you. After you’d hugged Sam, you turned to Bucky—taking a short moment to appreciate the way he filled out his army costume—hugging and kissing him on the cheek as well.

“Where’s Steve?” you asked, half-shouting in Bucky’s ear to be heard over the thumping music in the living room. You had to brace a hand on his shoulder, going up on tiptoes to make sure he heard you.

Bucky smirked as you leaned in close, giving him a perfect view down your dress, and he wasn’t above sneaking a peek. “He’s running a little late, but he’ll be here soon, doll,” Bucky answered, turning his head so his stubbled jaw rubbed against the soft skin of your cheek, all the while eying your tits without being too obvious about it.

You shivered at the bristly feel of Bucky’s rough stubble against your skin, ignoring the rushing thrill it sent through your body to pull away and pout up at him. “But then who’s going to hold my phone while I dance?” you asked in a teasing voice, holding up your phone and gesturing at your dress to show you had no where to put it.

Heat flamed in Bucky’s eyes as his gaze raked down your body, taking in your skimpy dress that clung to all your curves and left your legs bare from thigh to ankle. But when he looked back up at you, it was gone so fast you weren’t sure if you’d seen it or not. Before you could decide if Bucky had really been checking you out, he snagged your phone and slipped it into the pocket of his army pants. “I’ve got it, doll, I’ll give it to Steve when he gets here,” he said, giving you a charming smile.

“Thank you!” you half-yelled, going up on tiptoe again to plant another kiss on Bucky’s rugged cheek, pressing your hand on his firm chest to keep your balance. For a moment, you lingered. Bucky smelled like fresh winter air and beer, the scent enticing on his skin. Your nipple grazed against his arm, sending a little shiver down your spine as you pulled away sharply.

When you caught Bucky’s eye, his blue gaze burned with heat that made you feel hot and flustered. “Don’t mention it, doll,” Bucky said, a smirk curving his full lips. His tongue poked out and traced his lower lip and you didn’t realize you were so focused on the movement until one of your best friends wrenched your attention away.

Yelena tugged on your arm, yelling, “SHOTS!” in your face as she pulled you away from Bucky. You laughed, joining your friends at the kitchen island. Sam had poured each of you a shot of tequila and you happily reached for one of the little plastic shot glasses.

Bucky pressed against your back, much closer than was technically appropriate between friends—close enough you could feel a bulge in the front of his pants—and reached around you to grab a shot of his own. You shivered, feeling the heat and hardness of your friend’s body through the thin satin of your dress and wondered if you should abandon your plan to find some random guy and fuck Bucky instead. He had an edge to him Steve didn’t and you wondered if that translated to him being able to give you what you needed.

But then Sam was raising his shot glass, everyone else following his lead, and you looked around at your group of friends. You realized if you fucked Bucky, there may have been a better chance of you getting the type of sex you wanted, but it would impact the rest of your friend group and you weren’t willing to risk it. You weren’t even sure Bucky could fuck you like that—maybe he was even more vanilla than Steve. Those were good enough reasons not to press back into Bucky, but if you were honest with yourself, the real reason was that deep down you knew if you fucked either Bucky or Sam, it’d ruin your chances with Steve forever, and you didn’t want that. But you didn’t have time to unpack that thought when you were surrounded by friends at a Halloween party.

Your attention refocused on your friends just in time for Sam to finish whatever toast he’d been giving, “Let’s party hard, fuck hard and have a happy Halloween!” Everyone laughed and you clinked glasses with Yelena and Kate before downing your shot. You’d already started pre-gaming back at your own apartment with your friends, so the tequila went down easily, settling deep in your stomach and spreading warmth through your limbs.

“Another!” Thor Odinson yelled, joining your group and snatching the bottle of tequila from Sam before pouring more shots.

You held out your cup for more alongside Kate and Yelena, and you all downed that round together without waiting for another toast. Thor and Sam cheered you three on, then threw back their own shots. The alcohol created a happy glow in your chest that had your limbs loosening, but when you held your cup out for another, a warm palm slid around your side to your stomach, pulling you back against a broad body, your angel wings crushing against a hard chest, and out of reach of Thor’s pouring.

“Don’t you think you should take it easy, doll?” Bucky asked in a low voice next to your ear so only you could hear. “You just got here.” He reached around you with his other arm, plucking your shot glass out of your fingers and tossing it down on the island.

Frowning while your friends did a third shot, you turned in Bucky’s arms, purposefully brushing your ass against the bulge in his pants to torture him for taking your cup away. You pouted up at him. “I’m just having fun!” you insisted, leaning further into his chest and giving him your best wide-eyed puppy dog look. Your hands landed on Bucky’s shoulders and you couldn’t help but notice how broad and strong they felt under your fingers.

Bucky grinned as you pressed up against him. It wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting, but he wasn’t going to complain when you pressed your soft tits against his hard chest. His arm had settled around your lower back, just above the swell of your ass and he wondered if he could get away with a little grope before Steve showed up. He was still debating it when he ducked his head so he could speak into your ear. “I’m just looking out for you, doll,” he said, innocence in his voice. “Don’t want you to be a drunk, sloppy mess before Steve even gets here.”

Your friend’s deep voice rumbling through your chest and the feel of his breath on your neck sent electricity shooting down your spine, settling deep in your core. You knew you’d already decided not to fuck Bucky, but you couldn’t help yourself from melting against him—he just felt so good. Too distracted by dragging your palms down from his shoulders to his arms, practically feeling him up through his army costume, you didn’t even wonder why Bucky wouldn’t want you getting too drunk before Steve showed up.

A sharp smack on your ass shocked you out of your lust-drunk—and a little bit real-drunk—stupor. With a gasp, you looked up at Bucky in surprise. He wore a smug grin, no hint of remorse in his shining blue eyes for spanking you. And, if you were honest with yourself, you liked it. You wondered if you should reconsider Bucky as a potential one night stand or fuck buddy. Maybe it’d be worth it…

Before you could come to a decision, Bucky eased you away from his body. “Go dance, doll,” he ordered in a quiet, commanding tone that had heat gathering between your legs.

Tongue-tied by your reaction to your friend, you nodded dumbly and turned back to your friends. You swallowed hard as you tugged on their arms. “Time to dance!” you yelled over the music, proud of yourself when your voice came out loud and strong. Yelena and Kate both screamed happily, waving to Sam, Thor and Bucky before winding through the crowd to the living room.

You shook off your attraction to Bucky, reminding yourself he was off limits unless you wanted Steve to be furious with you. And you didn’t want that. Probably. Unless that was the key to getting what you wanted from him… You pushed that thought aside as you linked hands with your friends, dancing in a circle on the edge of the crowd. All the while, you kept an eye out to see if there was anyone at the party who looked like they could fuck you the way you needed.

-~-~-

Back in the kitchen, Bucky watched you dance until Steve walked in through the back door of Sam’s house. The brown-haired man dragged his eyes from your ass and looked to his best friend, easily recognizing the costume he’d helped Steve assemble. Steve lifted the mask of his costume up, setting it on top of his head as he beelined through the kitchen to Bucky.

“Your girl’s already here,” Bucky said by way of a greeting, nodding to the living room where you were dancing to the thumping beat with your friends. You, Yelena and Kate were still on the edge of the crowd, in full view of the kitchen. Your hips swayed rhythmically to the beat as both men watched.

You hadn’t been kidding that night in his apartment, Steve realized, your costume was slutty. The way the bottom hem of your dress fluttered while you danced, revealing glimpses of your plush ass, had his cock thickening in his pants. He wanted to bend you over where you stood and shove his cock deep in your pussy, claiming you for everyone to see while you squealed and squirmed under him. See if you call him a gentleman after that.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Steve turned back to his best friend, who held out a phone for him. “She gave me this to hold on to,” Bucky explained and for a moment, jealousy flared hot in Steve’s chest at the thought of you letting anyone but him hold onto your phone. Bucky must’ve sensed the shift in Steve because he was quick to explain. “Don’t worry, man, I told her I’d give it to you as soon as I saw you.”

That helped to soothe the jealousy a bit, along with the knowledge that Bucky knew better than to make a move on you. Steve wasn’t oblivious, he’d seen the way his best friend looked at you sometimes, and he’d wanted to get to the party before you to ensure you didn’t get any ideas about Bucky. But he knew his best friend wouldn’t encourage or take you up on any offer that might piss off Steve. Bucky was a bit bigger, but Steve was tenacious in a fight and he knew he could beat his friend’s ass if he needed to prove a point—the point being that you belonged to him.

“Thanks man,” Steve muttered to his friend, his eyes finding you again in the crowd. As you spun slowly where you danced, he got a better look at your angel costume—if it could even be called that. The soft shiny material of your dress clung to your waist and the curves of your tits, barely covering your ass, making your legs look long and leaving them on display for everyone to see.

When you twirled again, he watched your tits jiggle in the top and bit back a groan at the realization you weren’t wearing a bra. Were you wearing panties under that little dress, he wondered, or were you dancing on the edge of flashing your pussy to every guy in the room with each twist of your hips? What a fucking slut, Steve thought, sexual frustration and affection creating an intoxicating haze in his mind. The urge to make you his slut was almost overwhelming.

Steve was dragged out of his possessive thoughts by Bucky pressing a beer into his hand. The blond grunted a thanks to his best friend as he continued watching you dance until your friends dragged you deeper into the crowd and you disappeared from view. When he turned to Bucky, he found his best friend’s eyes following you through the throng of dancers. Steve knocked his shoulder against his friend to get Bucky’s attention.

The brunet shrugged unapologetically, taking a swig from his own beer before speaking low so only Steve could hear. “She’s needy tonight, Stevie,” he said, glancing around to make sure no one was listening to their conversation before going on. “Practically humped my leg when I took her drink away—for you, mind you, so she wouldn’t be too drunk,” he added quickly before Steve could jump to the wrong conclusion that Bucky was trying to make a move on you. Bucky pointed a finger at his best friend and raised his eyebrows. “You sure you’re gonna be able to handle her?”

Steve smirked, not letting himself be anything less than self-assured that you’d end the night begging him to let you out of the friendzone. He couldn’t wait to watch you come apart on his cock, bent over with your face down and ass up while he pounded your pussy until you were crying through your release. Although he’d clued Bucky in on his plan to fuck you, he hadn’t told the brunet everything he had in mind for you, so he could understand his friend’s concern to a certain extent, but that didn’t stop Steve from snorting derisively.

“I can handle her,” he answered confidently, flicking his gaze to his best friend’s. “Why, you want a piece of her?” Steve had never confronted Bucky with the way his friend looked at you, and he was curious to see what Bucky would say when presented with the option.

Bucky gave his friend a long look, trying to work out if the question was a trap, but after a moment he threw back the rest of his beer and shrugged, deciding he didn’t give a fuck either way. “Yeah, man, you know I’d be more than happy to volunteer if all she’s looking for is some easy, no strings attached dick,” he answered honestly. “But I know she’s yours—but you gotta take what’s yours first, before you go around offering to share, Stevie,” Bucky shot a meaningful look at Steve before he slapped his blond friend on the shoulder and stepped away to grab another beer.

Steve absorbed what his friend had said while he watched the crowd of dancers, catching sight of your halo and angel wings between the shifting bodies. He made a mental note that Bucky was interested in you and he didn’t seem to mind sharing as long as he had Steve’s blessing. The blond was in the middle of figuring out what he could do with that information when he caught sight of you in the mass of people on the dance floor.

You were dancing with some guy dressed as a devil, grinding your ass back against his lap, arms looped around his neck in a way that pushed your tits out obscenely, your nipples peaked and poking through the shimmery white dress you wore. Angel wings hung from your shoulders in direct contrast to the filthy way you moved. As Steve watched, the guy slid his hands from your hips down to your thighs and Steve growled at seeing someone—some random stranger—touching what was his without permission.

Steve finished his beer and fixed his Halloween costume mask back over his face before pushing off the kitchen counter he’d been leaning against. He stalked through the crowded kitchen with a purposeful stride, diving into the crush of bodies in the living room. With relentless intent, he moved toward you with the singular focus of getting to you and stealing you away from that fucking devil guy.

-~-~-

Your pussy throbbed to the beat of the pounding music and your arousal was slicking your thighs as you moved in the arms of a guy dressed like a devil, your wetness having already soaked through your tiny little thong. You were horny, needy, desperate, and the feel of grinding on a guy on the dance floor was only making you hotter. His hands were sliding down from your waist to your thighs, teasing the bottom of your dress, and you moaned softly, pressing your ass back into the hardness in his pants.

He didn’t seem that big by your judgement, but you were hoping you were wrong—though you still hadn’t decided whether to risk it and find a dark corner to get better acquainted with what he was working with. Yet. But then he had to go and kill your mood.

“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven, baby?” the devil asked in your ear.

Something about the guy’s voice gave you an immediate ick and your face screwed up in a disgusted look as you shuddered, feeling like a bucket of cold water had been thrown over your desire. You didn’t even realize you had such a thing for voices until this guy’s completely turned you off. It didn’t help that he’d chosen probably the most cliched pickup line he possibly could’ve—zero points for matching it to your costume.

When you looked around, ignoring the question and looking for your friends to have them help you escape, your gaze landed on a man off to the side. He stood still in the throng of dancers, standing out in the crowd like a lighthouse standing sentry amidst a thrashing storm. Even though you couldn’t see the man’s eyes, you could feel his intent gaze on your body.

The man was tall and dressed like Ghostface from Scream, but instead of the cheap black robe most guys wore with the hooded mask, he donned a black t-shirt that pulled deliciously tight over a broad chest and shoulders, the sleeves stretched to the point of nearly ripping across his bulging biceps. Your eyes trailed down, finding his t-shirt was tucked into black jeans slung low on a trim waist, the bottom of his pants disappearing into black combat boots. His arms were bare up to the wrist, showing off muscular forearms that were dusted with light brown hair, wearing what looked like black latex gloves on his hands. The overall effect had heat singing through your body, settling deep in your core and making you wet all over again.

The devil at your back either didn’t care or didn’t notice you hadn’t responded to him, and his hands started to inch higher on your thighs, slipping under the hem of your dress and making you shudder in revulsion, an outraged frown marring your face. You were about to turn around and push the devil guy off you, but Ghostface was quicker, grabbing your hand and pulling you into his chest while he pressed his palm against the devil’s face and shoved him away from you.

“What the fuck!” the devil shouted indignantly.

You couldn’t be bothered to even look back at the guy, too busy plastering yourself against Ghostface, your front flush against his strong chest, your nipples rubbing the inside of your satin dress teasingly. You shivered and pressed yourself harder against him, your arms winding around his neck and clinging to him while your hips swayed to the beat of the music.

Ghostface made a shooing gesture at the devil and the other guy stalked off in a huff, disappearing in the crowd. You barely noticed him leave, especially as the feel of Ghostface’s gloved hands smoothing down your lower back to your ass lit a fire beneath your skin. He shoved his knee between your thighs and hiked you up on his leg until you were grinding your wet pussy down on his muscular thigh. He bent his knees, working his hips in slow rolls to the thumping bass.

You let him manhandle you onto his leg and then leaned on him, draping your body over his and grinding to the beat. Pressing your face into his shoulder, you took a deep breath, inhaling his scent—woodsy and earthy. Something about it seemed familiar, but you couldn’t place it. Ignoring why it smelled familiar, you let Ghostface’s scent lull you into a sense of safety you didn’t quite understand.

All around you, other people danced, but Ghostface worked your bodies to the music in a way that felt more like fucking than dancing. In no time at all, you were breathless and panting with need, clinging to his shoulders as your knees wobbled and slick covered your thighs, no doubt soaking into his pants. But though you wanted to spread your legs wider and grind harder until you came all over this stranger’s thigh, you forced yourself to hold back that slutty impulse. Instead, you made yourself spin around in his arms until your ass settled against his lap so you could get a hint at what he was working with and whether it’d be worth it to choose him to fuck you.

A sharp gasp caught in your throat as you felt Ghostface’s massive bulge twitch against your ass. He didn’t even feel fully hard and he was bigger than any other guy you’d fucked. He felt like he was almost as big as Steve—not that you knew how big your friend’s cock was. But he’d get hard while you spooned sometimes. You’d lay in his arms, silently praying he’d make a move, but he never did, and you’d fall asleep wet and frustrated, feeling Steve’s cock pressing against your ass. The feel of it was burned into your memory.

If Ghostface was anywhere near as big as your friend, you just had to fuck him. Before you’d even fully made your decision, your ass was grinding back against him indecently. You moaned softly and lifted your arms up to wrap around the back of his neck, fingers digging into the cheap fabric of the mask’s hood. Your back arched in a perfect curve, your angel wings crushed against his chest, your tits thrust forward, nipples poking through your thin dress.

Ghostface’s gloved hands gripped your hips roughly, fingers digging into your soft flesh hard enough to make you gasp again. The dull pain of his grip was quickly overshadowed by the heat of your arousal as he rubbed his thick bulge against your ass. “Like what you feel, angel?” the man asked, his voice low and rough in your ear.

Again, something about the man’s voice sparked a sense of familiarity deep in your brain, but you brushed it off as simple chemistry. You were so turned on by the stranger, you were imagining things that weren’t there, wanting him to be someone he wasn’t. Still, he had you so hot and bothered you’d be an idiot not to choose him to be the one to fuck you—so you made your decision.

Tilting your head back against his shoulder so your mouth was closer to his ear, you let out a low, wanton moan. “I like it a lot, Mr. Ghostface,” you rasped in a husky, needy tone, grinding your ass harder against his bulge. You could hear him breathing harshly through the mask and it only turned you on more.

“Fuck,” he grunted, voice distorted through the mask but deliciously deep, sending a shiver down your spine to settle heavily in your core. “You’re a dirty fucking slut, aren’tcha, angel?” he asked, sliding his gloved hands down from your hips to your thighs. When you nodded against his shoulder, he groped your soft flesh in an almost punishing grip, fingers teasing the insides of your thighs. “Are you wearing any panties under this slutty little dress?” he asked, his hands sliding up under the hem until the tips of his gloved fingers were mere centimeters away from your dripping slit. “Or were you planning on flashing this pussy to all the men here until one snapped and bent you over, fucking you in the middle of the room for the whole party to see?”

His filthy words were like electric currents shooting straight to your throbbing core, your clit pulsing with need as he spoke to you with such vulgar language in that deep, degrading tone. Ghostface was exactly what you’d wanted to find at Sam’s Halloween party, a man who would fuck you like a slut, and you were almost giddy enough to turn around and jump him in the middle of the dance floor. You managed to hold yourself back, turning around in his arms until you were facing him again. “Why don’t you take me upstairs and find out for yourself,” you challenged, a smirk curling the edge of your mouth.

Through the black mesh of the Ghostface mask’s eyes, you could see the man’s gaze sparkle with hunger and though you couldn’t be sure since his face was hidden, you felt certain he was grinning. He ducked his head so he could speak next to your ear. “I have a better idea, angel,” he growled, sending more shivers skating down your spine.

Before you could ask what he meant, Ghostface grabbed your hand, threading his fingers through yours and tugging you toward the sliding door that lead to the house’s back deck. It was a warm night for October, but there was still a chill in the air and your outfit was incredibly skimpy, so when you stepped outside, a shudder wracked your body. You clung to Ghostface’s hand, winding yourself around his arm to try to steal some of his warmth.

He glanced down at you and you thought you caught a glimpse of his eyes shining happily at the sight of you clinging to him, but he looked away to navigate through the crowd on the deck. He didn’t stop to talk to anyone, just tugged you along with him as he walked to the edge, then down the stairs to the yard. There were fewer people milling about, but some were circled around a fire pit. Ghostface ignored them, leading you down the sloping grass hill, holding your hand firmly so you didn’t slip on the damp grass. The sounds of the party, the thumping bass from inside and the chatter of people by the fire pit, grew more distant the farther you got away from the house.

When he walked to the edge of the tree line where Sam’s property ended and the woods began, you dug your heels into the soft earth beneath your feet and pulled the stranger to a stop. Even with how horny you were for this man, you had some sense of self-preservation and it was telling you not to walk into the woods with a complete stranger whose face you hadn’t even seen. “Where are we going?” you asked, a little bit of fear leaking through your voice.

Ghostface glanced back at the house and when you followed his gaze, you saw Bucky standing on the back deck, leaning on the wooden railing, smoking a cigarette. Though it was too far away to really tell, you had the feeling Bucky was watching you and the man. If you screamed for help, you were sure he’d come running, but you hadn’t decided if that was necessary just yet. Tingles of desire were mixing with the little shivers of fear and creating an intoxicating mix in your body that you didn’t want to give up unless you had to.

“Before we get started,” Ghostface began in a low, rumbling voice. “Do you want a safe word?”

His words drew your attention back to the man in the Ghostface mask, and you couldn’t help but notice he didn’t answer your question. His voice distracted you, though. Without the loud music and crush of bodies, that sense of familiarity sparked stronger at the sound, just like when you’d heard his voice inside and when you’d smelled him. You tilted your head to the side as you considered him.

When you didn’t answer, his shoulders stiffened like he was afraid he was losing you. “Pick a safe word, angel, and I’ll stop whatever we’re doing if you use it,” he urged, a thread of desperation in his tone.

His voice niggled at your brain. You knew you recognized it, you just weren’t sure who it belonged to. But your curiosity was piqued and you were still so fucking horny, so you threw caution to the wind. Even if he didn’t respect your safe word, Bucky was within earshot if you screamed. So you gave him a word. “Sidney,” you said, lips quirking at your cleverness while you stared at the Ghostface mask.

His shoulders relaxed and you could hear the grin in his voice as he responded, “Sidney, it is.” He held his black gloved hand out to you.

For a moment, you just looked at it. Your eyes trailed up his muscled arm to the Ghostface mask and then over his shoulder to the pitch black woods beyond. You weren’t sure what he had planned for you, but the way your slit leaked at the thought of being fucked in the woods had you making a decision. With one last glance over your shoulder, finding Bucky still standing on the deck, you slid your fingers into his hand and let him tug you into the deep, dark shadows of the trees.

It was even colder in the woods, and you pressed close to Ghostface’s muscled arm as he tromped through the fallen leaves and underbrush. He didn’t make you walk far, maybe a minute or two, until he came to a stop in a little clearing, the trees overhead thinned enough for the full moon to shine down on the forest floor. Laid out over the ground was a thick blanket, or maybe a couple of layered blankets, and they looked clean, like they’d only been put there earlier that day.

When you looked up at Ghostface, you caught that look in his eye through the mesh, like he was grinning beneath the mask. “We’ll have more privacy out here, angel,” he said, his voice low and rumbly and a little muffled. “So you can scream as loud as you want.”

Maybe you should’ve been scared, maybe you should’ve used your safe word or tried to run back to the party, but at his sinful words, you pressed closer. “You gonna fuck me hard enough to scream, Mr. Ghostface?” you asked in a teasing voice, your lips plumped up in a pout.

“Oh, angel,” he growled, tugging you around to his front. He walked you back until you were pressed up against the thick trunk of a tree, your fluffy feathered angel wings protecting your shoulders from the bark. With a rough grip on your thigh, he lifted one of your legs up to hook around his waist, stepping in between and pinning you to the tree, the massive bulge in his pants pressed to your dripping core. You shivered at the feel of him, wondering for the first time whether it would fit. “I’m gonna fuck you until you scream yourself raw.”

With that sinful promise hanging in the air and stealing all clever comebacks from your lips, Ghostface reached down and shoved your dress up around your hips until your tiny white thong was on display. The meager scrap of cloth was the only thing protecting your wet little slit from his eyes. He let out a deep, guttural groan at the sight. “Fuck, angel, I don’t think you could even count these as panties,” he muttered, his black gloved fingers tracing the side of the garment. In a quick movement, he twisted his fingers around the thin fabric and, with a sharp yank, he easily ripped the thong away from your body.

A harsh gasp was pulled from your lips and you jerked in Ghostface’s arms at the feel of your panties being ripped off you. No one had ever done that to you before and it drove you a little wild, seeing the way this man’s muscles had bulged in his arm as he tore through your panties. More desire leaked from your slit and slid down to your ass. As Ghostface pulled your ruined panties away from your body, the fabric clinging obscenely to your soaking wet folds, it was replaced with the cold air of the night. Goosebumps raised all over your body as the October chill caressed your drenched pussy and slick thighs, highlighting exactly how messy you were already.

But a moment later, you couldn’t care less about the cold because Ghostface was pressing his gloved fingers between your folds, sliding them against your slippery skin and circling your clit. Your hips bucked against his hand, trying to take his fingers inside your grasping channel. You were so wet and needy and you felt pathetically empty, every cell in your body demanding you be filled and fucked, but the man just tsked at you.

“Such a needy fucking slut,” he gritted out like he was clenching his teeth while he played with your pussy. His head was tilted down like he couldn’t get enough of the sight of his fingers sliding between your folds, and the way your body responded to his touch. “So fucking wet and warm—this cunt is begging for cock, isn’t it angel?”

“God, yes,” you answered on an exhale, your voice breathless with need. “Need your cock.” You tried to reach between your bodies and tug on his belt to slide it open, but Ghostface batted your hands away.

He gripped your face in his free hand while the other teased your pussy, bringing his masked face close to yours like he was getting an up close look at your expression. “Hmm, no,” he murmured, pinning you against the tree with his hand on your face. “You don’t sound nearly desperate enough just yet, angel,” he said and you could hear the evil smirk in his voice.

Your protest died on your lips as he let go of your face, shifting your leg up his waist so he could dig something out of his pocket. “I think we should record this, don’t you?” he asked, but your pleasure-soaked brain was taking too long to understand his meaning. He pulled out a phone and opened the camera, flicking the flash on. The bright light shone in your eyes for a second before he moved it down your body to where his glove-covered fingers were still teasing your pussy.

Awareness prickled across your skin at the realization he was taking a video of what he was doing to you. It occurred to you that you could use your safe word, but when you looked down, you could see his fingers playing with your pussy on the screen and it looked hot, the sight making your clit throb in pleasure. You liked being recorded, liked the way it made you feel desired and on display. Rolling your hips against Ghostface’s fingers, you watched the motion on the camera and groaned, head thrown back against the tree.

After teasing you for what felt like forever, Ghostface finally slid one of his thick fingers into your tight hole, making you moan loudly. Your fingers scrabbled at the tree, trying to cling to something while he finally pressed inside your pussy. “You’re gonna beg so sweetly for my cock, angel,” he promised in a harsh, almost distracted voice as he stared down at the camera, watching his finger slide in and out of your channel on the phone. “And I want to save it so we can rewatch it over and over and over again.” He punctuated his words with short, quick thrusts of his finger, making you cry out.

“Please,” you begged, needing more than one finger, wanting to feel stretched out by his cock, but unable to form the words as he fucked you. It was so good but not nearly enough, and yet, you could feel an orgasm building slowly in your core.

“Fuck, you’re soaked, angel,” Ghostface groaned, fucking you harder with his finger. “Can you hear the sounds your pussy is making for me while I fingerfuck your sloppy wet cunt?”

Of course you could hear it. “Yes,” you groaned, a little humiliation mixing with the ruthless pleasure he was giving you as your body told him exactly how turned on you were. Even with your heart pounding in your chest and Ghostface’s harsh breathing in his mask, you could hear the lewd sounds of his finger pumping in and out of your dripping hole. He fucked you faster, and the sounds only grew louder, his palm slapping against your wet folds, the heel of his hand striking your clit with sharp little smacks. “More, please,” you begged on a strangled sob.

“Mmm, that’s it angel, beg for me,” he urged, shoving a second finger in your pussy, drawing a ragged moan from you. Your head thrashed side to side against the tree trunk at your back, your hips writhing against his fingers. 

“Please, please, please,” you chanted in rhythm with his thrusts, his two fingers almost enough but not quite. You could feel yourself hurtling toward the edge, you just needed a little more.

Ghostface seemed to know exactly what you needed and when he stuffed a third finger in your tight hole, making you stretch around him, your back arched and the most debauched sound you’d ever heard left your own lips. He made a pleased sound.

“Good girl, angel, take my fingers,” he praised, his voice raspy and muffled through the Ghostface mask. “Need to stretch you out so you’re ready for my cock,” he continued, almost as if to himself. When you glanced at him, his face was pointed down, like his eyes were transfixed on the sight of his three fingers pumping in and out of your tight channel on the phone screen. “Don’t wanna hurt my pretty little fucktoy before I’ve even had a chance to use her properly.”

“Oh god, fuck,” you groaned at his filthy words and the way he was so consumed with your body. Your desire flared hot at the way he talked about you like you weren’t even there. Something about being so thoroughly used hit you with a staggering wave of pleasure. All of a sudden, you were on the precipice of your release. “Gonna come,” you murmured. Through slitted eyes, you tracked the movement of the cell phone flash panning up your body to your face. You let your need shine through your expression, eyes looking into the light as you begged, “Please make me come.”

“That’s my girl, begging like such a good fucking slut,” he praised, fucking you harder with his fingers and drawing more moans from your lips, one tumbling after the other. “Come all over this stranger’s fingers like the filthy fucking slut you are.”

Something about the way he said the word ‘stranger’ had alarm bells going off in your head, but they were distant with your mind too consumed by the pleasure he was giving you. You were too focused on chasing your release, a whine rising in your throat as your arms braced against the tree and you fucked yourself on his fingers. You were so close.

“Take my mask off,” Ghostface grunted, but you couldn’t hear him over your moaning and panting. So he tried again, his voice louder and firmer with the command. “Take my mask off, angel—I want you to know exactly whose fingers you’re coming on."

The alarm bells were louder now, trying to warn you about something, but you still couldn’t be bothered to care too much. With fumbling, eager hands, you curled your fingers around the edges of the Ghostface mask. You pulled the mask and hood off, letting it drop to the forest floor with a muffled thud. A loud, sharp gasp left your lips before it even landed on the ground.

“STEVE!?” you cried in confusion, only vaguely aware of the camera recording your reaction. You were shocked by the sight of your friend’s handsome face, his blue eyes shining bright and wild in the moonlight, his full lips twisted up into a smug smirk. His usually neat blond hair was messy from the mask, and for some reason, that was the detail you focused on. You’d never seen him without perfectly combed and styled hair. To see him so disheveled sent heat and desire curling through your body, your pussy clamping down on his fingers like you didn’t want to let him go.

Steve only allowed you a moment to absorb the information it was him who’d lured you into the woods to fingerfuck you against a tree. In the next heartbeat, your friend shoved his three fingers ruthlessly into your cunt, his thumb circling your clit. A feral grin pulled across his face as he watched you come apart.

It was all too much. You’d already been dangling on the brink of your release and the shock of finding your friend beneath the Ghostface mask mixed with the pleasure he mercilessly delivered to your body, sent you flying over the edge. Your head thumped against the tree and your lips opened wide on a scream as you came all over Steve’s fingers.

“Good girl, being so fucking good for me, angel,” Steve murmured as he fucked you through your orgasm, stretching his arm holding the phone so the camera could capture both your face and his fingers pumping in and out of your pussy. He widened his fingers even as your walls clamped down on him, making you stretch around him. “Your pussy feels so fucking good coming all over my fingers—never felt anything so fucking sweet.”

Lost to the feeling of your ebbing orgasm, all you could do was moan for Steve, his praising words sparking a new kind of heat, this one in your chest as your heart squeezed. You didn’t know if you liked his dirty talk or his sweet words better and a small part of you worried he was going to ruin you for all other men if he kept treating you like the most precious thing in the world and a filthy slut. “Steve,” you murmured, hands finding his chest and sliding up to wrap around his shoulders. You wanted him closer, needed him closer.

Steve must’ve understood what you meant because the bright light from the flash disappeared and in the next moment he was dropping your leg to the ground and gathering you up against his chest. He held you tight, easing you away from the tree and further into the clearing. With gentle but firm hands, Steve sat you down on the blankets on the ground, helping you take off your angel wings so you could lay down. He covered your body with his, holding you while you caught your breath.

Though your breathing was evening out, your mind was racing, processing the fact that your friend—polite, golden boy Steve Rogers—had been the man under the Ghostface mask. It didn’t seem possible. You’d known Steve for years. You’d given him sign after sign after sign you wanted more from him, all of which he’d completely ignored.

When he’d taken you as his date to his boss’s wedding, and you’d seen how deliciously hot he’d looked in his suit, you’d practically thrown yourself into his arms, feeling up his hard chest through his shirt and jacket. The whole night, you’d dropped every hint you could think of, short of trying to grab his cock through his dress pants. He’d still escorted you home and dropped you off at your door with a respectful kiss on your cheek. The fact that he’d fingerfucked you up against a tree in the woods behind Sam’s Halloween party just didn’t make sense.

“Steve?” you whispered his name, confusion coloring your tone. You pushed against your friend’s chest until he rolled to the side, stretching out next to you on the blankets.

His face was guarded, lips pressed into an impassive line and blue eyes wary as he watched your expression. But there was a wildness in his features you’d never seen before. Something he must’ve kept on a tight leash and buried so you’d never see it. All of a sudden, you were angry. You were furious that he’d kept this side of himself from you. All you could think about were all the orgasms you’d missed out on while he’d been busy pretending to be the golden boy gentleman.

“What the fuck was that, Steve?” you demanded, sitting up and pushing at his chest when he tried to rise up next to you, forcing him back on his elbows. “What the fuck was that, huh? Huh?” You punctuated your angry questions with more shoves to Steve’s chest.

With ease, he caught your wrists in one of his hands, holding you captive so he was able to finally sit up. Your friend loomed over you, blocking out the full moon in the sky. His blue eyes raked over your expression, and you squirmed beneath his stare, heat flooding your core. Steve’s gaze dropped down, catching the little wiggle of your hips and a dangerous grin spread slowly across his face.

“Oh, angel,” Steve murmured in a low, sinful voice as he dragged his eyes back up your body, lingering on the way your thin white dress clung to the curves of your tits. “That was just the beginning.” His blue gaze pierced your own, and you swore could feel the promise in his answer shoot directly to your clit, making it pulse with need.

You didn’t have time to ponder how your friend was able to make your pussy throb with some innocuous words and a look because in the next breath, Steve pushed you back down into the blankets, pinning your hands above your head while he groped your tits roughly with his free hand.

“God, your fucking tits, angel,” Steve groaned. He ducked his head down to suck your nipple into his mouth through your dress, getting the fabric wet so that when he moved to the other, it was left tortured by the combination of the damp satin and the cool night air. He did the same to your other nipple, every bite and lick and pull of his lips on your sensitive peaks shooting straight down to your clit. “So soft and perfect,” he murmured against your skin like he was talking to himself.

Your hips bucked in the air against nothing, seeking the friction your body so desperately craved. A whine wrenched free from your lips. You couldn’t believe how needy you were already, after the knee-shaking orgasm Steve had already given you, but you felt insatiable with your friend’s hands on your body. “Steve, please,” you begged, unsure what you were even pleading for.

Steve grinned against your chest, looking up at you from under thick, dark lashes. “You’re getting the hang of that, angel,” he commented in a casual voice. At your look of confusion, his grin broadened. “Begging.”

Rising up, Steve held you pinned to the blankets with his hand and his gaze as he reached his other hand up to his mouth. His caught the edge of his glove between his teeth and pulled it off, the sight of it making you pant with need. It shouldn’t have been so hot to watch your friend take his glove off, but it was. Then he was sliding his bare hand down your body and under your dress, finding you drenched again—with your first release and your renewed desire.

You squirmed, your pussy still sensitive even as your body begged for more. When Steve dragged the rough pad of his finger over your clit, all you could do was let out a gasping moan. Your hands tugged against his grip, instinctively wanting to push him away from your oversensitive bud.

For his part, Steve seemed to be barely paying you any mind, his warm fingers sliding against your swollen flesh slowly like he was taking his time to explore you. “Fuck, I’ve dreamed about this pussy for years, angel,” Steve admitted, his gaze fixed wholly on the juncture of your thighs. “I’d lay awake and jerk off to you when you were sleeping right next to me, thinking about what it would feel like to sink my cock into this sweet cunt.” Possessiveness shone bright in Steve’s eyes in the moonlight, making you shiver. “Used to fuck my hand while you were right there, thinking about how wet you’d be for me—and look at you now, angel, fucking soaking my fingers like a good little slut.”

Anger swirled in your chest, battling the pleasure consuming your core, and eventually won out, driving you to speak. “Why didn’t you fuck me then?” you demanded in the same harsh tone you’d used before. That finally pulled Steve’s attention away from your pussy. “I was wet and willing and right fucking there, Steve, why didn’t you fuck me?”

His fingers paused as he stared at you like he’d been struck dumb, but the expression was quickly washed away, frustration replacing it. “I didn’t want to be a creep,” he ground out through gritted teeth. “I didn’t know you wanted me to fuck you.”

“God, Steve, why did you think I asked you to cuddle with me?” your voice was rising as your frustration matched his, all the time you’d lost to Steve being unable to read a simple signal pressing down on your chest, your heart beating for all the time you’d lost with him. “I shoved my ass against your cock how many times, hoping you’d take a fucking hint—but you never did!”

A growling roar ripped free from Steve, the sound barely human, before he dove on top of you, his arms digging under your back to hold you so tight, it forced the breath from your lungs. In the next instant, your friend’s lips crashed against yours. The kiss wasn’t sweet or gentle, it was rough and dirty as Steve poured all his months and years of frustration into you, shoving his tongue into your mouth and taking possession. But you met him with all your own frustration, your freed hands digging into his messy blond hair and clinging to the soft strands like only god himself would be able to make you let him go.

Steve trailed his lips down your jaw, then your neck, licking and sucking on your skin hard enough you knew he was going to leave marks, but you didn’t care. You twisted your fingers in his hair and clutched him close to your body, not wanting to let him get too far away. But you needed more, you needed all of him, you needed him to fill you up until he was buried deep inside you. “Steve, please—please,” you begged in a ragged whisper.

Instead of responding with words, though, Steve growled and yanked the front of your dress down to expose your tits, the force of his hand too much for the thin straps and they tore easily. A shocked gasp fell from your lips as your nipples were exposed to the night air, but you couldn’t care less about your cheap dress when Steve descended on your tits, sucking and biting your nipples until you were writhing beneath him, feeling every sting of his teeth like a pulse in your clit.

Frustrated by his lack of attention to your pussy, you snaked a hand down between your legs, managing to circle your poor neglected clit once before Steve’s hand closed around your wrist and he pulled you away with an angry growl. You whimpered as your pussy throbbed with need, looking up at Steve with pleading eyes as he shifted to kneel between your spread thighs. He dropped your hand at your side as if it offended him and you fisted your hands in the blankets to stop yourself from reaching for your needy clit again.

“Let’s get one thing straight, angel,” he said, before tugging his other glove off with his teeth so his bare hand could slip down between your legs, shoving three fingers into your tight hole without preamble. Your back arched up off the blankets and a desperate cry fell from your mouth. “This pussy might be between your legs,” he started, hooking his fingers inside you and pressing against a spot that had you seeing stars behind your eyelids. “But it belongs to me.” He growled, widening his fingers and forcing you to stretch around him, your eyes popping open and going wide as you stared up at him. “Do you understand?” His blue eyes were wild in the moonlight as he stared down at you.

Nodding your head quickly, you had to swallow to get your tongue to work again. “Yes, Steve,” you answered, gasping for air while he stretched you out around his fingers. The stretch stung a little but it felt good to be filled up, even if what you really wanted was his cock. “My pussy belongs to you.”

An evil smile tugged at the corners of Steve’s lips as he stared down at you, squirming under his hands. He shook his head slowly and for a moment you were confused. “Don’t say ‘my’ when it’s not yours, angel,” Steve corrected you.

At your enthusiastic nod, he grinned and bent down to press a sweet kiss to your lips, like a reward for being good for him. When he sat back up, his free hand held the phone he’d used to record you up against the tree. Your pussy clenched at the thought of being recorded again, splayed out on the blankets in the middle of the woods, your dress torn to reveal your tits and the bottom scrunched up around your waist. Though you couldn’t see it, you were sure your hair was a mess and you could feel your headband and the halo askew on your head. Altogether, you knew you looked like a slut and the thought of having it documented for Steve to look at later made your skin tingle and heat all over.

He swiped the camera open and the flash went on, making you wince at the bright light in the darkness. “I want to hear you say it for the camera, angel,” Steve said as he held the phone close to his chest, angling it so he was able to get your face and pussy in the shot. “Who does this pussy belong to?”

With the knowledge that Steve would be watching this later, you were struck with the impulse to perform for the camera. So you stared up into the lens with hooded eyes and you let pleasure soak your voice as you spoke. “This pussy belongs to Steven Grant Rogers,” you declared, spreading your thighs even wider for both Steve and the camera.

“Good girl,” Steve praised, making you smile dreamily. Your hips wriggled, trying to urge his fingers to move and give you some of the friction you desperately needed. But Steve had other ideas. He rotated his hand, his fingers still stuffed deep in your channel and making you cry out at the sensation. He pressed his thumb against the rosebud of your ass. “And who does this ass belong to?” he asked, blue eyes glittering with desire behind the glare of the flash.

Your chest heaved as you panted. For how much of a slut you liked to be, planning to pick up a guy at your friend’s Halloween party, you’d never taken anyone in your ass before. You’d never even really explored it much, except an experimental finger once by yourself, finding it to be weird, thought not entirely unpleasant. But as your hands clawed at the blankets with need and Steve pressed against your tight little hole, sending pulses of delicious pleasure through your body, you thought you might just let your friend be the first to fuck your ass.

“Steve,” you gasped out, your brain shorting out a little bit at the feel of his fingers buried inside your pussy and nudging against your rosebud. “This ass belongs to Steve Rogers.” You looked him dead in the eye when you spoke your next words. “All these holes belong to Steve Rogers.”

“Fuck,” Steve grunted, giving you a couple sloppy thrusts of his fingers in reward, dragging a rough moan from your lips. He watched you squirm on the phone screen, reveling in the way you responded to his touch. “Beg for my cock, angel, beg and I’ll give it to you,” he promised in a low, alluring voice. The permission in his command, like he was offering you an outlet for the desire that was building up inside you. It was all you needed to loosen your tongue.

“God, Steve, I need your cock, need you to fuck me, please,” you begged, staring up into the camera as your hands fisted in the blankets, the heels of your mary janes digging into the ground so you could lift your hips and fuck yourself on his fingers. Your lust only grew, gathering in your body like an impending storm, and your voice turned pleading with a whine as you got needier. “Please fuck this pussy with your huge cock, pound into this tight little hole until I’m screaming for you, Steve, please—please!”

“That’s my girl, that’s my fucking girl,” Steve praised, pulling his fingers from your sopping wet pussy. He shoved them in your mouth and you sucked greedily, eyes slipping closed as you delighted in the taste of your arousal on his hand. You licked them clean under the bright light of the camera’s flash and once you were done, Steve bent down to kiss you fiercely. His tongue swept into your mouth to taste you on your lips, groaning into you. Your fingers dug into his hair to hold him close, but he wrenched himself away, grinning cheekily down at you as he sat up.

Steve reached down to the belt buckle at the front of his dark jeans, pulling his belt free with a rasping sound that had you trying to clench your thighs closed to relieve the ache in your clit. But Steve shook his head. He pulled his zipper down slowly, teasingly, and you were practically vibrating with anticipation. When you tried to reach down and help him, he growled a soft, “No,” shaking his head again. Finally, he reached into his jeans and pulled his cock free.

A gasp escaped your lips and your jaw went slack at the sight of your friend’s cock. You knew he was big, you’d felt him harden against your ass enough times on his couch to know that much, but seeing him in all his glory was another thing entirely. Steve’s cock was thick, his own fingers barely meeting as he fisted his dick and stroked up the length. You could feel your pussy gush with even more wetness as you stared at Steve’s cock, eying the veins running up the length to a wide mushroom tip. Almost dazedly, you reached down, wanting to see how big he looked with your smaller hand wrapped around his girth.

Steve batted your hand away before fisting his dick again and pressing the tip to your tiny hole. With his other hand, he held the phone closer to where your bodies met, getting a closer shot of his cock resting on your pussy. He looked so fucking big, you didn’t know how he could possibly fit, but in the same breath you wanted him to make it fit inside your tight channel. You wanted him to fuck you hard and rough until you were screaming yourself raw like he’d promised.

You wanted him to put it in already, but he didn’t, just held your wriggling hips down while he slid his hard length against your drenched folds, getting the full length soaked in your arousal before settling his dick between your spread thighs. He paused, gritting his teeth, and you watched his jaw tic as he stared at the phone screen, transfixed by the sight of his big cock against your pussy. He stopped recording and pressed his fists into the blanket on either side of your shoulders as he leaned over you, looking down into your face.

“If you want me to wear a condom, you better tell me now,” he bit out through barely leashed need. When his blue eyes met yours, they were practically wild with desire.

It stole your breath, the way Steve stared at you like you were his entire world. But you shook your head as you looked up at him. “I don’t have one,” you murmured. You hadn’t had anywhere to keep it in your dress, so you’d given it to Kate to hold in her pocket, planning to snag it from her once you’d found a guy to take upstairs. But, of course, Steve had taken you outside and you’d been too curious and turned on by the stranger in the Ghostface mask to stop him so you could track down your friend.

Steve’s blue eyes flared with hunger and a little big of anger—but the anger seemed to win out. “What were you gonna do if the guy you picked up didn’t have one, angel?” he demanded, in a harsh voice. “You were gonna let some random stranger fuck you with his bare cock?” he asked, leaning over you so his face was hovering above yours. Anger and a little bit of fear swirled in his bright blue eyes. “You were gonna let some fucking guy raw you—you were gonna risk him knocking you up?”

The way he spoke to you, the way he was looking at you, all you could think was that Steve was glorious with fury contorting his handsome face into something feral. It occurred to you that you should be scared, that you could use your safe word—or you could explain that Kate had the protection you’d brought to the party—but all you felt was need. It was almost overwhelming how much you wanted Steve in that moment, your pussy flooding, your desire for him consuming you and holding your tongue. All you could do was stare up at your friend with a dazed look on your face.

When you didn’t respond or defend yourself, Steve tsked at you, shaking his head. He wrangled his anger under control with some visible effort, shoving a hand through his hair, making the blond strands even messier. “So fucking irresponsible, angel,” he admonished, his breathing heavy. Even at those chastising words, your need only flared hotter. “Well if you were happy to let a random stranger fuck you raw then you won’t mind if I do, huh?” he asked, his intense gaze reading your expression as he spoke, gauging your reaction to his words. “If you’re gonna get knocked up tonight, it’s gonna be by me.”

A jolt of need pulsed through your body straight to your core, your inner walls clenching pathetically around nothing, begging to be filled. You moaned loudly at Steve’s words and their effect on you. You wanted him so badly you finally remembered how to speak. “Please Steve, fuck me bare,” you begged. “Knock me up, I don’t care, just fuck me—please!” You were so desperate, tears were stinging your eyes and your hips were bucking up in the air, pussy sliding against his cock.

For a moment, Steve just stared at you, his hard jaw slack and his blue eyes dazed in the moonlight as if he were shocked by how much you seemed to want him and the filthy things he said. Then he seemed to snap out of whatever trance your words had put him in and he tilted his head back, squeezing his eyes closed while his hands gripped your thighs hard. He groaned up into the sky, sounding almost tortured.

“Fuck, angel,” he grunted, dragging his head up so he could stare down at you. “Such a filthy fucking slut begging me to knock you up—then you’d really be mine, wouldn’t you?” he asked, his voice so fucking eager. Your heart beat wildly, matching his enthusiasm.

Steve fisted his cock in one hand, lining it up at your entrance and teasing you by pushing the rounded tip against your little hole. “Is that what you want, want to be all fucking mine?” he asked, a feral grin curling the edges of his mouth as he caught your eye. “Want me to tattoo ‘Property of Steve Rogers’ over this cunt?” Still holding your gaze captive with his own, he brought his thick cock down on your clit, giving it a hard smack and making you jerk as pleasure and a tiny bit of pain surged through you.

He chuckled darkly at your reaction, then refocused on where his cock pressed against your hole. He pushed until the broad head slipped inside your dripping pussy, your walls stretching and enveloping him, drawing ragged moans from both of you. “Let’s see you try to pick up other guys with my name branded on your skin,” he muttered almost as if to himself, gritting his teeth as he slowly pushed deeper, making you take inch after inch of his thick cock.

“Oh god, Steve, fuck, you’re so fucking hot,” you babbled, his possessive words making you moan almost as much as the feel of him stretching your tight hole. Maybe it was the way it felt like he was reconstructing you, altering your body to fit himself inside, but the thought of having his name branded on you didn’t sound half bad. It was possessive, but in that moment you wanted to be possessed. “Never knew you could be like this, never knew you could fuck me like this,” you confessed, staring up into Steve’s face. His expression contorted in determination and you cried out when he shoved the last few inches of his cock into your pussy.

“I’m the only one who can fuck you like this, angel,” he growled in your ear, not giving you any time to adjust to the feel of him filling you up before he was pulling out and pumping his thick cock back into you. “And I’m the only one who’s gonna be fucking you from now on, right angel?” He punctuated his question with a rough thrust, the tip of his cock battering the end of you, making you squirm and writhe, but Steve just pinned you down harder on the blankets with his hips.

Your thighs were splayed wide, riding up the sides of his body while you clung to his shoulders, one hand buried in his blond hair and the other fisting in his black t-shirt. You felt ruined, he’d ruined you and he’d barely even started to fuck you. “Yes—god yes, Steve, only you,” you answered easily, knowing no one else would ever be able to fuck you the way your friend could. “Do whatever you want with my body, it’s yours, all of it—every hole, every inch is yours.”

A pleased grin pulled up the corners of Steve’s mouth and when he kissed you, you could feel it against your lips before he sank into you. The sweep of his tongue in your mouth was possessive and you melted into him, loving the feel of him claiming you with his lips. When he pulled away, he dropped a sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth and only then did you realize you were smiling, so happy to be his.

Steve thrust into you hard, and your mouth fell open around a loud moan. “That’s my girl, such a sweet little slut,” he mumbled as he sat up on his knees. From beside you, Steve snatched up the phone and he swiped to the camera, holding the device above your body and angling it to get all of you in the shot.

For a moment, you were puzzled when the flash didn’t turn on, but you didn’t have long to ponder it when he was working your body so expertly. Your friend pulled his cock out slowly, dragging his thickness against your stretched walls, making you feel every inch of him. Without warning, Steve thrust back inside, filling you up with a quick, brutal stroke. Your spine curved and your eyes rolled back in your head as your lips parted in a lusty moan. Distractedly, you were aware of a quick flash of light.

When you settled, as much as you could with his giant cock stuffed so deep in your pussy you felt like you could feel him in your stomach, you looked up at Steve. He wore an eager grin. “See how pretty you look stretched out and cock-drunk for me,” he said, turning the phone so you could see the photo he’d taken.

There you were, and you looked positively debauched. Your legs were spread wide and forced open around Steve’s strong thighs, your pussy stretched wide around his thick cock. He’d caught you at the exact right moment and your body was arched up toward the sky, your tits bared and nipples peaked. But it was your face that really conveyed how much pleasure you were in in that moment—your mouth was slack, your tongue nearly hanging out over your bottom lip and your eyes were rolled back in your head so only the whites were visible. It was easily the most sensual photo that had ever been taken of you and you loved it, your eyes looking at it greedily as your pussy gushed with more arousal.

Too soon, Steve turned the phone back to himself, and you could see the same hunger in his blue gaze as he stared at the photo. He loved it just as much as you did, maybe even more. “Look so hot, angel, such a pretty little fucktoy,” he murmured. Then his gaze fixed on you, spread out beneath him and he tilted his head to the side as if considering something.

You squirmed, wanting him to move, but also wanting to know what he was thinking. Whatever it was, you already knew you’d agree. You’d agree to anything Steve said or asked you to do if it meant he’d fuck you with that big cock of his.

“Should I send this to Bucky, angel?” he asked, and you froze. Steve’s eyes were bright and intense as he watched you for your reaction.

Of all the things you’d thought he might say, that wasn’t one of them. Since entering the woods with Steve, you’d forgotten Bucky even existed and you couldn’t believe you’d considered letting him fuck you instead of your closest guy friend. You felt a little ashamed at how you’d almost thrown yourself at the brown-haired man and you felt your face flush with heat.

“He told me how needy you were acting with him, how you practically humped his leg in the kitchen,” Steve said in a conversational tone and you stared at him hard. For how possessive he’d acted, you expected him to be angry and jealous, but he just seemed amused. He must’ve seen your confusion written all over your face because he grinned and explained. “I know how he looks at you, angel, I know he’d love to get inside your sweet little pussy.” Steve placed his free hand down over your pelvis, the gesture so fucking possessive it took your breath away. “But I also know he wouldn’t touch you without my permission.”

You shivered at the certainty in Steve’s voice, goosebumps rising all over your skin at the implication of his words. Not only had he and his best friend both talked about how much they wanted to fuck you, but Steve had wanted you enough to lay claim to you to his friends. It was in that moment you realized this was far more than a one night stand to Steve and you immediately felt relieved. If he was telling his friends to back off, he wanted more and you decided you were only too happy to give him more.

Steve was grinning down at you as he watched you process what he’d told you, going on when it seemed he had your attention again. “Bucky was nice enough to help me set all this up and get you out here,” Steve explained, gesturing around at the blankets in the woods. “I think he deserves a little thank you, don’t you? Should we show him exactly how much of a needy little slut you are, letting me raw you in the woods?” There was a teasing curve to Steve’s grin, like he didn’t expect you to say yes.

But, for how long you and Steve had been friends, he didn’t know everything about you, and he clearly didn’t anticipate how his words, his suggestion, would make you burn with need. The thought of him telling his friends not to touch you because you were his before he’d even had you was hot enough, but the idea of him rubbing it in Bucky’s face by sending his best friend the photo he’d taken of you fucked out on his cock was even hotter. “Do it,” you said, looking Steve dead in the eye. “This body is yours, Steve, if you want to share it with Bucky, then do it.”

Steve’s face went slack with surprise and it was his turn to freeze. His face was still except for his eyes, which raced around your expression, trying to gauge if you were serious or not. After a moment, as if he came to a decision, he ordered, “Remind me of your safe word, angel.”

You titled your head in confusion but replied obediently. “Sidney.” Then you pressed your lips into a firm line and raised an eyebrow in a challenge.

Leaning down over you, Steve kissed your lips until you relented, melting under him. When he pulled away, he didn’t go far, pressing his forehead to yours and looking you in the eye. “You can use it at any time about anything,” he reminded you. “If you don’t like something I say or something I say I’m going to do, you have to promise me you’ll use it."

Pouting, you said, “I’m not gonna use it, Steve.” When you lifted up, trying to capture his lips in another kiss, he backed off and you whined softly. “Fuck, just send the photo to Bucky,” you muttered exasperatedly, flopping back on the blankets. “I want you to—the thought of him seeing me stuffed full of your cock makes me so wet,” you groaned, your pussy clenching down on his thick length.

Steve’s hips rutted into you reflexively, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to still. “You’re not thinking straight, you’re thinking with your pussy,” he accused through his clenched jaw, the words coming out harsh.

You bucked your hips, fucking yourself on his cock for a few strokes before he settled his weight more firmly on top of you, pinning you to the blankets. “How is this different to me telling you to raw me?” you demanded, getting more and more frustrated with every moment he spent not fucking you. “Sending a pic of me to Bucky is less risky, if you think about it.”

Expression contorting into one of irritation, Steve stared down at you. “You think I’d actually risk knocking you up?” he asked, but didn’t give you time to answer before he went on. “I know you’re on birth control because you complained about it to me—you also told me when you got tested after your last partner and were relieved it came back all good.” His blue eyes were wild with frustration as he looked at you. “I’m your friend, remember?”

Tears swam in your eyes at the realization Steve had been listening to you more closely than you realized. When you grabbed his face and pulled him down for a fierce kiss, he let you. He let you apologize with your lips for a moment before he took over, thrusting his tongue into your mouth and tangling with yours at the same time he rolled his hips against you. You moaned into his mouth, wrenching away to pant at the feel of his thick cock stretching you. “Steve!” you cried on a gasp.

He grinned and kissed you once more before leaning up and grabbing the phone. He held it up to your face and said, “Look at the phone, angel.” When you did, the screen lit up and unlocked. For a stunned second you thought he’d somehow added your face ID to his phone, but then the home screen appeared and you realized it was your phone. Steve had been using your phone the whole time, recording you to your own camera roll. He’d only be able to see the videos and photos again if you sent them to him. Your jaw dropped a little at the realization, your heart warming and clenching in your chest.

Steve didn’t seem to notice your reaction as he navigated to the camera roll. “I’m sending the photo to myself so I can make it my background,” he said, but looked to you, only doing what he said when you nodded. “We’ll talk about Bucky later,” he promised, before tossing the phone down on the blanket next to you and covering you with his body, his cock sinking deeper into your pussy.

“Please, Steve, I need you to fuck me,” you begged, your legs wrapping around his waist as much as possible while you clung to his shoulders, holding him down on top of you.

His hips gave a short thrust and you both groaned. “Fuck, you feel so good on my cock, angel,” he muttered, his hands digging under your body and gripping your ass in his big palms, fingers digging into your soft flesh. “So fucking tight and perfect—like you were made to take my cock.” His hands kneaded your ass as he fucked you, grunting with the effort while you sighed beneath him. When you felt his middle finger press against the tight rosebud of your ass, you jerked a little and he grinned down at you. “You gonna let me fuck this ass one day, angel?”

Again, you marveled at how strange, yet oddly good it felt to feel Steve press against your tight hole. It took you a moment to gather your thoughts enough to speak. “Never done that before,” you confessed, catching his eye and letting him see how wild he made you. “But yes, Steve, I want you to fuck my ass.”

The grin that pulled across Steve’s face was salacious, taking all the heat out of his tone when he tsked at you. “There you go again saying this ass is yours when we both know it belongs to me, don’t we, angel?” He raised his eyebrows and you bit your lip, trying to look chastened when you just wanted to grin right back at him. “I forgive you though,” he said, dropping a kiss on your nose. “Since you’re gonna let me be your first.” He slanted his lips against yours and gave you a deep, heady kiss, that left you dizzy and reeling.

You still hadn’t recovered when Steve was leaning up and dragging his cock free of your pussy. With gentle but strong hands, Steve flipped you over onto your stomach, manhandling you into position, pulling you up onto your knees. Before you even realized what he was doing, Steve had you face down and ass up. In the next moment, he shoved his dick back in your dripping wet slit, making you moan loudly with your cheek pressed into the blankets.

Steve bent over your back and ran his thumb along your lower lip. “Open up, angel,” he murmured. You obeyed immediately, taking his finger into your mouth and swirling your tongue around it, pulling a groan from deep in his chest. “Get it nice and wet,” he urged in a deep rumbling tone. With his chest pressed against your back, you could feel his warmth sinking into your skin even through his t-shirt and the remnants of your dress. “We’ll need to start getting you ready if you’re gonna take my cock anytime soon.”

Excitement had your pussy clenching down on Steve’s cock—you were just as eager as he was. Everything your friend had done to you had felt amazing and you were sure Steve would make stretching out your tight ass feel just as good. Smiling around Steve’s thumb, you did as he said, letting saliva pool in your mouth and using your tongue to get his finger totally wet. All the while, Steve thrust lazily into your cunt, not hard or fast enough to be driving either of you to release, but enough to keep a low heat simmering in your body and lighting up your limbs.

When Steve was satisfied with how wet you’d gotten his thumb, he pulled it out, giving you a smacking kiss on the cheek, and then sat up. “Hold yourself open for me, angel,” he ordered in a gravelly voice, still managing to soften the command with a sweetness that was all Steve. It helped that there was a thread of excitement in his tone that matched the feeling thrumming through your veins.

Reaching around behind you, you grabbed an ass cheek in each hand, spreading yourself obscenely for your friend. Steve’s cock managed to slip into your pussy another little bit, hitting a spot deep inside you that made you shriek into the blankets. With your hands on your ass, the side of your face was smashed into the blankets and you were thankful Steve had piled them thickly enough you didn’t feel any rocks or anything underneath.

“Good girl,” Steve murmured, holding his cock still inside you. Over your shoulder, you heard him spit and a second later felt the warmth of his saliva hitting the crack of your ass, sliding down over your rosebud and to your slit. Steve circled his thumb around your hole, using both of your spit as lubrication to press his finger against you. When the tight ring of muscle didn’t give, Steve murmured in a soothing rumble, “Relax, angel, relax for me, let me in.”

You took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the blankets—they smelled like Steve. Not like the scent of the woods and earth that clung to him tonight, but like clean laundry and fresh air. They smelled like Steve when you were on his couch, perfectly relaxed in the circle of his arms. It was easy to calm yourself when you were surrounded by the comforting smell of your friend, and when he was being so careful with you at the same time he was talking to you and fucking you like a dirty slut. Focusing on your ass, you relaxed yourself, letting your body unclench and open up for him.

Steve pushed the tip of his thumb past the tight ring of muscle, wringing a jagged, broken moan from your lips. Your fingers dug into the soft flesh of your ass so you wouldn’t let go. He didn’t stop to let you get used to the feeling of his thumb breaching your ass, but took his time as he pressed deeper and deeper. He only stopped once his thumb was fully lodged in your hole. His other four fingers splayed across your lower back as he held you possessively, his thumb hooked inside you.

You felt so full, almost overwhelmingly so, and that was just his thumb. It felt good, deliciously dirty even, but with how much a single finger stretched your tiny hole, you had serious concerns about whether Steve would ever be able to fit his cock inside you there. But you didn’t have time to worry about that because Steve pressed his thumb down against the thin membrane separating his finger from his cock, drawing an obscene moan from your mouth.

“Ya like that, angel?” he asked teasingly. His voice was slightly breathless, and you could hear his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, like he was trying to hold himself back. “Like feeling me fill up both these holes?” He pushed deeper with both his cock and thumb at the same time, making you scream at the feel of both intrusions hitting as deep as they could go.

“Yes, god Steve, fuck, so good,” you babbled, your mind going blank at the feel of Steve inside your pussy and ass. It was all you could do to arch your back and hold yourself spread open for him, eager to feel everything he could give you. “I can’t—I didn’t know—fuck, please give it to me, Steve, please, I need—fuck me, please,” you begged, almost incoherent on his cock and finger. The way he filled you up was almost too much, more than you’d ever felt before with another partner or yourself, but the edge he forced you to walk felt so fucking good. You couldn’t believe you’d misjudged Steve so badly, that you’d thought he was too much of a gentleman to give you the rough and dirty sex you craved, but he was exactly who you needed.

A dark chuckle rumbled up in Steve’s chest and poured past his lips, skating over your skin like the ghost of a caress. The sound was full of sin and promise and a little bit of awe, making you clench down on him with both holes. “And to think,” he began, pulling his cock out of your pussy oh so slowly to make sure you could feel how much bigger he felt with his thumb in your ass. “You scoffed at the thought of me being able to fuck you like the filthy little slut you are."

“Wh-what?” you mumbled. For one impossible second, you wondered if he’d somehow read your thoughts. The way he’d read your body all night and given you exactly what you needed made it seem kind of possible, though even your lust-drunk mind managed to bury that preposterous thought. You worried you’d accidentally spoken out loud, but it turned out it wasn’t either of those things.

“I heard you, angel,” Steve bit out in a gravelly tone, frustration lacing his deep voice. “I heard you on the phone with your friends when you were at my place last week,” he explained. “You told them you didn’t think I could fuck you like a slut, but I knew you were wrong.” He punctuated his last word by thrusting back inside your pussy, making you cry out and jerk forward on your knees. Steve hauled you back against him with a firm grip, driving himself so deep you could’ve sworn you could feel him in your throat.

You felt silly for a second. Of course he’d overheard you, you hadn’t been as sneaky as you could’ve been. If you were honest with yourself, you’d hoped he would overhear and do something about it. Even if you hadn’t been actively trying to tempt Steve with your words, a small part of you had hoped to elicit a reaction. It turned out it had worked, it’d just taken Steve a little longer—and a pair of hot Halloween costumes—to prove you wrong.

“So I figured,” Steve went on when you didn’t respond, setting a furious pace with his hips thrusting his cock into your needy pussy. Your moans were so loud and uninhibited, you almost didn’t hear what he said next. “Halloween is the perfect time for tricks, and I’ve earned a treat, don’t you think?” Steve gripped your hair with his free hand, yanking your head back.

With your hands still on your ass, you were completely at his mercy, and it felt fucking divine. All you could do was take Steve’s cock and listen to his words, and what he said next only drove your need to new heights.

“I’ve been such a good friend to you, angel, I deserve a little thank you—I deserve this,” he growled, shoving his big dick into your slick hole with a particularly rough thrust, making you shriek at the pleasure and pain of feeling him so deep. “Look at you,” he practically cooed. “Bent over for me, taking my cock and thumb in these tight little holes,” he said, pulling his thumb out and shoving it deep at the same time he thrust his cock inside. Your eyes rolled back in your head and your mouth opened on a strangled scream. “And you’re enjoying it just as much as I am, like a good little slut.” He repeated the movement of thrusting both his thumb and cock into your holes, driving you wild with the sensations. “My good little slut.”

Your heart thumped at the possessiveness in Steve’s voice, but you didn’t have time to think about how far gone you already were for your friend, not when Steve was treating you like his own personal fucktoy and your mind was overloaded with pleasure. “Fuck, Steve fuck,” you babbled. His words made you so hot and you wanted to talk dirty to him right back. “You do deserve this,” you said between gasping moans. “You were so good to me, and I was so wrong thinking someone else could give me what I needed.” On one particularly brutal thrust, you let out a sob of pleasure, hardly aware of what you were saying, just knowing it felt right. “But they can’t, you’re the only one who deserves these holes—only you, Steve, only you!”

“That’s fucking right,” he growled, holding his thumb deep in your ass as his cock plunged into your pussy faster and faster. “You’ll never stick me in the friendzone again, will you angel?”

“Oh god, no, never,” you answered immediately, not even able to fathom going back to just being friends with Steve. If you had to fall asleep in his arms one more time without getting his cock deep in your cunt, you didn’t know what you’d do. You’d have to take matters into your own hands because now that you’d had his cock, you couldn’t imagine giving it up.

“You’re mine, isn’t that right, angel?” Steve bit out through gritted teeth as he fucked you. He was breathing heavily but his pace never slowed and you didn’t know how much more you could take, he was pushing you closer and closer to the edge with every thrust. “‘Property of Steve Rogers’?”

“Ye-es,” you agreed on a broken moan, needing to swallow past your dry, scratchy throat before you could say more. “Yours, Steve, tattoo it on my pussy so I’ll never forget,” you babbled, barely caring about what you were agreeing to, just knowing the dirty words made you hotter. “Please, Steve, you own me, I belong to you.”

“That’s my fucking girl,” Steve praised in a ragged voice. He drilled his cock into you fast and rough, his thumb still lodged as deep in your ass as it could go. “You’re mine and I can do whatever I want with your holes—maybe share you with Bucky, would you like that, angel?”

The thought of Steve and his best friend both fucking you at the same time nearly pushed you over the edge, but you held off, wanting to last as long as possible. You felt so good, you just wanted it to last forever. But Steve had burned into your brain the idea of being filled up by more than just Steve’s cock and thumb and it was all you could think about. “God, yes, yes, wanna be filled by two cocks,” you groaned, admitting your fantasy all too easily to your friend.

Steve only chuckled and the sound was pure sin. His hand gripping your hair pulled you back up from where you’d slumped down on the blankets so you were dangling over the soft surface. “Such a greedy little fucktoy, angel,” he admonished good-naturedly, the breathlessness in his voice the only indication of how your body and words were affecting him. But Steve proved once again he was exactly what you needed with his next filthy suggestion. “What if we ignored your sweet pussy, angel, what if I filled your ass while Bucky fucked your throat—would you still be just as eager for two cocks?”

His words only made you gush more, your wetness dripping down his cock to his balls as he pounded into you. “Yes,” you answered on a gasp. You were so close, you were pretty sure you’d agree to anything because everything Steve said sounded good to you. “Use any holes you want, just use me, fuck me, please, Steve,” you bit out around gasps and loud moans.

“Rub your clit,” Steve ordered in a jagged tone. “Rub your little clit so I can feel you come all over my cock like the filthy fucking slut you are.”

Immediately, you let go of your ass with one hand, eagerly sliding it around to your front to do as Steve said. You pressed tight little circles into your clit and, with how close to the edge you already were, it didn’t take long for the pleasure to push you right up to the precipice of your release. But it wasn’t until Steve growled out his next words that you fell over the edge.

“Come for me, angel, come for me,” he urged. His voice was low and sweet, with a hint of desperation that almost made it sound like he was begging. It was that thrum of neediness in your friend’s voice that did you in.

After everything Steve had said and done to you, his big cock pummeling your cunt and his thumb stretching out your ass, while he ordered you to rub your clit and practically begged you to come for him, it was all too much for you to take. You could feel your orgasm swell like a tidal wave inside you and, for just a second, you worried about the devastation it would have on your body, heart and soul. Then, with one last driving thrust of Steve’s cock, he sent you careening over the edge.

You came with a scream, the sound piercingly loud, splitting open the quiet of the woods and leaving your throat feeling raw. The pleasure swept over you, wiping away everything else until you didn’t know where you ended and Steve began. For a brief moment, it felt like you were floating in a sea of pleasure, weightless and surrounded by it. But then you crashed back into your body and you knew you’d never be the same, your arms and legs shaking hard as wave after wave of pleasure flowed through your limbs.

“Fuck, gripping me so tight, angel, ‘m gonna come,” Steve gritted out through clenched teeth, still thrusting into your spasming pussy, fucking you through your orgasm and drawing it out. “You feel so good coming on my cock.” Steve groaned, muttering, “Fuck, fuck.” His hips rutted against you in short, wild thrusts as he chased his own release, and he wasn’t far behind you. “Take my come, angel, take it—take it,” he demanded and with one last thrust, he shoved his cock deep in your pussy and came.

Steve let out a sound that was so animalistic, you didn’t know if you could call it a groan, but it was so dirty, it made your pussy clench down on his cock. Then you could feel his dick twitch in your cunt, his load spilling into you and filling you with warmth. You moaned, pushing back on his cock and trying to take him deeper, the feel of him pulsing deep inside your core feeding the delicious aftershocks of your own release. For long moments, you and Steve hung suspended together in your pleasure, riding out your orgasms together while his come leaked from your pussy and dripped down to the blankets beneath you.

Gently, Steve disentangled his hand from your hair, guiding your head down to the blankets. With the same tender care, he eased his thumb from your tight behind and pulled his cock out of your still fluttering channel. Before you could fall over, unable to hold yourself up with how boneless and satiated you felt, Steve helped you roll onto your side. He laid down behind you, wrapping his arms around you and gathering you against his chest while you curled up in his arms. He held you tightly as you both calmed down.

The night had turned a little chilly but you felt plenty warm in Steve’s arms. Still, you couldn’t relax fully when everything that had happened and been said between you and your friend kept replaying in your mind. “Steve?” you started in a tentative voice. Without being able to see his face, you didn’t know exactly how he felt about everything, but you needed to know. “If we’re not just friends anymore, what are we?”

Steve squeezed you tight with his arms, his faced buried in your neck. “Fuck, angel,” he mumbled on a deep exhale, his voice a little muffled, but you still heard him loud and clear. “I’m trying really hard not to beg you to marry me over here.”

Your heart surged with happiness and you giggled, the sound light as air. “I might say yes,” you whispered, your hands clinging to his arms around you like you worried he’d try to escape after your admission.

But Steve didn’t try to pull away, he only pressed his chest closer against your back, groaning loudly like you were killing him. “Don’t fucking say that if you don’t mean it, angel,” he warned.

Laughing so much your shoulders shook, you could feel the answering smile on Steve’s lips when he pressed a kiss to your neck. “I do seem to have a problem with agreeing to anything you want when you’re buried inside me, don’t I?” you asked teasingly.

“Mhmm,” Steve agreed with a rumbling sound, trailing little kisses up your neck until his mouth was right next to your ear. “Don’t worry, angel, I won’t hold you to any of those promises,” he assured you, his voice low and thrumming with happiness.

You hummed happily, the corners of your mouth pulling up in an evil grin as you said, “I don’t know, I think I might still get that ‘property of Steve Rogers’ tattoo.”

Steve froze, his mouth pressed against the underside of your jaw mid-kiss. Then he nipped at your skin, making you giggle. He shifted until you were on your back and he hovered over you, his blue eyes shining bright and excitedly in the moonlight. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it, angel,” he warned again, his expression reluctant like he was too nervous to hope you were being serious.

Digging your hands into his soft blond hair, you pulled him down to you for a kiss. It started soft and sweet, but quickly turned filthy when Steve licked into your mouth, his tongue twining with yours. He kissed you possessively and left you gasping for air when he pulled away. His blue eyes were still guarded, and you wanted to reassure him. Looking him directly in the eye, you said, “You’re it for me, Steve, I’m yours for as long as you’ll have me.”

He stared at you for a long moment, like he was trying to make sure you weren’t just talking in the heat of the moment. But when you looked at him with all the seriousness of how you felt, a smile dawned over his face, his expression brightening as if he were lit from the inside. “Thank fuck,” he groaned, ducking down for another kiss. You giggled against his lips, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and your legs around his waist.

Steve rolled you both onto your sides while you made out on the blankets. When he pulled back, he looked at you fondly, stroking his hand down your face.

“You’re mine, too, right?” you asked with a soft smile. You already knew he was, but you wanted to hear him say it.

He smiled right back at you, a little bit of self-deprecation in his expression. “Angel, I’ve been yours since the first time you fell asleep in my arms.” He sighed heavily. “I liked being your friend, it would’ve been enough for me, really, but I had to know.”

When you kissed him, your teeth clacked against his because you both couldn’t stop smiling. Laughing, you stared at him with all the adoration you felt clear in your eyes.

“Does this mean you’re not angry about the trick I played?” Steve asked, a little hesitantly, as he trailed a finger over your lower lip. At your confused look, he explained. “With the Ghostface mask.”

Realization hit you and for a second you didn’t understand why you might be angry about that. But then, of course, you understood that he’d been pretending to be a stranger when he’d found you on the dance floor. Truthfully, though, you were glad it was Steve, and you told him as much. “No, if I’m honest, I wanted it to be you,” you confessed. 

He looked surprised for a moment before his mouth widened into a happy grin. He pulled you tight against his chest, tucking your head under his chin. You felt his laugh rumble in his chest before you heard it. “Good, because I’ve got some ideas about some other tricks to play on you—some that might involve Bucky if you were serious about that.”

Heat sizzled through your core, your clit pulsing at the suggestion, and your hips wiggled against Steve. “I was serious if you were,” you said, a bit of a challenge in your tone. You could hear the grin in Steve’s voice when he replied.

“Oh I was,” he assured you in a darkly pleased voice. “Now that you’re mine, I’ll give you plenty of tricks and treats, angel,” he promised. You hummed happily cuddling into Steve’s chest, feeling the warmth of him soak into your skin.

After a little while, though, the cold October night penetrated the happy little bubble you and Steve had created and you shivered hard in his arms. Steve dropped a kiss to the crown of your head and then he was pulling you up. He wrapped you in the blanket from the top of the pile, pulling it tight around your shoulders and letting it hang down to your feet. He typed out a quick text to Bucky to ask his friend to gather up the rest of the blankets and store them in Sam’s garage.

Steve led you through the woods, not back the way you’d come but in a different direction, until you broke through the tree line and onto one of the roads that ran past Sam’s neighborhood. Steve’s car was a little ways away and he led you to it, tucking you into the passenger seat before getting in himself. He handed you your phone from his pocket, and you texted your friends that you were going home with him. Before they could even respond, you promised to fill them in later, then shut your phone off.

You fell asleep on the drive back to Steve’s apartment and only roused when he helped you out of the car. He was kind and patient with you as he helped you undress and clean up, both of you taking a quick shower. Then he gave you one of his shirts to wear and tucked you into his bed before sliding in behind you. Steve’s arms wrapped around you and you could feel and smell him everywhere. You fell asleep with a smile on your lips, safe and sound and happy in the arms of your friend, your man, Steve Rogers.

[danzer8705]

THIS WAS SO HOT! 🔥🔥🔥

the right girl

pairings: dbf!andy barber x fem!reader

summary: you're stuck in a motel room with only one bed with your dad's best friend andy barber and you can't sleep because you can't stop thinking about what it would feel like to touch him... thankfully for you, andy doesn't plan on keeping his hands to himself.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), age gap (reader is late 20s/early 30s, andy is late 30s/early 40s), smut, fingering (f receiving), nipple play, edging, finger sucking, daddy kink, praise kink, light degradation, teasing, dirty talk, dumbification, anal play, p in v sex, unprotected sex, pet names (mostly sweetheart and honey), aftercare

word count: 8.3k

a/n: i spun the wheels from @georgiapeach30513's moodboard event and got andy barber, dark, only one bed and edging and the idea for this fic popped into my head so i figured i'd write it 🤷🏼‍♀️ it ended up not being very dark but maybe soft!dark-ish if you squint?? i also did make a full moodboard for this fic, which i'll post later or tomorrow. i haven't decided if i'm gonna turn this into a series, but i kinda wanna follow it up with some smutty drabbles, so if anyone has anything they'd like to see with these two, my inbox is open 😁 otherwise, please enjoy!!

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“You’re squirming a lot over there, sweetheart,” Andy Barber said, his voice low and deep, raspy with almost-sleep as it floated to you from the other side of the bed in the dark motel room. There was a pillow separating your body from your dad’s best friend, but it apparently wasn’t going to save him from all your sleepless tossing and turning. It had been meant to stop you from thinking about him, so close but so untouchable, but it hadn’t saved you either.

Guilt and a little bit of shame slithered down into your gut as you whispered a soft, “Sorry, Mr. Barber.” Andy was a kind, steady man, and you felt awful for keeping him awake, especially when the reason was your tiny little crush on your dad’s friend. And the the big, overwhelming thoughts about what he was hiding beneath the lounge pants he’d worn to bed. You couldn’t stop thinking about reaching over the pillow and sliding your hand beneath the waist of his pants, feeling him in your hand. 

Blowing out a quiet, frustrated breath, you rolled onto your back as silently as possible and stayed as still as you could, only your chest rising and falling as you stared up at the ceiling.

You’d known Andy Barber for a number of years, and through almost all of that time, you’d thought of him as nothing more than a polite, decent, almost boring, man. He was a well-respected lawyer your dad had met shortly after you’d graduated from college when he’d needed help with some legal matters. You didn’t know what they were exactly, you’d been wrapped up in your first job out of school—it had been a long, arduous process to find work in your field and you were focused on impressing your colleagues. But you knew your dad had gotten close with Andy because your parents had started inviting him to all their summer barbecues and their yearly holiday party, where you’d met him.

You didn’t know much about Andy besides the fact that he was a lawyer and he was single. At almost every party, you overheard one of your dad’s other friends ask him when he was going to settle down, get a wife and have a kid. You’d hear Andy laugh affably, a charming smile gracing his bearded face as he’d say, “I’m just waiting for the right girl.” 

You’d never given much thought to who that girl might be, but as you lay in bed beside Andy, a pillow separating your bodies, you found yourself jealous of her. She wouldn’t need any kind of barrier between her and Andy’s big, strong body. She wouldn’t have any reasons not to cuddle up to the broad-shouldered lawyer and press her face into his neck, feeling the soft rasp of his beard against her cheek. Your body burned with jealousy over a completely fictional woman, which only made you feel worse.

The only thing that stopped you from wishing any ill will against Andy’s future wife was the knowledge that sometimes you’d catch him looking at you across your parents backyard or their living room. His blue eyes would be darkened, an intensity to them that would always make you squirm a little, though not unpleasantly. There’d be a look in his gaze, something that made your heart pang with yearning. But then the look would vanish and Andy would give you a friendly, benign smile and nod his head before looking away, making you question whether the look had ever been there at all.

You’d known since you met him that Andy Barber was attractive. With his brown hair swept back from his handsome face, neatly trimmed beard bracketing soft lips and those brilliant blue eyes, Andy was one of the hottest men you’d ever met. Even if he was your dad’s best friend. But he made it easy to never think of him as anything other than Mr. Barber. He’d never made you feel uncomfortable or given you too much attention. He’d greet you with a kind smile and make small talk, ask you about your job and, later, your career.

Maybe, if you were honest with yourself, you’d had a tiny little crush on Andy for a long while, though you couldn’t say when it had formed. You’d always ignored it, told yourself he was a boring, older man. You couldn’t possibly be interested in a man who hung around your dad, talking about their work and golf and other boring things. You couldn’t possibly be interested in a man who was so much older than you, even if he was at least a decade younger than your dad. 

You’d done a good job of ignoring that tiny little crush, but then you’d gotten into Andy’s car earlier that evening, and everything had changed for you. It was the first time you’d ever spent any time alone with Andy Barber, and you got to see him outside of one of your parents parties, away from your dad and the golf talk. It had changed the way you saw him, turning him into a man who made you squirm and have dirty thoughts while you were meant to be falling asleep.

Your parents were staying for the month of August at their shore house like they did every summer, and they’d insisted you take a week vacation to visit them. Normally, you’d rent a car and drive down from the city, but you had to work late that evening and your mother didn’t want you driving alone after dark. It just so happened that Andy, who also had an apartment in the city, had been invited as well, and your father coordinated with him to pick you up from your place so you could drive down together.

Once Andy had helped load your bags into his car, he held the passenger door open for you, closing it softly after you’d settled into the seat. You couldn’t help but admire him as he walked around the front of the car, his white button down shirt was open at the collar, showing off just a peak at some chest hair, and the sleeves were rolled up to his elbow, revealing his strong, tanned forearms. You didn’t know what it was about men’s forearms, but just the sight of Andy’s made a gentle warmth bloom in your core. It only worsened when he slid into the car and his cologne surrounded you, blanketing you in his scent, warm amber and something spicy. 

Already flustered by the overwhelming urge to crawl across the car and curl up in Andy’s lap, you pulled out your phone and texted a friend about plans when you were back in the city. You hoped Andy wouldn’t notice your awkwardness, and he didn’t seem to as he pulled into traffic, maneuvering the car through the narrow Brooklyn streets near your apartment. But then he cleared his throat and got your attention. 

“Ah, I have one rule in the car,” Andy said, dragging your attention from your screen. You glanced up at him and found him cutting quick looks at you out of the corner of his eye, an apologetic half-smile on his face. “No phones, please, sweetheart—makes me feel like a chauffeur.”

Your face warmed at the nickname, even though you were certain Andy didn’t mean anything by it, and stowed your phone away. “Sorry, Mr. Barber,” you murmured, then asked him about his day.

With nothing else to look at, your eyes kept drifting back to Andy, cataloguing things about the man you hadn’t allowed yourself to notice before, like the way his big hands gripped the steering wheel, the muscles in his forearms shifting as he turned. The heat in your center slowly grew as you watched Andy, asking questions as he told you stories about the law firm where he worked. Alone in the car together, you could pretend you and Andy were just two adults who were friendly—there was no reason you couldn’t look at him and wonder it’d be like to touch him, to feel his hands on your body.

Not long after you’d left the city, you began to fantasize about Andy stopping the car suddenly, certain his arm would reach out and brace across your front to keep you pinned safely to your seat. You imagined his big hand falling to your leg, the warmth of his hand resting on your thigh just beneath the hem of your shorts. Your fantasies had you squirming slightly in your seat, even as you tried to remain unaffected by Andy’s presence, his charming smiles sending your heart fluttering. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice, and just kept you engaged in conversation, turning it to your day and your job.

It had already been pretty late when Andy picked you up, and you’d only been on the road an hour when he’d started yawning. He’d suggested stopping at a motel for the night, and you’d agreed, knowing your parents were rather you were both safe than trying to drive while tired. Since it was summer and you were on a well-known route to the shore, it took a little while to find a place with any vacancies, which was how you’d ended up in a single motel room that had only one bed.

“What’s keeping you awake?” Andy asked, after you were both silent for a few moments, drawing you out of your thoughts. His voice was rumbling and deep, making you want to squirm some more, and press your thighs together against the dull ache between your thighs. But you didn’t move, only stayed on your back and kept your eyes on the popcorn ceiling of the motel room.

“I don’t know,” you whispered, a hint of a whine in your tone. You hoped you didn’t sound as guilty for lying as you thought you did. “I just can’t sleep.” Even in the dark, you could hear the pout in your voice and you mentally slapped yourself for sounding just a little bit flirty. The freedom of the car was gone and the knowledge of who exactly Andy was to you weighed heavily even though you couldn’t turn off the fantasies of touching him. You reminded yourself Andy was your dad’s best friend and you couldn’t flirt with him, no matter how hot you thought he was.

With a heavy sigh, Andy pushed himself up until he was leaning against the backboard of the bed. You turned your head to look at him, your gaze catching on the way his t-shirt was rumpled around his chest and biceps. It looked so soft, you wanted to lay your head on his chest and curl around his body. You looked away quickly, afraid he’d see the desire on your face in the soft light filtering in through the large window next to the motel room door.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” Andy murmured, scooping you up from your side of the bed and hauling you across the pillow divider. The sheets twisted around your feet as Andy set you between his legs, his thick thighs bracketing your ass while he urged you to lean back on his chest, your ass on his lap. Your mind short-circuited at the knowledge Andy was touching you, and you let him gently manhandle you into settling against his body.

With the blankets pushed down around your legs, you realized how underdressed you were compared to Andy. You hadn’t expected to be sharing a bed with anyone when you’d packed them, so you were wearing only some skimpy shorts and a matching cropped tank top. Your nipples were pebbled beneath your top, and you weren’t sure if it was the air conditioner in the room or your desire, but you crossed your arms loosely over your chest, trying to hide your body’s reaction anyway. 

“What’re you doing, Mr. Barber?” you asked in a whisper, a little bit of teasing in your tone. You wanted so badly to squirm in his lap and feel if he would respond to you, but you weren’t sure if he’d be OK with that. You still thought he probably wasn’t making a move, no matter that him pulling you into his lap in the middle of the night might be a little inappropriate. 

Andy’s hands stroked down over your arms, skimming along your hips and over the tops of your thighs. You sucked in a breath when his warm palms came into contact with your bare skin, enjoying the feel far too much. “Just trying to help you relax, sweetheart,” he said innocently, his hands moving back up your body, his touch a little firmer. When he got to your upper arms, he skimmed one hand up to the front of your throat and tipped your chin back so your head rested against his shoulder. “Can you do that for me, sweetheart—can you relax?” His hands stroked back down your body, lightly massaging your muscles.

You let out a soft contented sigh as you calmed little by little. “I think I can do that,” you said, your voice barely a whisper. With the air conditioner running, you weren’t sure how Andy heard you, but you knew he did because a pleased hum rumbled in his chest. His hands felt so good on your body, you didn’t think to question whether what he was doing was appropriate from someone who was your dad’s best friend. 

“It’s been a while since you’ve had a boyfriend, isn’t that right, sweetheart?” Andy asked in a low, quiet voice, his lips next to your ear. His hands were touching you more firmly, almost groping as they stroked over your arms and legs, venturing to your hips and waist. His palm slid over your stomach in a way that had you letting out a shuddering sigh. 

You were so lulled by his hands, and the heat they were stirring in your core, that it took you a moment to catch up with Andy’s change of subject. “Y-yeah,” you answered on a soft, breathy whisper. It was the first time Andy had ever asked you about your love life, and you were a little surprised he seemed to know you’d dated at all. But he was right, it had been a long while. “Not for a couple years,” you said. 

“Oh, honey,” Andy murmured sympathetically. His beard rasped over the skin of your cheek as he nuzzled the side of your face. You shivered in his arms and another pleased sound rumbled in his chest. “That’s too long for a pretty girl like you to go without a boyfriend,” he said in your ear, the words sinking into your mind. “You need a man in your life to take care of you.”

Andy’s touch was getting firmer, his hands groping your soft flesh in an almost possessive manner, which was having an effect on your body. The heat in your core was burning hotter, and you could feel yourself starting to get wet. You knew you’d crossed a line with Andy, though you couldn’t be certain exactly when it had happened. Especially when you were trying to focus on the conversation he insisted on having. 

“I can take care of myself,” you said as indignantly as you could manage, thinking Andy was talking about your financial security. You couldn’t fathom a double meaning to his words in that moment, not when your focus was split by the trickle of your arousal sliding down your slit, making you squirm on Andy’s lap. You bit back a gasp when you felt his cock twitch against your ass. 

“Mm, I know, honey, I know,” Andy rumbled, his hands rubbing up and down your thighs, over your hips and belly. His thumbs dragged closer to your center, but didn’t touch you there yet. “You’re a strong, independent woman,” he said, his voice warm like he appreciated those qualities in you. You sighed happily at his praise and turned your face to hide a dreamy smile against his neck “You’ve always been so impressive, sweetheart.” He brushed a kiss to your cheek, tickling you with his beard and making you giggle softly. 

You were so wrapped up in Andy’s praise, you barely noticed him moving your legs, lifting first one, then the other, on top of his. Your thighs spread a little, which felt dirty enough while you were sat in the lap of the older man, but then Andy began to slide his legs out, pulling you open wider. You were so pliant and turned on, you were little more than a limp, needy mess on Andy’s lap, and all you could do was watch while he spread you open for him, his hands never ceasing to stroke and caress your thighs.

Your skimpy little shorts had ridden up, the center hugging your mound and pressing your panties against your wet slit. You were a little stunned at how fast—how easily Andy had gone from seeming like a respectable man who’d never make a move on you, to the man who now held you open for him. Your lulled mind was struggling to catch up, but with Andy’s fingers stroking closer and closer to your dripping center, you had no desire to protest what he was doing to you.

“If it’s been years since you’ve had a boyfriend, I bet your sweet cunt is feeling a little neglected,” Andy said, his voice deep and dark, a hunger lacing his tone you’d never heard before—but you liked it. His hands stopped on your upper thighs, his thumbs tracing along the edge of your shorts, digging into the creases where your thighs met your core. “That’s why you were squirming so much, isn’t it, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice rumbling in your ear. “Your needy pussy wouldn’t let you sleep when you were laying so close to a man you knew would take good care of you, isn’t that right?”

Your head was spinning as you tried to reconcile the friendly, charming and affable Andy Barber with the man at your back who spoke such filthy words. You never would’ve suspected the upstanding lawyer could ask you such a dirty question, but you couldn’t deny how much it turned you on. You’d been so restless and needy it had kept Andy awake—and instead of getting angry, he seemed more than happy to take care of you. The only thing you could think to do was repay him with honesty.

“Oh god, yes,” you said on a gasp. Your hips jerked as his fingers continued to tease you, sweeping just beneath the edge of your shorts, but not moving close enough to touch you where you needed him. They pressed just a tiny bit closer and you writhed against his hardening cock. “Yes, Mr. Barber,” you cried softly.

“Don’t need to be so formal when you’re squirming on my lap, sweetheart," Andy murmured in your ear, laughter in his tone. You could feel the corner of his smile against your cheek, which only drove you wilder. His thumbs swept closer to your aching slit, digging beneath your panties and shorts. But he got your full attention with his next words. “I’d rather you call me daddy.” 

That word sent a lightning bolt of arousal through your body, leaving scorching desire in its wake. You reached your hands up and dug them into Andy’s hair, your back arching as you put yourself even more on display for the filthy older man who had you soaking and ready to beg for him. 

“Daddy,” you gasped, trying out the word. You loved the way it felt on your tongue, how perfect it felt to call Andy that. You tilted your head back, getting your mouth as close to his ear as you could manage while you whined and writhed in his lap, feeling his cock twitch and harden further against your ass. “Daddy, please!”

“I’ve barely touched you and you’re so needy, honey,” Andy cooed, his tone dripping with teasing chastisement. “Were you laying over there imagining this? Imagining me touching you? Tell daddy, and I’ll pet this pretty little clit of yours,” he urged in a soft, almost hypnotic voice, his finger teasing around your aching bundle of nerves without touching it.

“No, daddy,” you whimpered, starting to tremble with need. You weren’t protesting, but answering his question. Even still, Andy paused his hands, his breath rasping harshly in your ear while he waited for you to give him some kind of sign you still wanted him to touch you.

For a brief time, you both hung there, suspended in the moment. Your fingers clung to the back of Andy’s head, playing with the short hair at the nape of his neck. You couldn’t get over the sight of his hands on your body, the sheets of the motel bed rumpled around your spread legs and the soft neon light from outside filtering in through the blinds on the window. It looked so perfectly debauched, and you so desperately wanted more—wanted him to touch you properly. So you answered him properly, admitting to your dirty fantasies. 

“I was thinking about touching you,” you confessed in a hushed whisper, your words spilling into the imperfect darkness of the motel room. Andy let out a harsh breath of relief, but you went on. “About curling up against you and letting my hand reach into your pants,” you broke off on a gasp when Andy’s finger lightly flicked over your clit. It sent an electric shot of pleasure straight to your core, and you could feel yourself leaking more, your arousal trailing down to your puckered hole. You went on, hoping he’d continue to touch you if you did. “I couldn’t stop thinking about feeling you, daddy,” you said in a rush, “About taking you in my hand and stroking you.”

“That’s my girl,” Andy rumbled, affection in his tone. The tip of his finger teased your clit with light touches, never giving you the firm stroking you so badly needed. “You’re a precious, obedient little slut who needs daddy to take care of her, isn’t that right, honey?” Andy asked, his fingers swiping through your folds and spreading your wetness around, making a mess of you. You nodded in answer to his question, and he went on. “I always knew there was a perfect little slut hiding under all your good girl sweetness,” he murmured in your ear. “Knew you’d be wet and willing for me if I just got my hands on your sweet little cunt.” 

Your head spun even more at the implication of his words, that he’d been thinking about touching you a lot longer than you’d allowed yourself to think about touching him. The realization only made you hotter. “H-how long,” you started to ask, needing to stop and swallow against your dry throat. You were gasping for air while he ruthlessly teased your clit with gentle flicks, but you pushed the words past your parted lips. “How long have you thought about touching me?” you asked breathlessly. “How long have you wanted to to turn your best friend’s daughter into a writhing, desperate little slut?” 

Andy sucked in a harsh breath, like he hadn’t expected you to ask him such a dirty question. His free hand came up to your face and he turned you to look at him. A breath caught in your throat at the sight of his handsome face so unraveled with hunger—all for you. 

Andy’s eyes raked over your expression, like he was searching for something. You let him see how much you wanted him, how depthless your own hunger was for him and his touch. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and you only had a brief moment to appreciate it before he was ducking down, capturing your lips in a kiss.

Fireworks exploded behind your eyes at the first brush of his lips, and again when he pressed his mouth more firmly against yours. You sighed contentedly at the soft firmness of his kiss, giving Andy the room to deepen it, sliding his tongue between your lips and taking possession of your mouth. He kissed you harder, like he wanted to fuse his body to yours at the mouth, and you returned his fervor. Your nails raked through Andy’s beard, scratching lightly at the skin beneath and dragging a happy groan from him. 

When Andy finally pulled away, he was breathing heavy, his forehead pressed to yours as you both caught your breath. A smile danced on your lips and he gave you one last searing kiss, swallowing your surprised gasp and kissing you until you were dazed from the feel of him. 

“Christ,” Andy rasped once he’d pressed a final kiss to your lips. “Too fucking long,” he said, picking up the conversation where you’d left off. At the same moment, he pinched your clit between two fingers, making you shout, your body jerking hard enough he had to clamp his other arm around your waist to keep you on his lap. He held you pinned to him so his fingers could continue their exploration of your pussy. “You were only a couple of years out of college when I first thought about touching you like this,” Andy confessed, pressing one of his thick fingers into your pussy. He pushed inside you so slowly, your breath burned in your lungs from holding it. “You wore that sweet little sundress to your parents’ Memorial Day barbecue, the one with the daisies on it.” 

His finger was buried inside you to the knuckle and it took you a moment to recall the party he was talking about, but you finally did. “I remember,” you said on a gasp. It was a couple years ago, but you recalled the cotton sundress with a daisy pattern. It had been rather short, but you’d felt so pretty in it. “Didn’t know you noticed,” you said in a breathy voice.

“How could I not,” Andy rumbled, dragging his finger from your hole before plunging back inside just as slowly. “You looked like the sweetest angel in that dress, and all I wanted to do was shove my hand up your skirt and feel your soft cunt,” he went on, fucking you with his finger in torturously slow strokes that had you gasping for air. “I couldn’t stop thinking about bending you over, pushing your dress up and burying my cock in your tight, warm hole.”

“I had no idea you thought about me like that,” you admitted, watching Andy’s big hand move beneath your shorts. It was such an erotic sight, you could feel yourself getting wetter just from looking at it. Andy used your added arousal to slide his finger in and out of you.

“Of course you didn’t, sweetheart,” Andy murmured, adding a second finger to your pussy. You let out a cry of pleasure when he pushed both deep inside you, spreading them in your tight hole to stretch you. “Couldn’t have your father knowing I was thinking about his daughter like that,” he said distractedly, almost like he was talking to himself. “Couldn’t let anyone know that the whole time I was at those parties, I was thinking about all ways I wanted to fuck you.”

“Tell me,” you pleaded on a sharp inhale, turning your head slightly so you could catch Andy’s eye. His gaze was darkened and hungry and it made your stomach bottom out even as you gushed harder around his fingers. “Tell me what you thought about doing to me, please, daddy,” you begged in your sweetest voice.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Andy bit out through clenched teeth, closing his eyes briefly as his fingers stilled inside you. 

He took a deep breath as if collecting himself, and when he opened his eyes again, they were fathomless pits of desire. His mouth was pressed into a determined line as he added a third finger to your pussy, fucking you slowly while you gasped and squirmed on his lap, your hips canting to give him a better angle.

“One time when you were eating an ice pop at one of those barbecues, all I could think about was pushing you to your knees in the grass and shoving my cock in your mouth,” Andy admitted, his fingerfucking picking up the pace gradually as he spoke, like he couldn’t help himself. “I wanted to see you lick and suck on my cock the same way you did that popsicle.”

You didn’t remember the exact party he was talking about, but it was easy to imagine the scenario he conjured. You pictured yourself on your knees in front of Andy and you wanted it desperately—you wanted to taste him so badly, drool began to pool in your mouth. But, instead of voicing your need, all you could manage was a gasp and a moan, mumbling, “Oh god, daddy,” as he fucked you with his thick fingers. 

“And then there was that time your friend tickled you at a Christmas party and you squealed,” Andy went on, blowing out a harsh breath after that last word. “Jesus, fuck, it got me so hard,” he confessed, his fingers driving into you harder. When he stopped speaking for a moment, you could hear the light smacking of his palm against your soaking wet folds, which dragged a filthy moan from your lips. “I knew you’d squeal exactly like that if I pushed into your ass and stretched you out on my fat cock.” He punctuated his point by spreading his fingers as much as he was able, stretching your pussy and making you cry out, your hips jerking from the ruthless pleasure he delivered. 

The relentless drive Andy’s fingers in your pussy and his filthy words had you fast approaching your release. “Daddy,” you cried on a gasp, your hips rocking against his thrusting hand. “Daddy, I’m gonna come.” You tilted your head back against Andy’s shoulder, one of your hands dug into his hair while the other gripped the arm he still had banded around your chest. You needed something to hold on to while he drove your pleasure higher and higher.

But before you could tip over the edge, Andy wrenched his hand out of your shorts, his fingers leaving you wet and wanting. You could feel your pussy fluttering from your almost release, your clit throbbing angrily. “Daddy,” you wailed. A frustrated sob fell from your lips, but Andy was quick to shove his soaked fingers between your lips, making you taste your arousal on his skin. 

“Not yet, sweetheart,” Andy murmured in your ear, rubbing his fingers on your tongue. It made your head go fuzzy as you tasted your own muskiness. “Daddy’s gonna edge you until you’re all drippy and braindead,” he said and you could hear the grin in his tone, like he knew he was going to enjoy himself. “Gonna turn you into my own perfect little fucktoy.” 

You moaned around Andy’s fingers, your hands circling his wrist and holding on while you sucked them clean of your wetness. Your body had relaxed from the edge of your release, and you’d started feeling warm and floaty. Andy’s other hand pushed your tank top up and he began groping your tits, plucking at your nipples and swirling his thumb around the tight peaks, making you whimper while you sucked on his fingers. 

When Andy was sure you’d sufficiently cleaned him, he pulled his fingers from your mouth with a slight popping sound. A little bit of drool dribbled down your chin but you couldn’t be bothered by it, melting into Andy’s arms as he played with your tits. “Feels so good, daddy,” you murmured softly. 

“That’s it, honey, let daddy take care of you,” Andy said, guiding you to sit up so he could pull your top off. Then he pushed your shorts and panties down your thighs and helped you out of them. He gently manhandled you back into position, with your back against his chest, your legs splayed over his and your ass resting on his hard cock. He hooked his feet around your ankles, keeping you spread wide open for him. “Just let daddy make you feel good.” 

His hands began stroking your body again, this time skin to skin everywhere, and you relaxed even further, your mind drifting in a haze of pleasure while he murmured praises about your body in your ear. “Such pretty tits, honey, so soft and perfect,” he said in your ear. His groping hands were possessive when they felt up your thighs and hips, his voice low on a groan as he said, “You feel so fucking good, sweetheart, could touch you all fucking day.” 

Andy eventually worked his hands back to your pussy and he slid his fingers through your drenched folds. He worked you up again and again, edging you two or three more times, enough that you lost count. Every time he’d fuck your pussy with his fingers, bring you to the edge of your release. When you were crying and begging him to let you come, he’d move his hands away and leave you wanting. He’d shove his fingers in your mouth for you to clean while your body relaxed away from the edge. It was glorious torture, and by the time you’d lost count, your mind felt floaty and far away, only Andy’s hold on your body keeping you tethered to the earth.

“Daddy-daddy, please, wan’ come,” you babbled, head lolling back against Andy’s shoulder as your chest heaved. You were covered in a light sheen of sweat and you were so slick between your thighs you had no doubt you’d soaked the front of Andy’s pants beneath you. His cock was hard and twitching against your plush ass and you wanted so badly to feel him slide his thick length inside your grasping hole. You wanted so badly to come.

But Andy only chuckled. “One more,” he murmured in your ear as his fingers teased through your soaking folds, gathering your wetness and dragging it down to your puckered hole. He pressed a fingertip to your rosebud and gently pushed inside, making you cry out and tense. Andy soothed you with his soft, shushing words. “Let daddy in, sweetheart,” he murmured in a sweet rumble that sent a new wave of warmth spreading through you. “Just wanna play with your pretty little hole, honey, I promise I won’t give you more than you can take.” 

His words made you smile and you relaxed for him. Andy pushed again and was able to sink his finger all the way into your ass, opening your tight hole for him. When he was buried inside to the knuckle, he let out a sharp exhale. “Can’t wait to fuck you here, honey,” Andy rasped in your ear. You could hear a smile in his tone and it made you grin dazedly. You wanted to make him happy. “You’re so fucking tight, it’s gonna feel like you’re choking my dick.”

“Daddy,” you whined. It was on the tip of your tongue to beg him to fuck your ass in that moment, but at the last second, some sense returned to you. You’d never been fucked there before and you knew it would take time to prepare you for Andy’s cock. You whimpered at the thought of taking Andy’s thick cock stretching you out when his single finger already felt so big back there.

“Don’t worry, honey, I’ll make it feel good for you, too,” Andy promised, accurately interpreting your whimper. He dragged his finger almost all the way out of your ass before sliding inside again. It was such a weird sensation, but you didn’t dislike it. “When I’m done with you, you’re gonna love feeling daddy fuck your ass, sweetheart,” the older man murmured in your ear, making you shiver with desire.

“Yes, daddy,” you agreed, the words dissolving on a loud moan. 

Andy fucked your ass with his finger, his thumb reaching up and rubbing your clit lightly, circling around the puffy nub. He brought you to the edge again like that, without even penetrating your pussy, but it fluttered all the same, begging to be filled. When you gasped that you were “gon’ cum, daddy,” Andy pulled away again. He pushed his thumb into your mouth and had you clean off your juices. 

You busied yourself sucking on Andy’s thumb while he removed his finger from your ass, careful not to make you come with the stimulation. When Andy pulled his thumb from your mouth, he murmured in your ear. “Did you like that, honey?” he asked in a low, gravelly voice. “Like feeling daddy’s finger in your ass?”

“Yes, daddy,��� you answered sweetly, a dreamy smile on your face. You were floating in a haze of pleasure, but you knew what you were saying and you meant it, you really did like the feeling of Andy fingering your ass. “Love feeling you play with my holes, daddy—daddy’s holes.” You giggled, not even knowing what was so funny, but it felt right.

“That’s right, honey, daddy’s holes,” he said, smiling and brushing a kiss to your cheek. His hands were soothing over your body again while you settled. Then he flipped you over onto your front, the pillow you’d shoved between your bodies all those hours ago wedged beneath your hips. “Gimme a second, sweetheart, just stay there,” Andy murmured, dropping a kiss to your head before he got off the bed.

You did as he said, staying right where you were with your ass up and your face pressed into the cool sheets of the bed. You felt nice and floaty and warm. There was an insistent throb between your legs that took up a lot of your focus, but you didn’t squirm or try to ease it at all. It felt good, and you liked feeling good. You liked being good for Andy. Your daddy. You giggled again, happy about the direction your night had gone. 

In the bathroom of the motel room, you heard the water in the sink turn off and Andy padded back into the room. When he joined you on the bed again, you could tell he was naked, his bare skin sliding against yours as he crawled on top of you. You let out a low, ragged moan when you felt his bare cock against your ass. It turned into a whine as you tilted your hips up, offering yourself to him wordlessly.

“Mm, there’s my braindead little slut,” Andy murmured, pressing sweet, suckling kisses up your spine and across your shoulders. He settled on top of you, his chest hair brushing teasingly against your back and making you shiver. “Ready for daddy to fuck you now, honey?” 

“Please, daddy,” you begged, your pussy throbbing at the thought of him sinking inside you. You tried to spread your legs, but they were stopped by Andy’s knees braced on either side of you. You squirmed, pressing your ass back against Andy’s cock. “Need you so bad!” you cried, frustration overwhelming you.

“Fuck, yes, beg for it, baby,” Andy urged. He reached between your bodies and pushed his cock between your thighs, dragging it against your soaking folds. The hard length of his thick cock bumped against your clit and you let out a high, desperate keen. “Beg for daddy’s cock to fuck your tight little cunt.”

“Please, daddy,” you begged in a sweetly whining voice. “Please fuck me, please, please, please, daddy.” You rocked your hips back on his cock, feeling the thick length against your pussy only making you drip more. It was so close, but not inside you and you were so frustrated you could cry. “Please, daddy, daddy, daddy, please!” 

“Good girl,” he rasped, brushing a kiss to your temple, his beard scratching delightfully against your skin. “Such a good slut for daddy.” Andy groaned, notching the tip of his cock at your entrance. His lips grazed the shell of your ear as he spoke so close, the words went directly into your brain. “Cum as much as you want, honey, don’t hold back.”

You’d barely nodded when Andy started pushing inside. He was bigger than his three fingers, so thick that the stretch burned a little, but you relished the pain-edged pleasure. It helped to clear some of the haze from your mind, allowing you to feel fully present in the moment. 

Andy moved slowly as he buried himself inside you, making you feel every inch of his fat cock. He was quiet as he moved, like he was savoring the moment. But when he was almost fully sheathed inside you, he shoved in the last few inches like he couldn’t wait to be inside you any longer. The jolt of pleasure and slight sting of the stretch was enough to tip you over the edge. 

You muffled a scream in the bedsheets, your fingers clinging to the soft cotton as your pussy clenched down on Andy’s cock, making him feel even bigger inside you. Your mind was blown with pleasure, the long edging session Andy put you through making your orgasm even more intense. Your vision whited out for a long moment, before you returned to yourself, swept under wave after wave of pleasure. 

“Fuck, jesus christ, sweetheart, that’s it, cum on daddy’s cock,” Andy bit out through gritted teeth. His fingers were digging hard into your hips, and you relished the way it grounded you. Your body trembled as your pussy gripped his cock in a vise. “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight,” he hissed. “Fuck yes, squeeze daddy’s cock.” 

Andy gave you only a short moment to come down from your high before he pulled his cock from your still fluttering channel and barreled back inside, forcing a sharp, pleasured cry from your lips. “Daddy!” you yelled, pushing back on his cock and making him grunt. You felt insatiable with need, like now that you’d had one orgasm, you were greedy for more.

“That’s it, honey, take daddy’s cock,” Andy growled, setting a brutal pace as he fucked you hard and rough. His dirty talk never ceased as he spilled filth in your ear. “Such a good fucking slut for daddy, taking my cock so well,” he murmured while he railed you, his hips slapping against your ass, his balls banging against your clit. “Knew you’d be perfect—I knew you’d be the best little fucktoy for me.” 

The older man fucked you relentlessly, pounding you into the sheets of the motel bed with a ruthlessness you never would’ve suspected from the upstanding lawyer. You loved it, you couldn’t get enough of it, and you couldn’t stop yourself from egging him on. “Harder, daddy, please, fuck me harder—need you so bad daddy, please!”

“Take it, you little slut,” he growled, fucking you harder and faster, his cock barreling into your cunt with every thrust. “Take daddy’s cock like a good girl.” You shrieked as he pounded against a spot inside you that had you seeing stars, your fingers clawing at the sheets as you pushed back desperately on him, chasing your pleasure.

“You gonna come again, sweetheart?” Andy asked in a teasing, breathless voice while he fucked you mercilessly hard. “You gonna come again like a good little slut?” 

Moaning and shaking and overwhelmed with pleasure, you nodded, gasping for breath so you could speak. “Almost there, daddy,” you whimpered. 

“Rub your clit, honey,” Andy rasped, levering himself up. While you reached an arm underneath you and found your clit, Andy gathered the wetness from where his cock pounded into you and brought it to your rosebud. He pressed his thumb against your hole and you were so close to being undone, there was no resistance left in you. You squealed as his finger sank into your hole until it was buried to the hilt. 

Between your fingers desperately rubbing your clit, Andy’s thumb in your ass and his cock pounding your pussy, it wasn’t long before you came again. It hit you like a lightning strike, and you screamed as your whole body tensed. You felt like you blacked out for a moment, coming back to yourself with a scratchy throat and a pussy throbbing with pleasure as it clenched down on Andy’s cock, squeezing him in your body’s tight grip. 

“Good girl,” Andy growled as he rutted into you, chasing his own pleasure. “Good fucking girl, honey, feel so fucking good coming on my cock—so good, fuck yes,” he growled. “Take my come, sweetheart, take daddy’s come.” He barreled into you one last time, your cunt gripping his cock and dragging him deeper. He pressed as deep as he could go and then groaned loudly as he came.

You felt Andy’s cock twitch deep inside you, then his warmth filling you up and you moaned softly. After a few shallow pumps inside you, Andy collapsed on top of you, his arms braced on either side of your head holding him up enough so he didn’t crush you. Turning your face to him, you pursed your lips until he huffed a small laugh and indulged you in a kiss. 

“Feel good, sweetheart?” he asked when he pulled away. He didn’t go far, though, pressing his forehead to yours. 

It was your turn to laugh. “That felt fucking amazing, daddy,” you answered, raking your nails through Andy’s beard and smiling when he let out a pleased rumble. He pressed another kiss to your lips. 

When you’d both caught your breath, Andy helped you up from the bed and dragged you to the bathroom so he could clean you both up. You giggled when he flicked water at you, and moaned softly when he slid a warm, damp washcloth between your thighs. He left you alone to pee, and by the time you crawled back into bed, he was stretched out. The pillow that had been between your bodies at the start of the night was shoved behind Andy’s head.

Still, you had a moment of uncertainty where you weren’t sure if he wanted you to snuggle into him. But then he turned his head to you and gave you an expectant look, reaching for you with grasping hands. “C’mere, sweetheart,” he murmured as he dragged you into his side while you laughed happily. You settled into his arms, your head resting on his shoulder and your hand playing lightly with Andy’s chest hair.

“Andy?” you asked softly after a moment, your voice quiet. You were half hoping he was already asleep, but there was a question burning inside you and you knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep unless he answered it. So you supposed it was a good thing he hadn’t fallen asleep yet.

“Hmm?” he asked, skimming his palm down your forearm and up to your bicep, pulling you more on top of him. 

“What’re we gonna tell my parents?” you asked. You were already dreading the conversation you knew you’d need to have if you wanted to start a real relationship with Andy. And you did—you wanted that, and you hoped he did too. “What are we gonna tell my dad?”

You didn’t notice your breaths were coming quicker and you were tensing up until Andy flipped you over onto your back. He hovered above you, his eyes shining with affection in the dim light of the motel room. His gaze raked over your face, no doubt taking in your anxious expression. He ducked down and brushed a soft kiss to your lips. 

“I’m going to take care of you, sweetheart,” Andy promised when he pulled back, giving you a serious look. “That means I’m going to talk to your father, tell him how I feel about you and make sure he knows I’ll cherish you for the rest of your life.” His eyes went distant as he caressed your cheek with his thumb. “I’ve had a long time to think about this, I know what to say to him—to both of your parents.”

Your eyes went wide with a little bit of shock. One part of what he’d said was rattling around your brain, unable to let you move on from in. “H-how do you feel about me?” you asked, staring up at the older man who was quickly working his way into your heart. 

Andy’s gaze returned to focus on you and his expression softened. You sucked in a breath at the look of pure adoration on his face. “I feel like you’re the right girl for me, honey,” he said in a soft, genuine tone. “You’re the girl I’ve been waiting my whole life for.” A gentle smile graced his lips.

“Oh, Andy,” you said softly, grabbing his face and pulling him down for a kiss. You kissed him passionately, putting all your burgeoning feelings for him into the slide of your lips and the stroke of your tongue against his. When he finally pulled away, you were breathing heavy, and you couldn’t wipe the smile from your face. “You’re the right man for me, too, you know.” 

Chuckling, Andy smirked. “Oh, I know, honey,” he said, rolling onto his back again and dragging you on top of him. You shrieked in surprise and laughed. “Now get some sleep, I wanna use your pretty pussy again in the morning before we get back on the road.” He swatted your ass lightly and you giggled before settling down. 

“Yes, daddy,” you whispered sweetly on a laugh, nuzzling into Andy’s neck. You felt more than heard him chuckle. 

Andy wrapped his arms firmly around your waist and he brushed a kiss to your cheek. “Hush, my perfect girl,” he urged in a deep voice. “Sleep.” 

Finally, blessedly, you slept. In the arms of the right man for you, content in the knowledge that you were the right girl for him.

[danzer8705]

What. I. Wouldn’t. Give. 🔥🔥🔥

kiss me softly

pairing: best friend!bucky barnes x female reader

summary: you're distracted during movie night with your best friend, and when he convinces you to tell him what's on your mind, it leads to so much more...

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming, tit play/nipple sucking, dry humping, dirty talk, some degradation, some objectification, referenced dumbification, vaguely referenced free use, praise kink, begging, teasing, kissing (so much kissing), Bucky's a lil possessive, pet names (doll, pet, baby), aftercare, friends to lovers

word count: 4.7k

a/n: how many times have i written a bucky barnes friends to lovers fic on a couch? SO many times! and will i write it again? probably!!! anyway, here's my contribution for week 2 of @buckybarnesevents's Hot Bucky Summer! i didn't use allllll the prompts but i still had a lot of fun writing this one, so i hope y'all enjoy it ♡

prompt: “Did I give you permission?” | [Cock Cage | Orgasm Delay/Denial | Master/Pet Roleplay]

“That’s a mean frown ya got over there, doll.”

Bucky Barnes’ comment broke you from your thoughts, and you blinked, realizing you’d been staring unseeingly at the TV in your living room. Shaking yourself lightly, you glanced over to the other side of the couch, where your best friend was lounging comfortably for your movie night. 

Even with the vaguely concerned expression on his face, Bucky looked far too good in a plain black t-shirt and a simple pair of gray sweatpants. You’d always known your best friend was handsome, but there was something about seeing him sprawled out on your couch, taking up so much space in your home, it had you feeling a certain type of way…

“Do you not like the movie I chose?”

You startled slightly at Bucky’s question, and abandoned the trail your thoughts had been wandering down. They wouldn’t lead anywhere good. Bucky was your best friend, not some guy to scratch an itch that you could probably just ignore.

“No, no,” you assured him, looking back at the TV. He’d put on some 90s action movie that you normally would’ve enjoyed, but you’d seen it so many times, you hadn’t been able to stop yourself from getting distracted. “I’m just thinking,” you said on an exhale, rearranging yourself on the couch so your legs were tucked underneath you. 

“Must be serious to have you frowning like that,” Bucky teased, shifting his body so he was facing you, ignoring the movie as it played on, even though it was one of his favorites. “C’mon, doll, tell your best friend what’s troubling you—it’s what I’m here for.”

Bucky flashed a charming grin your way, and you couldn’t help but melt a little. Your best friend always had that effect on you. He could convince you to do anything he wanted with just some sweet words and that dazzling smile.

Thankfully, Bucky didn’t use his superpowers for evil—just for a little bit of trouble. Like that time he’d talked you into getting some finance guy at a bar in Tribeca to buy you extra drinks so Bucky could drink for free too. 

The guy hadn’t been very happy when he learned he’d been bankrolling you and your best friend for the night, but you’d ditched him and the bar before a fight could break out. You and Bucky had collapsed against each other on the subway ride home to Brooklyn, laughing together, your breaths mingling until you didn’t know where yours ended and your best friend’s began…

Wrenching yourself out of that memory, you forced yourself to focus on Bucky. 

“I just…” you began and trailed off, suddenly realizing how pathetic you were going to sound when you gave voice to what you’d been thinking about. Chewing on your lip, you wondered if there was a way to phrase it so you didn’t sound quite so pitiful.

When inspiration failed to strike, your helpless gaze met Bucky’s eyes across the couch. He ducked his head and looked at you from under his lashes, giving you an encouraging nod.

“I won’t judge you, doll, you know that,” he said, his voice low and rumbly in a way that made your stomach flip and a little tingle to flutter between your thighs. His expression was so open and sincere, you squirmed, ignoring your body’s reaction.

“I know,” you said, nodding, and letting your gaze drop to your fingers in your lap. “It’s just a little silly.” You tried to laugh, but it came out strained. Your fingers picked at your nails—a nervous habit your best friend had pointed out to you years ago. 

Bucky scooted across the couch, until he was close enough to place one of his warm hands over yours, stopping your nervous fidgeting. 

You knew you were being ridiculous. You knew Bucky wouldn’t judge you, you didn’t know why you were so nervous about talking to him. So you told yourself to be brave. You took a deep breath and looked at your best friend, meeting his bright blue eyes. 

“I was thinking about…kissing.”

Your words hung in the air for a moment, then two. Then Bucky cocked his head to the side and a little line formed between his brows, his expressions morphing into confusion. Before he could ask his question, though, you rushed on, suddenly eager to get it all out once you’d started. 

“It’s been so long since I’ve been kissed,” you explained, your voice breathless from the flood of words spilling from your mouth. “And I was thinking about how nice it would be for someone to take my face in their hands and just…kiss me softly—kiss me like they mean it.”

The whisper of your words trailed off, leaving the muted sounds of the movie and the city beyond your living room to press down on your shoulders. At some point, you’d dropped your gaze again to your lap, where your hands had turned over, fingers slotting between Bucky’s. As you watched, his hand gave yours a little squeeze.

You didn’t see Bucky move, but you heard him. You heard the couch creak and the rustle of fabric as he slid across the cushions until his gray cotton-clad thigh was pressed against your bare knees. 

Just like Bucky, you’d dressed comfortably for movie night, wearing a pair of sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt that might’ve belonged to him once. But you’d commandeered it so long ago, you thought of it as yours. 

“Is that what you want?” Bucky asked, his voice even lower and rumblier, sending the butterflies in your stomach spiraling. 

The fingers of his other hand were gentle when they slid against your jaw, tipping your face toward him. Your best friend’s blue eyes looked practically electric in the dim light of the room, and there was something, something like hunger, wading deep in their depths. The emotion called to something deep inside you.

“Do you want me to kiss you, pet?”

That nickname—the one Bucky only used when you were half asleep, snuggled up close, your heads huddled together, your limbs entwined while you lay in bed or on the couch after a long night of watching movies or drinking at the bar—sent a warm flush through your body. 

You hadn’t been thinking about Bucky when you’d been thinking about someone kissing you, but in a matter of moments, it had become all you could think about. Suddenly, you were all too aware of your best friend.

His breaths were coming a little faster, and his blue eyes had darkened, his pupils blowing wide as his gaze searched your face. You could smell the faint hint of salt and butter on his lips from the popcorn you’d eaten earlier, and you could see every grain of the dark stubble shifting on his clenching jaw.

There was a hesitance, a nervousness, you rarely, if ever, saw in your best friend, and it made your breath hitch in your throat. He wanted this. He wanted it as badly as you did, and knowing that made you brave.

“Please, Bucky,” you begged on a whisper, meeting his gaze with your own, your eyes wide and pleading. You leaned into his touch, his thumb stroking your cheek rhythmically. 

For a moment that seemed to last forever, Bucky stared into your eyes, as if searching your soul for any reason to pause. When he found none, the edge of his mouth curled in a smile.

“Well, since you asked so nicely…” he rumbled in a teasing tone that had your heart fluttering in your chest. 

Then Bucky leaned forward, and you did the same, until your breaths mingled and you could feel the warmth of him on your lips. 

Your mouths met in a tentative brush, so soft you would’ve thought you imagined it if it wasn’t for the shock of electricity that zipped down your spine. You tilted your face, searching for more, and Bucky’s lips met yours again in another cautious kiss. 

Heat bloomed in your body, unfurling in your chest and taking root low in your belly, your racing pulse thrumming between your thighs. It was a slow-building pleasure, but then, all of a sudden, you were ravenous for more. You pressed closer, fingers curling around Bucky’s shoulders, tongue flicking experimentally against his upper lip.

He groaned like he was in the greatest pain, but then his hands were wrapping around your waist, spanning your ribcage, and he was hauling you closer. His mouth covered yours and he deepened the kiss, giving you exactly what you needed without you having to ask.

Bucky devoured you, his lips moving against yours in a greedy push and pull that had you moaning wantonly into his mouth. When your lips parted, his tongue plunged inside, taking control of the kiss while his fingers tightened on your body. 

Your best friend held you like you were priceless, and kissed you like you were inescapable. Bucky kissed you like he’d been waiting years—decades—to get his mouth on you, and you’d only needed to ask. 

It was dizzying, overwhelming and wonderful in the best way. You kissed him back with all the pent up yearning that had been locked away in your heart, consuming him just as much as he was you.

Only when your lungs were burning for air did you wrench your lips from Bucky’s with a gasp. Over your desperate, panting breaths, you heard him growl, his hands cupping your face as he kissed the corner of your mouth.

“Did I give you permission to pull away, pet?”

The possessiveness in Bucky’s tone made you melt, and a whimper of desire slipped from your lips. You’d never seen this side of your best friend, but it made you nearly feral for more. 

“Bucky,” you whined his name pitifully. Your fingers were clinging to his t-shirt and trying to tug him closer on the couch, but you were already as close as you could possibly be while you sat next to each other. 

At your desperate whimpering, Bucky softened, a smile flirting around the edges of his mouth. “C’mere, pet,” he purred, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke. 

Then your best friend was manhandling you into his lap, arranging you so your legs straddled his thighs. Your ass was perched over his groin, where you could feel a thick bulge pressing into the center of your body, making heat cascade down your spine as wetness dripped from your slit.

“Oh god, Bucky,” you mewled, rolling your hips instinctively and grinding against his cock through your clothes. “Did you—did you get this hard from kissing me?” you whispered, stumbling over your words but forcing them out because you needed to know the answer.

“Yeah, baby,” Bucky rumbled, affection in his tone as his hands dove beneath your oversized t-shirt to skate up and down your spine. You felt electric heat burst everywhere he touched. “My best friend’s sweet kisses made me this hard.” 

He lifted his hips, digging his bulge into your soft mound, dragging a helpless moan from your lips. He pressed his grin into the underside of your jaw.

“You feel so good, pet,” he murmured into your skin, like he was confessing a secret. “Your mouth is a dream that’s haunted me for years, and now that I’ve had a taste, there’s no going back for me. You’ve wrecked me, baby, and I need so much more of you.”

With one hand cupping your jaw, Bucky dragged your mouth back to his and he kissed you like a starving man—like he’d been lost in a desert for days and you were his first sip of water. 

You kissed him just as greedily, launching yourself off the ledge the two of you had been dangling from for years, neither one wanting to be the first one to jump. But now he had, and you were happy to follow him in his freefall, knowing he’d catch you and hold you safely in his arms.

When you needed air, Bucky’s mouth trailed down your jaw to your neck, his lips finding your thumping pulse and sucking on your skin until you were whining. While you gasped for breath, he found every spot on your neck that made you hotter and needier, until you were squirming your hips impatiently on his lap.

“I need more, too, Bucky,” you huffed, spreading your legs wider over his thighs so that you could press down more firmly on your best friend’s cock. You fingers sank into his soft brown hair, holding his face to your neck while you rolled your hips in a dizzying frenzy. “Are you gonna do anything about it?”

Bucky stilled beneath you, and it was only then that you realized what you’d said. You sucked in a surprised breath, not sure where that boldness had come from—though you suspected it had something to do with the fact that you felt safe and comfortable enough with your best friend to freely speak your frustrated mind.

Leaning back, you caught sight of Bucky’s face, his eyes meeting yours as humor and lust roiled in their blue depths, like he was eager to meet your challenge. He wore a dark and hungry smirk, and his hands tightened where they held you, pulling you close until your chest was pressed tight to his. 

“Does my pretty little pet need my cock?” Bucky asked, his tone agonizingly condescending, and making you drip so much you began to worry you’d leave a wet spot on his gray sweatpants. But then he distracted you with more filthy words. “D’you need your best friend to fuck that achy, greedy pussy between your soft thighs, huh?”

“Jesus, Buck,” you gasped, a little surprised to find out your best friend had such a filthy mouth. 

But you didn’t hate it—far from it. You wanted more, you wanted him to fuck you and talk you through it, so you went on, hoping that if you were vocal, he’d keep talking dirty to you. 

“Y-yes, I need you, need you to fuck me, Bucky, please!”

Not needing to be asked twice, Bucky flipped you down onto your back on the couch, taking care to make sure you didn’t knock your head against anything but the pillows. Then his hands were manhandling your legs together, dragging your sleep shorts and panties over your hips and off in one swift movement. 

While he reached behind his back and yanked his t-shirt off, you pulled yours over your head, discarding it and your bra as quickly as you could manage. Once free, your hands immediately went to your tits, groping your soft flesh and rolling your nipples between your fingers as you stared up at the muscular chest of your best friend. 

Bucky’s big body pushed between your thighs, which you spread eagerly for him, your knees hugging his ribs while he shoved his sweatpants down. When his cock bounced free, you gasped softly at the sight of him—so thick and hard and perfect. 

For a moment, the two of you paused, like you’d both just realized you were naked in front of each other for the first time. Your gaze roamed hungrily over Bucky’s body, appreciating the breadth of his shoulders, the slight taper of his waist, the soft trail of hair leading down to his hard cock. 

The moment dragged on for so long, you managed to tear your eyes away from your best friend’s cock to look at his face. Bucky’s handsome face was slack with desire, his darkened blue eyes roving over your body with the same kind of awe you’d felt when looking at him.

His gaze lingered on your chest, watching your fingers idly play with your nipples. You squeezed your tits harder, making yourself gasp and arch up off the couch. Bucky’s cock gave an answering twitch and he grabbed it in one fist, pumping himself slowly while he marveled at you.

It felt good to be the object of your best friend’s lust, but you could feel your pussy leaking and pulsing, begging to be filled. You decided Bucky could watch you all he wanted—but later, after he’d fucked you.

“Buck, please, I need your cock,” you whined, your hands leaving your body to reach for him. Your fingers curled around his shoulders and you dragged him down on top of you, his knuckles brushing against your soft mound and making you moan.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, before capturing your lips in a kiss. 

His mouth was hot and demanding, his kiss slow and drugging, stealing your breath until your head was spinning. When he pulled away, it was only to speak more filth against your lips. 

“Your tits are so pretty, pet,” he murmured, using his thumb to press his cock between your soaked folds, dragging his shaft through your lower lips to make himself slick with your juices. “Can’t wait to suck on ‘em while my dick’s buried in your cunt. Wanna hear your pretty whines while I suck your tits and you clench around my fat cock.”

“Fuck, Bucky,” you huffed, fingers carding through his hair and dragging him to your mouth for a messy kiss. 

“What, ya like it when I talk dirty, baby?” Bucky asked teasingly when he pulled away. There was a ridiculously charming grin on his face, like he already knew the answer to his question. Which, of course, he did. 

You couldn’t help but shake your head in amusement, your lips curving in a smile. “I love it,” you mumbled, pulling him in for another deep kiss before finishing your thought. “Love hearing all the filthy things you wanna do to your best friend.”

Bucky groaned, his cock throbbing against your pussy, and then he was pulling his hips back until the tip was notched at your hole. He paused, lifting up enough for his eyes to search yours.

In that moment, neither of you needed words. The hunger and desire and need swirling through your body was reflected in Bucky’s dark blue gaze, and though your lips parted to beg him to finally slide inside, all you had to do was nod. 

Bucky thrust forward slowly, carefully, and yet you still gasped when the head of his cock pushed inside your tight hole. It had been a while since you’d had anyone or anything inside you, and even though Bucky wasn’t intimidatingly big, you still felt the stretch of your body accommodating him.

“Y’alright, pet?” he murmured against your cheek, his scruff tickling your skin, his mouth never straying far from yours. 

“Yeah, just—just go slow,” you whispered back, fingers hooked around his shoulders, nails digging into his warm muscles.

“You tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop, alright?” he rumbled in a stern voice that had the butterflies fluttering in your belly again. He pulled back enough to give you a serious look. “I want you to enjoy this.”

The corner of your mouth kicked up in a half smile and you pulled him down for yet another kiss. Even though your lips were swollen from kisses, you didn’t think you’d ever get enough from Bucky, especially the ones where you were both smiling too much to brush your lips against each other’s.

He pushed forward, using your distraction to slide a little deeper. You tensed at the stretch of feeling him fill you more, waiting for the pain—but nothing came. Bucky’s hands soothed over your bare skin, using his words to distract you again.

“I want you to want to do this again, baby, because I already know that I will—I’m gonna wanna fuck you again and again and again, until you’re nothing more than a dumb, mindless pet who’s drunk on my cock, your cunt squeezing me tight every time I make you come. Wanna drain my balls in your pretty pussy until you’re overflowing with me.”

A moan slipped from your lips at Bucky’s words, you cunt clenching tight around the tip of his cock. Instinctively, you spread your thighs wider around your best friend’s body, allowing him to sink even deeper into your cunt, until he was buried halfway to the hilt.

“I want that, Bucky,” you whispered against his scruffy cheek, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging on him until you could see his face. “I want you to fuck me dumb, make me your pretty little fuck toy—want you to fuck me whenever and wherever you want. Wanna be your perfect fuck pet.”

“Fuuuck, you’re so fucking perfect, baby,” Bucky groaned, pushing the rest of his cock into your pussy as slowly as he could bear, the self-restraint evident in every tense muscle of his body. “You’re such a perfect, pretty fuck pet—fuck, you feel good.”

The words were stolen straight from your lips, because it was Bucky who felt good. It was Bucky who felt so hot and hard and perfect inside you, filling you up enough to feel the stretch without hurting you. 

Unable to stop yourself, you wrapped your legs around his waist, holding him tight inside you while you buried your face in his neck and moaned. He grunted, feeling your pussy gripping and squeezing and sucking on his cock. Every slight movement sent pulses of pleasure through your body.

“You feel so good inside me, Buck,” you murmured, tilting your face until it was pressed into his scruffy jaw. “God, your cock is just—so good.”

At your words, you could feel the slight tremors wracking Bucky’s body as he held himself still, fighting against his instincts to give you the chance to adjust to the feeling of him filling you up. But that’s not what you wanted. You wanted more, you wanted him to fuck you. 

“Need more now,” you whimpered, rocking your hips and urging him to move, but he remained still above you.

“Gimme a minute,” he huffed, kissing you to distract you. 

Despite his best efforts, your hips kept rolling lazily beneath his heavy body, so he lowered his weight until you were pinned beneath him and all you could do was whine into his mouth. He huffed a self-deprecating laugh.

“If ya keep doing that, ‘m gonna empty my balls in your cunt sooner than I planned, pet,” he warned, though there was an edge of a smile in his warm, teasing tone.

A giggle erupted from your lips even as your inner walls clenched tight around Bucky’s cock, your body liking his words more than you probably should’ve. But seeing Bucky struggle to keep his composure while he was buried inside you made you want to be a menace to your best friend. 

“You gonna turn me into your cumdump, Buck?” you teased, dragging the blunt edges of your teeth down his neck, feeling his cock twitch inside your tight channel. “You gonna fill me up until I’m leaking your come all down my thighs—you gonna fuck it back into me, huh?”

Bucky’s head dropped to your shoulder with a pained groan and he pulled his hips back, pushing against the tight hold your legs had on him before snapping forward. He started fucking you in short, punishing thrusts that had you moaning mindlessly as his cock pounded into you.

“Christ, your dirty mouth is even worse than mine, pet,” he growled, but there was an edge of exhilarated laughter in his tone that made it clear he wasn’t mad about it. Instead, he lifted his head and flashed you an impish grin, before ducking down to your chest.

When Bucky’s lips wrapped around your nipple and he sucked hard on your tightened peak, you cried out. Your back bowed off the couch, shoving your tits into your best friend’s face while your fingers clutched his head to your chest. 

“Oh my god, Bucky!” you gasped, the words devolving into an obscene moan. You squirmed beneath his bigger body while he chuckled at the helpless sounds you made.

Bucky was everywhere, his mouth sucking greedily on your tits, hands groping the soft curves of your hips, his cock spearing into your cunt over and over again in hard, brutal thrusts. It was too much, and yet not enough. 

Your legs tightened around Bucky, ankles hooking around the backs of his thighs to try to hold him inside you as you met his every thrust. Pleasure was winding tighter in your lower belly, and you were desperately chasing your release, your fingers tugging uselessly on your best friend’s hair as you whined.

“Please, Bucky, please, please, please,” you chanted, until he finally rose up and met your lips in a furious kiss. “I need more, I need—” Your words cut off on a gasp when Bucky drove his cock into you so hard and so deep, you felt the tip brush against the very end of you.

“I know exactly what you need, pet,” he growled, that possessiveness back in his tone that sent your heart careening in your chest. “You just be a good little slut and take your boyfriend’s cock like a perfect fuck pet.”

He picked up his pace, fucking you into the soft cushions of the couch like a man possessed. His hard body loomed over you, his muscles shifting gloriously beneath his skin everywhere you touched, and even as his chest heaved, he kissed you. His mouth devoured yours, greedily drinking down every sound of your pleasure.

It wasn’t long before you were on the edge of your release, your cries growing higher pitched and more desperate as your body fluttered around his pounding cock. Bucky murmured encouragement into your lips, his hips grinding against your soft cunt, the base of his cock rubbing your clit until you were lost to the pleasure.

You came with a shrill scream, every muscle in your body clenching so tight that you dragged Bucky over the edge right after you. Your best friend buried his face in your chest, sucking idly on your soft tits and grunting his pleasure. 

His hips kept thrusting wildly, spilling rope after rope of his seed deep in your pussy as your body clenched around him. You moaned unabashedly, basking in wave after wave of pleasure as they washed over you.

For long, endless moments, your bodies writhed together, drawing out every last bit of pleasure from each other as your mouths kissed messily. 

Finally, when you were both spent, Bucky collapsed on top of you, crushing you with his weight for one blissful moment before he rolled to the side. His hands were gentle on your body as he rearranged you so that one of your legs was thrown over his hip, keeping his softening cock buried in your pussy.

“Kiss me softly, baby,” Bucky murmured against your lips, echoing your earlier words with a smile curving his mouth. There was a teasing edge to his tone, but you didn’t get the sense he was making fun of you, just being playful with you the way he always was.

It made your heart clench to think that nothing truly had to change between you and Bucky even after you’d given in to the mutual desire you felt. 

He was still your best friend, and now the two of you could become something more—together. You hadn’t missed the way he’d called himself your boyfriend in the heat of the moment, but that was a conversation for later.

So you huffed a little laugh at his teasing and kissed Bucky. You kissed him as softly as you could manage while you both caught your breath. 

It was different, more decadent, both of you taking your time to learn the other. It was like you both knew you had plenty of time—the rest of your lives—to discover everything there was to know about each other. Everything you didn’t already know.

For the rest of your movie night, you and your best friend, Bucky Barnes, took turns kissing each other softly, and fucking each other hard. Eventually, you fell asleep together, entwined on the couch, both wearing smiles on your kiss-swollen lips.

[danzer8705]

Leave You Breathless

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Thunderbolts!Female Reader

Summary: Bucky wants to ask you out and you give him the courage to do so in an unexpected way.

Word Count: Over 2.4k

Warnings: Longing, pining, mild humor, fake dating mention (of sorts), kissing, referenced masturbation, confessions, getting together, slight possessive and jealous behaviour, Bucky's POV, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?) and he's smitten.

A/N: Waiting at the airport and whipped this up. What is it with me and game nights? 😂 Not part of Tower Shenanigans, but it has that feel of sorts. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky nursed a beer as he sat on the roof and looked at the stars. He was taking a small breather from the impromptu game night after Alexei spilled his drink all over the table. He should've asked you to join him, but you had stepped away to take a call with an annoyed look on your face. Whoever it was that was bothering you he hoped everything was okay.

And if it wasn't okay, he’d take care of it or do his best to cheer you up.

His lips curled in a gentle smile when he heard your footsteps behind him. “One of these days you might be able to sneak up on me,” he said, twisting his head so he could look at you.

The smile on your face nearly knocked the breath from his lungs. He had it bad and he swore he fell for you more with each day that passed. He tried not to follow you around the tower like a lovesick puppy, but he often found himself in the same area as you so he could talk to you or ask you to spar as a desperate excuse to touch you. Whenever he pinned you beneath him, he had to rush back to his room and jerk off as images of your face and echoes of your sighs and gasps raced through his mind.

While he tried not to stare at you either, he always had his eyes on you whenever you were around. That morning he had been so busy staring at you that he poured too much coffee into his mug and burned his hand, which you thankfully hadn't seen. And there was that time he walked right into a wall when you wore a form fitting dress for an event Valentina demanded you attend.

“Bucky! Are you okay?” you had asked, rushing over to check on him. When you cupped his face to look over his face with worried eyes, he nearly melted on the spot.

“I’m fine. Just… distracted,” he answered, almost wishing he was a little injured so you'd dote on him some more.

“Well, let me kiss it better anyway,” you said, surprising him by kissing his nose and spreading warmth up to his cheeks.

“Thanks.” He swallowed hard. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

“Thanks,” you whispered back and walked away, leaving him to stare after you as you glided away with confidence and grace.

“Smooth,” Ava said once you were out of sight. “You know, I’m the one who can phase through walls, not you.”

“Don’t blame Barnes. She looked good in her dress,” Yelena said with a knowing smirk when Bucky snarled. “Perhaps she will wear it again if you ask nicely.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, but he had a goofy smile on his face since the feel of your lips lingered on his skin.

The girls would never let him live it down, and he wondered if his crush on you was obvious to you or if he hid it well enough.

Whatever level was beyond whipped was where he was.

Back in the present, you playfully groaned when you took a seat beside him. “You have enhanced senses. I’ll never be able to sneak up on you.”

Bucky turned toward you, watching as you tilted your head and gazed up at the sky. The night seemed more beautiful because of your presence. “You never know,” he said. You had stealth and agility, and you gave him a run for his money in training.

Your eyes sparkled when you turned your gaze on him, the mixture of your subtle perfume and natural scent making him breathe a bit deeper. “Your faith in me is astounding,” you teased, nudging his arm. He’d always believe in you. “But why did you ditch me down there?”

He chuckled when you pouted. It was fucking adorable. “Wasn't ditching you,” he promised. He’d never do that. “Just needed some fresh air.”

“So, it’s okay if I'm here, too?”

“Of course.” He wanted to be where you were.

You smiled, your knee touching his. “I asked where you went and John put his hand on my thigh when he said you were up here.”

It was as if someone shined a red light in front of Bucky’s eyes from the sudden rage he felt. “He what?” he asked, gripping the bottle tighter and feeling it crack under the pressure.

“He put his hand on my thigh,” you repeated, making him clench his teeth. He set the bottle down, too, so he wouldn't shatter it. “Like… Wait, can I demonstrate?”

Bucky nodded and hoped he wasn't dreaming. Asking to touch him showed how thoughtful you were. “Yeah, sure,” he said evenly.

You placed a hand on his upper thigh and gently squeezed. Heat curled at the base of his spine from your touch and he tried not to get excited. He couldn't get hard, not here, not now. He focused on the white hot anger that flowed through him instead since John touched you just as intimately.

Would breaking his fingers be too much?

You moved your hand away and he was two seconds away from taking your hand to put it back there. “I bent one of his fingers back before I came up here,” you told him, making him proud. “I think Bob may have filmed it.”

“That’s my girl,” he said before he could stop himself. His eyes widened when you turned your head and held his stare. “I mean…”

There was no excuse that came to mind for why he said that. All he had to do was confess how he felt. It should've been simple. He was reformed, a super soldier, a hero, and surely he could open his heart to you. So why wouldn't the words come out?

Why couldn't he say that he wanted you to be his girl?

“About that…” You took a breath and scooted away a few inches which had him internally panicking. Did his comment bother you? “What if I sort of told someone that I am your girl?”

His cheek twitched. “I’m sorry, what?” he asked. Did you really tell someone that?

And why did he respond that way instead of playing it cool?

“You know that call I took a bit ago? Well, it was Valentina,” you said, taking another deep breath. He didn't like where this was going. “She wants me to go to a benefit this weekend, and she was hoping I would schmooze a recently divorced potential investor,” you explained, wrinkling your nose and shuddering.

Bucky stomach dropped. You were beautiful and charming, so it wasn’t a shock that Valentina wanted to use you for her advantage. It made his blood boil. First John touching you, and now this. “What does that have to do with being my girl?” he questioned, not connecting the dots.

“I told her I already had a date,” you replied and pointed at his chest. “You.”

Bucky had enhanced hearing, but he couldn't have heard that statement correctly. “You what?”

You bit your lip and risked moving closer again. “I told her you were going as my date.”

The words slowly registered. “So, Valentina not only expects me to be there, but she thinks we're going to be there together?” he asked, gesturing between the two of you. “The two of us.”

You shifted in your seat. He hardly ever saw you uncomfortable. “Yes, the two of us, and I'm sorry,” you said.

Bucky wasn't sorry. Not at all. “Wow,” he breathed. He had pictured himself asking you out so many times and should've done it long ago, but he hadn't imagined a fake dating scenario with you asking him. Is that what it was?

“Bucky, I really am so sorry. I should've asked before I said anything to her,” you said, putting a hand over his before pulling it away just as quickly. “I understand if you don't want to.”

He shrugged like it wasn't a big deal..“It’s okay. I want to go.” He didn’t stay at benefits for long since kissing up to people wasn't his thing and he couldn't stand Valentina, but he’d put up with all of it to be by your side.

“It is? You do?” you asked, your teeth digging into your lip again and drawing his attention to your perfect mouth. “You’ll go?”

“It is, I do, and I will.” He hesitated, but mustered up the courage to put his hand over yours this time. He’d do anything for you. “Really. It’s okay.”

If Valentina had put him in a spot like that, he may have done something similar.

You looked where your hands were joined together and smiled softly. “And you aren't mad at me?”

“No, I’m not mad at you. Not at all,” he promised, exhaling before he moved his hand to your cheek. He felt the temperature rise in your body, heard your heart beat faster. “But why me? Why not Bob or…” He almost choked when he asked, “John?”

“Because I want you, Bucky,” you said without hesitation. “No one else.”

Bucky’s next breath came out harsher than he intended. You didn't say you wanted to date him- you said you wanted him, and he wanted you to want him in every way. “You really want me to be your fake date out of everyone else?” he asked, the word “fake” like acid on his tongue.

You lifted a hand to brush his hair back. “Would I be pushing it if I said I don't want it to be fake?”

He briefly closed his eyes, as if it could hide his longing. The simple question rocked him. “Don't ask me that if you don't mean it,” he whispered.

You leaned in and rested your hand against his. “I mean it. I want you,” you whispered, your lips a breath away from his. You wouldn't play with his feelings or heart. “I want the man who talks with me, spars with me.” You kissed the tip of his nose. “Walks into walls because of me.”

“Sweetheart,” he exhaled, the term of affection easily slipping out.

“I don't want it to be fake, Bucky,” you said, wrapping yourself tighter around his heart than he thought possible. “And I don't think you do either.”

He curled a hand around your hip to draw you closer on the bench. “No, I don't. I don't want to pretend,” he confirmed, kissing the tip of your nose the way you had kissed his. “So, why don't I take you out tomorrow?” he asked, finally asking the question that had been burning in the back of his throat for ages.

He felt your next breath when you tilted your head. “Tomorrow? The benefit isn't until this weekend.”

“I know, but I want a real date with my girl before the benefit,” he smiled, his lips skimming yours. “Been wanting to ask you out for ages.”

“Yeah?” you smiled back. “And it took me arranging a fake date to give you that push?”

“Give me a break. I’m an old man,” he joked.

You smirked, a seductive and dangerous glint in your eyes. “Should I wear that dress tomorrow, or will it give you a heart attack since you're an old man?”

He let out a groan. “I think that dress should come with a warning.” He had already jerked off to the thought of you wearing nothing beneath that gorgeous dress and he would think about that again when he finally went to sleep tonight.

“You're the one who should come with a warning,” you teased, still not kissing him quite yet. “Those tactical pants make your thighs and ass look incredible. And your t-shirts? I swear you wear them on purpose to see if I fall over.”

“I walked into a wall because of you,” he pointed out.

“I touch myself because of you,” you blurted out.

He wasn't sure if he closed the gap or if you did, but his lips were suddenly on yours and everything finally felt right. He wanted to devour you, but he slowly let the heat build before deepening the kiss. When your lips parted, he took the opportunity to sweep his tongue into your mouth and worship it the way he wanted to worship every inch of you. He wasn't going to rush or ruin this perfect moment. Not when he finally had you in his embrace, where he wanted you to belong.

He savored the moan that vibrated on his tongue and swallowed it down to keep it buried deep inside him. When you pulled away to breathe, he didn't let you get far before he went back in for another kiss. The world around you didn't slow down or rush by. It was simply a perfect moment that reverberated through his entire being.

Bucky framed your face when you pulled away again, your gentle panting making him smirk. “I touch myself because of you, too,” he said, chuckling and covering your mouth again when you let out a wanton moan. If he wasn't careful he’d have in his lap and he didn't want to rush that either, unless you wanted to. “And I might break Walker’s fingers for touching you,” he growled.

He worried for a second that it was a bit too much, too possessive. But he heard the whimper in your throat and knew you liked it. “Maybe break one to start with since we weren't officially together.”

“Fine,” he huffed. You were right. You weren't technically together earlier tonight, so he couldn't hold it completely against him. “But he isn't touching your thigh again, sweetheart. You're my girl now.”

“About time,” you sighed, bringing your lips back to his.

“Um,” Bob said from behind you two. Bucky hadn't paid attention to his footsteps since he was so consumed with you. Instead of pulling away from each other, you continued kissing as if you hadn't heard him. “Okay. Guess you two aren't coming back to game night. I’ll tell Yelena and Ava not to bother you,” he added before leaving you two alone.

Bucky would have to plan the perfect date for tomorrow and deal with the team teasing and asking questions. Tonight, he’d leave you breathless with kisses and then kiss you again. And he’ll kiss you every day after that because you were finally his girl. 

I guess we can consider this the end of my vacation and my welcome back of sorts agree the week? I missed you lovelies. 🥰 Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[danzer8705]

A forehead kiss from Bucky would fix EVERYTHING!

It Was Only a Kiss

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Summary: A kiss on the forehead can mean many things. Word Count: 800 Warnings: Pining, fluff, forehead kisses (that deserves a warning. They’re powerful) This is not beta-read, so any and all mistakes are my own

I made this gif and I had to write something for it. Enjoy, lovelies!

The first time Bucky kissed your forehead caught you by surprise. It was game night, one of the first times you could remember him really letting loose. The night in was your idea. Things were good between everyone. And hearing him laugh was one of your happiest memories.

Keep reading

[danzer8705]

Well, if I didn’t hate Hazel before…….. 😡

Declassified [10] - Damage Control

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves, you are so amazing🩷 I hope you like this chapter as well! 🥰 And please let me know what you think! 🩷

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary: Self-doubt can appear out of nowhere.

Warnings: Explicit language, yearning, mentions of sexual acts.

Word Count: 5.8k

Series Masterlist

Contrary to popular belief, falling in love with one’s boss made life harder, not easier.

You kept seeing him at work, you lost your focus whenever you talked to him –or he walked by you, for that matter— and he was the main character of your dreams every night.

“Birdie, are you awake?”

Like now.

The daze of sleep disappeared, pulling you out of the pleasant dream and you let out a whine, burying your face into the pillow.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Caleb opened the door and stepped in, then sat by the edge of the bed. “Morning sunshine.”

You rolled onto your back, rubbing at your eyes before you dropped them. “I was dreaming about Bucky.”

“Like a sexy dream?”

You hummed. “It was basically a black and white movie.”

“Like a sexy black and white movie?”

“We were in a house,” you muttered. “It had a garden outside, I was wearing this vintage dress, and baking a pie—”

“So, not a sexy dream.”

“I don’t even know how to bake a pie.” You yawned, looking up at the ceiling with a frown. “And then he walked into the kitchen and kissed me, and asked where the kids were—actually, you know what? Now that I think about it; I feel like it was an episode of I Love Lucy.”

“Your subconscious is really not original.”

“I think I was wearing pearls or something,” you mused, making Caleb tilt his head.

“So you mixed a bunch of vintage movies together and decided that was the way to go?”

“To repeat, I don’t know how to bake a pie,” you insisted. “Obviously I didn’t dec—”

“Did you tell her yet?” Kelsey leaned on the doorframe with a cup of coffee in her hand and you looked between her and Caleb.

“Tell me what?”

Caleb paused for a moment, then cleared his throat.

“Okay, first of all,” he said. “As Bucky’s communications director, I assure you that we can easily spin this.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach and you pulled yourself up into a sitting position, your breathing getting faster.

“Spin what?”

“In fact, I’m confident that if we focus on offense, we won’t even have to go that hard into defense—”

“Caleb,” you cut him off. “Spin what?”

He heaved a sigh, then pulled out his phone, touched the screen and turned it to you.

Shit.

Oh shit.

It was a blurry picture of you and Bucky in that pub last night, in one of those gossip accounts.

“Okay, before you panic,” Caleb said while you stared at the phone with wide eyes, trying to find your breath. “The fact that he has a girlfriend plays right into our hand, I’ve already planned the—nope, don’t check the comments.” He snatched the phone out of your hand. “Birdie, listen to me.”

“…I’ll have to resign.”

“Literally what the fuck did I just say about panicking?” Caleb asked while Kelsey stifled a laugh.

“Caleb already came up with a plan and sent it everywhere. We’re working on it.”

 You blinked back the tears, wiping at your eyes. “Um…”

“And for the first time, you should be glad that Bucky is dating Hazel,” Caleb said. “I just talked to Bucky, and apparently Hazel already called him because she saw this as well, and decided to visit Bucky sometime this week because she missed him, and so that they can join that gala thing together.”

“And she wants to make sure she still has him,” Kelsey muttered and took a sip of her coffee and you shook your head.

“No no, guys you don’t understand—”

“I think I understand it better than you,” Caleb said. “It was a good call to put that file on the table.”

You frowned, trying to focus. “What?”

Caleb zoomed in the picture. “There’s a file. On the table.”

“I took it to my parents’ place just in case I could work on—”

“Nope,” Caleb said. “You were trying to work on two bills at the same time, you were feeling very overwhelmed because a lot of people want you on their team and this is literally your first month in the Congress, so Bucky, being a very attentive boss, had to insist on taking you out so that you could work on it outside the office. As the file on the table suggests. There is no kiss, you don’t even hold hands, there is literally no foundation to those accusations other than some blurry picture of two people who have made waves in politics enough to intimidate people. And now drumroll please, for the offense.”

“Caleb—”

“This is a terrible smear campaign not only on Congressman Barnes, who by the way, is in a committed relationship with Miss Brooks, but also on Mr. Drexel—”

“My father would never agree to get dragged into this.”

“Tough shit, I am dragging him into this to save you,” Caleb said. “But also on Mr. Drexel, who has served this country as a consultant for decades working with multiple cabinets. It’s at best tabloid gossip, at worst a planned attack that is designed to use the first woman the tabloids saw around Mr. Barnes, who has maintained a professional relationship with him throughout his campaign and is deeply disturbed by these rumors. Too long didn’t read; the only crime these two have is that they’re both fucking hot, there’s a file on the table, bitch are you blind?”

 “He’s good, isn’t he?” Kelsey asked with a grin while Caleb took a bow like an actor on stage while you gawked at him.

“And people will believe that?”

“Not all of them obviously, but most will believe that as long as he’s dating Hazel, and there’s no picture of a kiss between you and him,” Caleb said. “The moment a picture like that comes out, we are gonna be fucked.”

You shook your head fervently. “There’s no picture like that because me and Bucky have never kissed.”

“When you do, please do it inside until I figure out how to work that angle.”

“Caleb,” you said warningly and he shrugged his shoulders.

“Come on, it will happen one day,” he said. “And hopefully by then, I’ll have found an idea how to use it in our benefit.”

“Can we focus on this?” you asked, motioning at the phone and Caleb shrugged.

“What’s there to focus? I already put out the statement, by now everyone in the Congress and their mothers read it.”

“You did all that in…?”

“An hour.”

“Jesus, you are good.” You took a look at your phone to check whether your father had called you or texted you, but he hadn’t.

“This is weird,” you muttered and ran a hand over your face. “Are you sure that will work?”

“Like I said. As long as there’s no picture of a kiss or anything to suggest that you two are fucking, we can spin it and even work it for our benefit.”

You took a shaky breath, then slipped a little in the bed, panic still pounding in your chest.

“I need to see Bucky—”

“You’re not going to see Bucky on a Sunday, the day after the rumor mill started,” Kelsey said. “No way. And if he’s smart, he will be on his way to New York right now to bring Hazel here on Monday so maybe it’s not the best idea to call him either. Or text him. Or do anything that might make Hazel think these rumors are true in case she’s with him.”

Jealousy twisted your gut and you bit inside your cheek, then nodded.

“Yeah,” you said. “That makes sense I guess.”

“Great.” Caleb slapped his knees and got up. “Now, get dressed.”

“Why?”

“We found a great brunch spot,” Kelsey said while Caleb reached out to grab Blinky from your nightstand. “We’re going there.”

“I don’t think it’s the best idea for me to—”

“You’re not going into hiding because there’s nothing to hide,” Caleb said and put Blinky in your lap. “Well, I doubt we’re telling his girlfriend he changed cities just to get you your childhood plushie back so we’re hiding that, but you know. Other than that.”

You pursed your lips, playing with Blinky’s tail.

“Come on Birdie,” Kelsey said. “I’m giving you half an hour, then we’re going to brunch. I’m fucking starving!”

She and Caleb left your room and closed the door behind them, and you let out a breath, then looked down at Blinky.

“Well,” you said. “We’re in so much trouble.”

                                         *

Your whole Sunday was spent with convincing multiple people that there was nothing going on between you and Bucky. Perhaps the strangest part was that instead of calling you, your father had your mother call you and ask whether there was any truth to these rumors, and you had to swear on your grandmother’s grave.

Knowing that you were on speaker.

Well, whatever it was, it had worked. You didn’t think your father was very happy about this but at least for now, it looked like his approach was to watch it and analyze before interfering.

You had answered Bucky’s “Are we okay?” text with a curt “Tomorrow” and much to your surprise, he hadn’t insisted and instead let you spend your Sunday without also worrying about that part of the story.

Although, you had a feeling that Sarah had something to do with it.

And now that it was Monday morning and you were walking past the security, anxiety was heavy enough to tremble your hands as you held up your ID pass, then entered the hallway.

Okay.

It was going to be fine.

“Hey, Hurricane!”

I want to go back home.

You looked over your shoulder and tried to smile at Lucas. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he said with a grin. “I would ask you how your weekend was, but I have a pretty good idea.”

You ran a hand over your face. “Trust me, you have no idea.”

He gave you an apologetic look as you both turned the corner. “How are you holding up?”

Well, this was a good sign.

“Uh…” you trailed off. “Quite shaken, to be honest.”

“Don’t be,” he said. “I’ve been alone with Gray more times than I could count, and no one blinked twice. It’s just because of Barnes and his whole thing, not you.”

You frowned, ready to jump to Bucky’s defense. “His whole thing?”

“Yeah, the whole tall dark handsome guy with tortured but mysterious past?”

“I’ll make sure to let him know you find him handsome.” You grinned. “And his past is not exactly mysterious, HYDRA files are out there.”

“You know what I mean.”

You snorted a laugh. “Yeah, I guess,” you muttered. “Obviously there’s nothing there but I’m not sure people—”

“Don’t worry about it, no one here bought that shit.”

I will buy Caleb a month’s worth of coffee and also name my firstborn after him.

You raised your brows and stopped walking to look at him better. “No one?”

“No one with a brain,” he corrected himself, making you smile. “Come on. You’re pretty, he has a certain charm, people will talk. No matter how good you are at your job.”

You tilted your head, your smile growing bigger.

“Thanks,” you said. “I appreciate it.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Bucky entering the hallway as well, talking to a congressman but he stopped dead in his tracks, then turned to the congressman, pretending to listen to him with a frown even though you knew very well that he was watching you. Your heartbeat got faster and you took a deep breath, trying to focus on Lucas who ran a hand through his hair.

“Don’t mention it,” he said. “And it would be stupid, you know? Like as far as I’ve seen, you’re too smart for that.”

You forced a laugh. “Way too smart.”

“Not to mention, you probably have uh—have a boyfriend right?”

Bucky’s whole body stiffened, but the only clue any observer would have noticed was the way his jaw clenched.

Which, you were pretty sure that no one noticed but you.

“I actually just got out of a very long relationship,” you said, stealing a look at Bucky before smiling at Lucas. “Hey, you know what? I just remembered it was my turn to get coffee today and Kelsey needs her coffee so I need to get to the cafeteria. See you around?”

“Uh, sure!” he said as you started walking. “Hey, we still need to do the—”

“The report, working on it!” you called out and turned the corner, then let out a breath and leaned back to the wall.

Alright.

This was ridiculous.

It was a stupid rumor, and no matter how much you wanted Bucky, he still had a girlfriend.

A girlfriend who was coming by sometime this week.

You shut your eyes, willing yourself to calm down before you wiped the sweat off your forehead, then started making your way to the cafeteria. You went down the stairs and turned a corner but as soon as you did, someone grabbed your arm and pulled you into the nearest room, covering your mouth to cut off your scream.

It was only when the door closed shut that you realized who it was.

“What the fuck?” you whispered, panic still pounding in your head. “Bucky, I swear to God if someone saw—”

“That corner is a blind spot.”

You blinked a couple of times. “What?”

“The cameras don’t see that corner and here, so no one will know.”

You took a look at the supply closet you were in, trying to pull your thoughts together before you looked up at his stupidly handsome face.

“And why—why are we in a supply closet?”

“Did I or did I not say he wanted you?” he asked, pointing at the door that led outside and you raised your brows.

“Huh?”

“That guy. Lucas.”

“I feel like we have more important things to talk about rather than someone asking me out.”

“So you do accept he was asking you out?”

“We’re just going to ignore the elephant in the supply closet then? Alright, great.”

“Birdie, he was trying to find out if you had a boyfriend because he—”

“How was your weekend?” you cut him off. “Mine was a fucking disaster, thank you for asking.”

A look of guilt flashed across his face, his eyes darting over your face.

“…Sorry.”

You scoffed a breath from your nose, crossing your arms over your chest.

“How was it, really?” Bucky asked and you rolled your eyes.

“Bad,” you said. “Even my mom called, and I’m pretty sure my father was listening to every word I said. And you?”

“I was going to come and see you—”

“Terrible idea.”

“And then I texted you and you said tomorrow.”

You offered him a small smile. “Ah, thank you for listening to me.”

“Well to be honest, I was going to come anyway.”

“Of course.”

“I was losing my mind,” he insisted. “But uh, Sarah said I should give you your space, and she’s usually right about everything, so…”

Called it.

“And Hazel?”

He paused for a moment.

“She’s coming today, actually,” he said. “And she’ll stay until that gala nonsense.”

You tried to ignore the bitter taste at the back of your throat and nodded your head.

“That’s good. And like, in terms of optics—”

“Birdie, are we okay?” he cut you off as if he couldn’t keep it in anymore and you licked your lips.

“Depends,” you said. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t care about rumors, you know that.”

“You can’t say it didn’t bother you.”

“I honestly don’t give a—I don’t care.” He stopped himself from cursing and you bit back a smile.

“Nobody would blame you if you did,” you said. “If Caleb didn’t spin it, it could’ve affected your votes, the campaign next term, not to mention your work in here.”

“I don’t care,” he insisted. “I just…”

You watched his throat bob as he swallowed thickly like he was nervous all of a sudden, like he couldn’t get the words out. This wasn’t the first time you were seeing this, whenever Bucky needed to talk about his feelings he either faltered or shut down, but every single time he got that kicked puppy look on his face; brows pinched together, lips turned downwards in the most kissable way, his eyes cast down and his gaze turning distant.

It took everything in you not to pull him to yourself and kiss him just to make sure he would never look that sad or lost again.

“I need you to be okay,” he ended up saying quietly, still looking at the floor instead of your face. “For—” He gestured between you. “For us to be okay.”

Oh you had to get out of here before you started taking your clothes off.

Or got on your knees.

Or got on your knees while taking your clothes off.

“We’re okay,” you managed to breathe out, forcing yourself to focus. “We’re totally okay if you’re okay.”

He gave you a curt nod, biting inside his cheek. “I’m okay.”

“Good,” you said and repressed a smile. “And he wasn’t asking me out.”

That managed to pull him out of that shell he was retrieving into, making his head snap up.

“He was!” he said while you let out a laugh and opened the door to step outside with him following you. “No, Birdie I’m telling you—”

“He was just curious I’m sure,” you said, still grinning and he let out a groan, awakening those butterflies in your stomach again.

“He was fishing for information.”

You made a face. “Was he though?”

“Yes because he—where are we going?”

“We’re going to get coffee,” you said as you made your way to the cafeteria. “I feel like I’m going to need a lot of it today.”

                                      *

The rest of the day was relatively better. Apparently, Caleb’s approach to that whole scandal had worked on most people but he had warned you that you had to be careful in the following day not to do anything to fuel any more of that fire.

Which was fine.

It wasn’t like Bucky was asking you out to go to pubs anyway.

“Kels?” you asked without looking up from your computer. “Can you send me the report we had on the uh— on the I think the first week of last month, with the mental health resources for veterans?”

Kelsey tilted her head. “Weren’t you working on the clean energy bill with Mr. Rebound?”

You lifted your head to stare at her. “Mr. what now?”

“Mr. Rebound,” Kelsey said. “Because, you know, you need to get out there but he’s obviously not gonna be the one who get into a relationship with. He’s just a guy you sleep with a couple of times and then find someone else.”

You stole a look at Bucky’s closed door, then turned to her and grabbed the small fox figure on your desk.

“Okay, many things wrong with that theory,” you said, turning it in your hands. “First of all, I literally just got out of a relationship.”

“Yeah I know. Five Minutes Comma Max.”

“Well it—okay, that one is good,” you said with a huff of laughter. “Anyways, even if I were looking for a rebound, it wouldn’t be someone from work. I literally work with the guy.”

A smirk curled Kelsey’s lips and she jerked her head in the direction of Bucky’s office, and you pointed at her with the figure.

“Kelsey.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“That’s different.”

“It’s true love,” she said, clutching at her chest dramatically and you rolled your eyes.

“It’s just different.”

Kelsey looked around the office, then pushed her chair back to come sit on your desk.

“Well you can keep yourself busy while…” she trailed off and stole a look at Bucky’s closed door before turning to you. “You know.”

You shook your head while she crossed her legs, leaning forward so that you could hear her murmur.

“Did I tell you she’s coming here for lunch?”

“Hazel?” you whispered and she nodded.

“Mm hm.”

Damn it.

Bucky had told you Hazel was coming today, but you had just assumed she was coming to the city and not the goddamn building you were in. You checked the time to see it was near lunch, and huffed out a breath.

“I cannot be here when she drops by,” you said. “She already wanted me fired before, and I don’t want to push my luck.”

“Bucky would never fire you.”

“I’m still not risking it,” you said. “I’ll just go to the bathroom and be right back, and then we can go to lunch? There’s no way we’ll be having lunch at the same place anyway.”

“You do realize you’ll have to see her at the gala?”

“That’s a problem for the future me, be right back,” you said and walked out of the office to go into the bathroom at the end of the hall.

While you were washing your hands, you were also trying to come up with excuses to skip the gala but none seemed convincing enough. It was going to be an important event so Bucky was going to want you there even if Hazel didn’t.

Maybe it would be crowded enough that you could avoid both of them for the whole night.

You finished washing your hands and went to the hand dryer but as soon as you took a step, the bathroom door opened, making you turn your head out of habit.

Fuck.

Oh fuck, oh fuck…

Hazel seemed as surprised to see you as you were to see her, and you offered her a small smile just because you didn’t know what the fuck you were supposed to do, then turned your attention to the hand dryer.

Okay.

You just had to walk out.

You had already smiled and acknowledged her presence, which was probably more interaction than she wanted from you, so you just had to walk out of the bathroom, go to the cafeteria and text Kelsey. You pulled your hands back from the dryer while Hazel refreshed her lipstick, her eyes on the mirror even though you knew she was paying attention to your every single movement.

Anne Boleyn worked for Catherine of Aragon for years, you can handle just walking out of the bathroom while Hazel is here.

Keep walking.

Just walking to the door, not saying anything—

But of course you had to turn around the moment you gripped the door handle: “Miss Brooks?”

Fuck.

She raised her brows as if she was taken aback by your audacity –which to be honest, you were as well— but she didn’t say anything, just looked at you in complete silence, waiting for you to say whatever you wanted to say. You could already feel the stomachache you were going to get from anxiety, but you took a deep breath and cleared your throat.

“Um, I just wanted to say—” you stammered. “I’m guessing you saw that gossip piece, and I know of course you didn’t believe it because it’s completely false, but I wanted to apologize anyway, if it…um, if I somehow crossed the line.”

The silence was not making things easy so of course your brain took it as a demand to fill it immediately.

“Because like, I can assure you everything between Mr. Barnes and I, it’s completely professional. I would never—I mean obviously also he would never—we— not that I’m referring to him and I as a unit or anything, what that piece suggested is just lies and—”

“I know it’s just lies.”

Her voice was completely calm, similar to the approach Bucky had adapted while you were freaking out at his doorstep, but unlike his, Hazel’s tone also held a condescending tinge in it. You gulped to ease the tightening in your throat, then nodded your head with a forced smile.

“Oh.”

“Obviously nothing is going on between you two.”

You shook your head fervently. “Oh, of course—”

“But it’s not from a lack of trying on your part.”

That managed to shut you up, your eyes snapping up to hers. She hadn’t even said it in a hostile way, it was phrased in such a matter-of-fact way that for a couple of seconds you just gawked at her, then managed to pull yourself together.

“Miss Brooks, I can assure you I would never do that.”

Hazel smiled at you as if she was entertained by your pitiful attempt to lie to her and you cleared your throat.

“Our relationship is completely professional—”

“If you’re gonna recite me some PR bullshit, you should just email that to my assistant,” she pointed out. “Listen, I’m not here to start a catfight, and I’m certainly not going to fight over a man, both of those are beneath me. Or any other woman. I’m not even trying to insult you, I’m just telling you that I know.”

You pursed your lips just so that you could stop the words threatening to spill from them.

“I get it,” she said and gestured at you. “You’re the pretty, starry-eyed girl and he’s…well, him. So to be honest, it would be surprising if this whole schoolgirl crush didn’t take place. Obviously it will.”

You gritted your teeth, barely noticing that you were wringing your hands to keep your calm.

“You are important to Bucky,” she said. “You’re good at what you do, and despite this whole thing, apparently you’re somehow smart…”

Fuck. You.

“But the fact that your relationship is professional is not because you’re keeping it professional,” she said. “It’s because he’s determined to ignore those cute lovesick smiles you keep throwing his way.”

Nope.

You were not going to take this bait, and you were certainly not going to react to this in any way.

“So you don’t need to worry about me,” she said with a small smile. “I don’t see you as any threat to my relationship.”

You tried to swallow the bitterness of anger at the back of your throat, and as much as you wanted to tell her to go fuck herself, what left your lips was very different.

“Have a nice day, Miss Brooks.”

With that, you pulled the door open and walked out of the bathroom, still shaking with fury.

                                            *

“I applaud your self-control because I would’ve gone full on high school bathroom fight on her, I don’t care how much money her family has.”

You rolled your eyes as you laid on the floor and Caleb filled Kelsey’s glass with wine.

“I mean,” he said, “it sounds like she kind of called you a whore.”

“A dumb whore,” Kelsey added and you pointed at her.

“Exactly!” you said. “Whore I could understand, but dumb? That’s just rude as hell.”

“Maybe you should’ve told her to ask her man why he’s throwing a fit every time Lucas so much as breathes within the perimeter,” Kelsey said with a smirk and you scoffed.

“He’s not throwing a fit.”

“Sorry, what do we call breaking a goddamn chair when Lucas asked you out?”

“And to repeat, I was in that chair.” Caleb wagged his finger in the air. “It could’ve been my fucking neck. I basically survived the Winter Soldier.”

“Oh and pulling you into a supply closet?” Kelsey asked, motioning at you and you heaved a sigh, then pulled yourself up into a sitting position, making a face when your back cracked.

“We really do need a couch.”

“What’s wrong with our pillows?” Caleb gestured at the pillows and you shook your head.

“We look like interns at a startup tech company that has an open buffet of cereals.”

“Great, now I’m craving cereal,” Caleb muttered and looked between you and Kelsey. “Do you guys think anyone tried cereal with wine?”

“Nope.”

“Let’s try it,” he said and walked to the kitchen while you let out a whine, pressing your hands on your eyes.

“Kels…”

“Listen, she does see you as a threat,” Kelsey said. “That’s why she gave you that condescending talk, but it doesn’t matter. That relationship won’t last, you know that, I know that, Sarah knows that, and most importantly, Hazel knows that.”

“I don’t know that actually.”

Kelsey rolled her eyes. “Seriously? Max was your first serious boyfriend and all, but even you can’t be that out of the loop when it comes to relationships.”

“And yet.” You took a sip of your wine. “Guess who he’s probably fucking right now?”

“Aw, guess who he���s probably imagining while he’s fucking her right now?”

“Bucky isn’t like that,” you said. “And I doubt anyone would imagine anyone else when they have Hazel in their bed. Have you seen that woman? She’s gorgeous.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Kelsey sang and you rubbed your eyes.

“Kels, I can’t…” you trailed off. “Listen, what if she has a point? I—I have feelings for him but what if he sees me as some dumb girl with a crush that he entertains just because of my job?”

“You can’t let her get to you, and that’s not how he sees you.”

“But we don’t know that, do we? If he had any feelings for me, he would break up with Hazel.”

“Just like how you broke up with Max?” she asked, making you frown. “Because we both know your feelings for him started way before your break up and to repeat, Bucky is from a different century. He’s not gonna make a move on you while he’s in a relationship, but he’s trying to find a way to get out of that relationship without that breakup hurting Hazel’s…reputation.”

You scoffed. “Her reputation?”

“People couldn’t just drop relationships back in the 40s, Birdie.”

“Well, it’s not the—”

“Did you guys decide what you’re going to wear to that gala?” Caleb asked, coming back with a bowl of dry cereal and three spoons in his hand. “I mean we’ll be working and all, but we can’t just go with our usual clothes. And I don’t have a suit.”

“I’ll help you out, Cinderella.”

Caleb sat down. “You’re an angel, Kels.”

“I have a bunch of clothes from the time Max would drag me to events,” you said. “Kels, you can borrow one of mine if you’d like.”

“Oh I’d like that very much.”

“I mean they’re not exactly gowns but they should—” you started but was cut off when your phone started vibrating, making all three of you look at the caller ID, your heart doing a happy flip in your chest before you frowned at yourself.

“Well, what do you know?” Kelsey said and took a sip of her wine. “I guess he wasn’t fucking her after all.”

“Why does Bucky hate texting?” Caleb mused and Kelsey shrugged her shoulders.

“Probably because it reminds him of telegraphs from the front or something—”

“I’ll be back,” you said as you snatched the phone and stood up while Caleb reached for the wine bottle.

“Are we doing this or not?”

“Caleb, that sounds disgusting…” Kelsey whined and you walked to your room, then closed the door behind you and answered the call, your heart beating in your ears.

 “Hey.”

“Hi.” Bucky’s voice reached your ear, filling your stomach with butterflies. “Everything alright?”

You needed to pull your shit together.

Contrary to what Kelsey and Caleb told you, Hazel did have a point. You were acting like a starry-eyed idiot with a schoolgirl crush, and you couldn’t let Bucky think that about you, not when you had been trying so hard to prove yourself.

You swallowed nervously. “Yeah. Why?”

“You uh—” He paused. “You usually see me before you leave work?”

 You pursed your lips, sitting down on your bed to grab Blinky. Of course it hadn’t escaped his notice, with or without Hazel you always made sure to see him before you left work, ever since you had started working together.

However, you had a feeling that did not help the starry-eyed thing.

“Birdie?”

Your head snapped up and you closed your eyes, then took a deep breath and opened them again.

“I was busy with the clean energy thing,” you said. “Sorry about that.”

“No I didn’t ask for you to apologize,” he said quickly. “I just wanted to make sure.”

You ran a hand over your face, then looked down at Blinky, biting inside your cheek.

“Um,” you said. “Did you need me for something?”

You could almost see the frown on his face as he paused on the other line for a second.

“Alright, what’s going on?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

You wiped your eyes, then heaved a sigh. “Nothing is wrong.”

“Did someone say something?”

Oh yeah, funny you should ask. Your girlfriend.

You opened your mouth to say no, but turned your head when Caleb’s voice carried into the room.

“Birdie you need to come here, I think I discovered a new type of food!”

You scrunched up your face, playing with Blinky’s tail.

“I should go,” you rasped out and he let out a shaky breath.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I told you. Nothing is wrong.”

“No, something is wrong and I’m gonna—” He paused and you could almost see him pacing restlessly, running his hands through his hair like he always did whenever he was stressed. “I need to fix whatever is making you sad.”

“That’s not your responsibility.”

“Yes it is.”

“Why?” Your voice came out harsher than you intended and he fell quiet for a moment. You pursed your lips, then scoffed.

“See? Exactly.”

“Birdie, you…” he trailed off and let out a breath. “You know why.”

You didn’t trust your voice so you just stayed silent, turning Blinky’s tail around your finger.

“Come on,” he insisted in a soft whisper. “You have to know why.”

You dragged your tongue over your teeth, trying to keep yourself calm but the words had already left your lips before you could control yourself.

“How’s Hazel?”

Silence fell upon him and you clicked your tongue, nodding to yourself.

“Good night Bucky,” you said and hung up, then let yourself fall back to the bed, your eyes still burning with tears. You sniffled, holding Blinky to your chest and kicked at the covers at the foot of the bed just so that you could get some of the frustration out of your system.

If Bucky wanted to be with her, fine.

But you weren’t going to let anyone see you as an idiot.

“Birdie!”

“Coming!” you called out and wiped your eyes, then got up from the bed and put Blinky on the pillow, then made your way to the living room to find Caleb holding up the cereal bowl which seemed to be filled with wine, grinning at you.

“I’m a genius.”

“And I’m in the mood to get drunk,” you said as you sat down next to Kelsey. “Wine cereal it is.”

[danzer8705]

One of the greatest movies of all time!

I feel like tumblr should be bigger fans of The Blues Brothers. It's a movie that has everything we value as a community. Attention and respect to pioneering black musicians, open hostility to nazis, open defiance to police, Carrie Fisher with a rocket launcher and flamethrower, a soundtrack that goes hard as hell, John Belushi so blasted on cocaine that he continues to do somersaults despite having a broken ankle. It's got it all!

[danzer8705]

This was SO good!!!!

The Escort (fic)

Bucky x Reader, Explicit Fluff, ~4.8k words, AU/no powers. (omg guys, type bucky barnes tongue in the gif search box and OH BOY you'll be there for a while)

Summary:

Nat says you need to relax. Nat says she knows a guy who can help with that. Nat says a lot of things. Man, you hate it when she’s right.

MCU Masterlist ~ Also available on A03

You are gonna kill your best friend for talking you into this.

“This is a terrible idea,” you hiss at her as you and she head up the steps to the brownstone near Prospect Park in Brooklyn. “If it isn’t a joke. It’s a joke, right?”

“I thought it’d be a birthday present, honestly.”

“This is going to be your aunt’s house or something and you’re all about to have a fantastic laugh at my expense.”

“I promise, not my aunt’s house,” says Nat, rolling her eyes, but she does tighten her arm, looped confidently around yours. “My aunt would have way worse curtains. Look, you’re been super stressed the last couple of months—”

“I’m a lawyer, stressed is my middle name.”

“—and you refuse to take a vacation—”

“Again. Lawyer.”

“—so consider this a compromise.”

You’ve reached the front door; Nat leans over and presses the doorbell while you stare at her, agape. “How is hiring a… I don’t even know what they’re called! Gigolo?”

“I think the preferred term is sex worker,” offers Nat. “You’re going to like him. I promise.”

“Nat-tested, Nat-approved?” you say snottily, but Nat just grins at you.

“Let’s just say, this man’s tongue gave me the best orgasm of my life.”

You roll your eyes. “Nat, you’re a lesbian.”

“Exactly,” says Nat just as the door opens, held by the most unassuming, boring man in human existence.

“Again?” the man says to Nat.

“She has an appointment,” says Nat. “I’m just here for drinks.”

“Of course,” says the man, as if he hadn’t expected any other answer. He motions you both inside, takes your coats, hangs them up in a nearby closet—where there’s already half a dozen coats hanging—and leads you down the hall to the back of the house.

“Just talk to him,” Nat murmurs to you. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. But give him an hour, okay?”

“I can’t believe I’m letting you talk me into this,” you murmur back, entirely cross, before you step into the back room.

It’s… not what you expected. You were thinking either Old West bordello, or maybe some high-class, super dressy James Bondy sort of thing. You’d split the difference when trying to decide what to wear, gone with jeans and silk shirt, but Nat took one look and pronounced you fine.

Given what you see, she wasn’t wrong.

The back room is huge, clearly designed as a space for a large gathering. There’s a kitchen on one side, a fireplace with couches on the other, large plate windows that look out onto a patio and garden. Two dozen people mingle, most wearing jeans and sweaters and one or two of the ladies in casual dresses. Everyone looks super comfortable, there’s bright smiles and cheerful laughter from every corner. A few people are congregated around a pool table, a few others are by a large-screen television, cheering on a football game. There’s someone behind the bar, protesting that she has no idea how to mix the drink one of the guys has requested.

It looks like a group of friends, all hanging out and enjoying each other’s company. Or a casual get-together of work buddies who all like each other. It absolutely does not look like a den of iniquity or a swinger’s party or other types of sexy shenanigans.

Unless she really is pranking you. It’s hard to tell; the group by the bar lets out a shout when they see Nat, waving her over, and she’s gone before you can even think to grab her by the wrist and demand an explanation.

“You look somewhat startled,” says the man who led you in. He’s got a wry, soft smile on his thin lips. “I take it you expected something much different.”

“You have no idea,” you say.

“I think I do. You thought you’d see crushed velvet and heaving bosoms, or ridiculously overdressed high-end escorts with price tags around their necks and endless flutes of champagne?”

You wince. “Okay, maybe you do.”

He chuckles. “Not that those places don’t exist. But not here. We like to have a more… casual vibe. We want everyone here to feel comfortable, relaxed. Regardless of why they’re here.”

You take a breath and turn to him. “Can I be frank with you, Mr.—”

“Coulson.”

“Mr. Coulson. I’m only here because Nat is my best friend, and she kinda twisted my arm.”

“I see.”

“I have no idea if this is even something I want.”

“Not an uncommon reaction.”

“I have never done anything like this before, or even thought about doing something like this.”

“Of course not.”

“So you see my dilemma.”

“Crystal clear.”

“I’m sure everyone here is really great at what they do, but—”

Mr. Coulson holds out his hand to stop you. “Let me assure you, there is no obligation for you to do anything here. Your friend merely wants you to enjoy yourself.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And if you choose to remain in this room for the rest of the night, no one will think any less of you. Nor will we hold it against your friend for bringing you here.”

“I don’t want to waste your time, that’s all.”

“Who’s wasting what?” says a cheerful, friendly voice.

The guy who joins you is at least a head taller. His brown hair is thick and just a little bit floppy, held back by sheer will and the power of persistence. There’s a bit of scruff on his cheeks, and blue-grey eyes that look like they can’t stop laughing. His smile is bright and easy and comfortable, and he’s wearing a blue Henley layered over a t-shirt, both incredibly soft, clinging to his chest and arms.

He is exactly. Exactly. Your type. You can barely take your eyes off him.

“Ah, Mr. Barnes,” says Mr. Coulson, with a smile. “One of my favorite guests. Let me introduce you.”

*

You spend nearly an hour chatting with James—which he asks you to call him after the first ten minutes—while you sit on the couches by the fire. James is sweet and funny and seems genuinely interested in the type of law you do, and in turn is more than happy to regale you with stories of his engineering job, working with robotics to create better, more functional prosthetics.

It’s fascinating, and he has a way of making the highly technical details exceedingly accessible.

And then he’s even apologetic for boring you.

“You didn’t bore me,” you assure him. “I think I even understand what you’re trying to do, and I can barely program my phone to stop ringing after midnight.”

“Hand it over,” he says immediately, reaching out. “That’s easy, I can do that in my sleep. You sure about midnight? That’s late.”

“The fact that I’m setting a do-not-disturb at all is already going to get me in trouble at work,” you admit. “Life of a lawyer, we’re all kind of workaholics.”

“Mmm,” he says, typing fast on your phone. “What time do you want to turn it back on?”

“4am.”

He frowns. “That’s not a lot.”

“I work out every morning.”

You see his eyes sweep your body before he focuses back on the phone in his hands. It makes your stomach curl. Particularly since he’s pushed his Henley sleeves up and you’ve been admiring his forearms for the last twenty minutes.

“Done. And I promise I didn’t do anything skeevy like add my contact information. Not that I wouldn’t want to give it to you, but not without your permission.”

The heat rises to your cheeks, and you duck your face a little bit, embarrassed as you take back your phone. “That’s sweet. For the record, though, I don’t think I would mind much.”

“Yeah? I mean, you’re the one who said you weren’t sure about being here tonight.”

You shrug and look around. There’s fewer people in the room now, though Nat’s still by the bar, chatting up a woman wearing her dark hair in a loose bun, and a blond man who looks like he lives in the gym, judging by the size of his arms. “I don’t know. I was sort of expecting something… a little more…”

“Risque?”

“Yeah.”

James grins. “Yeah. This is better, I think.”

You nod. “You have much experience with places like this?”

“Like this? Nowhere’s like this. But places, sure. Worked at a place on the other side of Queens, that would have sent your head spinning down the street. Every single one of us had to wear a themed costume and—you didn’t realize I’m one of the escorts, did you?”

Because it’s clear that your shock is on display for all to see. Your mouth doesn’t drop open, but your eyes go wide and your neck goes stiff, and for a moment, you’re turned to stone.

You also want to flee, or at least go straight to Nat, grab her by the wrist and drag her out of there, her companions be damned.

James is one of the escorts.

And you’ve just spent an hour talking to him. Like a normal person.

Which he is! Of course he is! Totally normal!

“You can breathe,” suggests James.

You suck in a breath. “Sorry, I just…”

“Thought I was a guest, like you? I am. We all are. Phil meant it when he said this place isn’t like other places, you know. I’m here because I want to be. I don’t have a contract or set times I have to be here. I’m here when I want to be, and only when I want to be.”

“Okay,” you say, hoping your voice doesn’t squeak. “Sorry, just… you talked about your job at Stark Industries, I thought—”

“I do work at Stark Industries. But I did this to put myself through grad school. I come here sometimes for a lot of reasons, and none of them have to do with the money. Or the sex, honestly. But I’ve had some really good conversations here, and I had one with you tonight, and I hope this didn’t ruin it for you.”

“It didn’t.”

“Good.”

And then—much to your surprise—he settles back on the couch and into what you’d been talking about earlier. As if it was just a blip in the conversation.

And even more to your surprise—you stop thinking about the length of his fingers. And the hair on the back of his forearm. And the curve of his ear. And the way he smells when he leans over to grab a napkin so he can sketch out the design he’s working on, some kind of spicy cologne that makes you want to scoot closer to him on the couch, a whiff of cigar smoke, like he’d been standing near someone smoking, but not actually smoking himself.

How soft the hair on the back of his head looks, not too close-shaven. You couldn’t run your fingers through it, but it’d tickle your skin.

You reach for your wine, only to realize that there’s barely a few sips left. And when you glance at the bar, no one’s there anymore.

Not even Nat.

“I’ll get you more,” offers James. He whisks the glass from your hand and leaps to his feet in one swift movement. You almost follow him, but instead you twist on the couch to watch as he goes behind the bar and fills your glass.

The room really is empty. And James moves around the back of the bar like he’s been there a few times, but not so well that he doesn’t take an extra moment to look for something.

“Nat’s upstairs with Maria, if you’re wondering.”

You sit up a little. “You know Nat?”

“Once or twice,” says James casually.

And then it hits you.

“Oh my god,” you say, sitting up even more. “You’re the guy who went down on—”

James looks up over the bar at you, and you immediately drop your head down on the cushions to hide the way your cheeks are on fire.

“I am so sorry,” you say, voice muffled by the cushions. “That was awful. Can we rewind the last couple of minutes?”

“Nope,” says James. There’s laughter in his voice. “So, she say good things? Or not?”

You groan and cover your head with your arms.

“Now you’re making me nervous.”

“She dragged me here, didn’t she?”

“Good things,” says James, very self-satisfied.

The couch shakes as he sits down on the other end. You lift your head, see the now-full wine glass, and you sit up, tossing your hair back as if you didn’t just completely embarrass yourself. James grins easily at you, like you just cracked the best joke that had nothing to do with his oral skills.

You take the wine glass and gulp a couple of sips immediately. Or maybe half the glass.

James raises an eyebrow. “Nervous?”

“Liquid courage,” you explain.

James’s smile slides into something softer. “Doll, it doesn’t matter why Nat insisted you be here. Or why she asked me to be here the same night. You don’t have to do a thing.” He pauses. “Well, you wouldn’t have to do a thing even so, I’d be the one doin’ all the work.”

You burst into laughter, covering your mouth with the hand not holding the wine, but James reaches out and takes your wrist, running his fingers over the back of your hand and pulling it down.

“It’s a beautiful smile,” he chides you. “Don’t cover it.”

Maybe the wine worked, because before you can second-guess yourself, you speak. “So you’re good at it?”

His grin is positively feral. “Very good.”

You laugh again, eyes darting to the way he’s still holding your hand—though it’s not exactly holding. His fingers trace yours, up and down over your knuckles, light and soft and so relaxing.

“Nat says I need to relax,” you say, eyes on his fingers.

“Huh. She told me the same thing,” he says. “Uh… it’s how I relax, actually. Coming here.”

“Oh.”

“Something about making a woman feel good… it’s powerful stuff, you know? I ride that high all week. Carry it into work with me, and I’m twenty times more productive than I was before.”

“So you’re here specifically to…”

“Give someone a mutually beneficial orgasm, yeah.”

You smile, soft. “Uh… Orgasm. Singular?”

“Like I said, doll,” he says quietly, “you don’t have to do a thing.”

The kiss is sweet and soft, innocent considering. James’s lips are warm against yours, his breath sweet and smokey like the bourbon he’d been drinking earlier. It doesn’t take anything to open up under him, let him lead the way into the kiss, lick into your mouth and twine his fingers in yours.

Your heart pounds as he pulls away, chest heaving.

“This all right?”

“I… isn’t there a rule, about kissing on the mouth?”

He chuckles. “You watch too many movies.”

But he works his way down from your mouth to your neck, suckling the skin gently. Not enough to bruise, enough that you groan and lean your head to the side to give him better access. The stubble on his cheeks scratches just lightly enough to make every inch of skin come alive. His hands hold you by the waist, and you rest your hands on his arms, clinging so you don’t fall over.

“Your friend is right, you’re tense,” he murmurs into your skin. “I can help with that, if you let me.”

“I—”

“No pressure, doll. But I’m clean, and I know you are, too. Something Phil insists on before any of us walk in the door. And I’d love to help you relax.”

You squeeze your eyes closed. He hasn’t stopped kissing your neck, slowly pushing your silk blouse to the side so he can access your shoulder. Not that he’s undone a single button, or yanked at the fabric more than it would allow. He’s barely at your bra strap. And the hands that hold your waist, they haven’t gone wandering up or down, or tried to slip under your clothes, either.

He’s really waiting for permission to take what isn’t on display.

And it’s been so. Fucking. Long.

“Okay.” So soft, so quiet, so lodged in your throat you’re not sure he’s even heard you.

Maybe he didn’t. Because he keeps suckling at your neck, kissing across your collarbone to the other side, then back to your mouth. It’s warmer now; or maybe that’s just the way he’s kissing you, slow but certainly not lazy, his hands finally moving around to your back as he lowers you to the lay on the couch.

And then to the front of your jeans, where he nimbly and swiftly undoes the buttons on your fly.

“Wait—here?”

“We’re the last in here, doll. That means it’s ours. We don’t have to go anywhere.”

You nod, because honestly, if you had to get up and move somewhere else, you’d probably lose your nerve. And you’re already a nervous wreck.

James might be every bit as good as Nat says; he leaves your jeans unbuttoned, and comes back up to kiss you again until you’re once more starting to soften and relax under his weight and warmth. “I don’t have a safeword. Just tell me to stop, if you want me to, okay?”

You nod, a little bit frantic, and he kisses you again, this time moving a little to the side and sliding his hand between your jeans and your panties, fingers searching until they’re skimming over your pussy, where you’re already feeling warm and wet.

The breath catches in your throat; your hand clenches a little bit on his arm. His fingers skim over your clit, over your folds, light and soft, and you think you feel his lips turn up in a smile even as he continues kissing you. They’re gone just as smoothly as they arrived, as he runs his hand to your hip and slowly starts to ease your jeans down.

You have to shift on the couch to help them along, but soon, they’re down far enough that it doesn’t take much to kick them away entirely. The air in the room is a bit chilly, even so close to the fire, and James takes a moment to throw the cushions from the back of the couch aside, giving you both more room.

Then he continues the kiss, even as his fingers continue to explore your hips, your thighs, and your still-covered pussy. Every brush of his fingers makes you shiver, your muscles fluttering.

“Still okay?”

You nod.

“Good,” he says, mouth descending on your neck as his finger slides under your panties to press against you.

You let out a groan; his finger isn’t just covering your clit; it rests right along the center of you, the tip at your entrance, and you squirm against him, not sure if you want to pull away and press closer. He sucks at your neck as you wriggle, trying to find some kind of equilibrium, waiting for you to relax into him.

And you do, slowly moving closer to him, pressing up against his finger, so that the tip almost—almost—slips inside, where you know you’re wet and warm.

He dips his finger in, just a little, and then slides up, dragging the slick from your cunt up to your clit, which he slowly starts to circle, softly rubbing as you try to keep your breathing even, your hips from bucking up into him. Everything is shaking, moving, fluttering.

He kisses your mouth again as you let out a soft cry, riding the soft swell that rises. It’s tiny, nothing you couldn’t get on your own, but it’s been a long time since anyone else made it happen.

You fall back on the cushions, letting out a long sigh. “Oh.”

“Good start?”

Your eyes fly open. “Start?”

He chuckles, then kisses you again; his finger is still, against your clit. “You didn’t think that was it, did you? Doll, that was just the appetizer.”

“I… uh…”

“Do you want more?”

“Y-e-e-e-sss, but I don’t usually…”

He kisses you again. “Trust me?”

You nod, still uncertain.

But the man has his finger on your pussy, and you’re still warm and wet and already you want to press against him again, feel him move against you again.

He kisses down your neck, down your collarbone, down to the first button on your blouse, which is when you realize his hands have moved too, to the sides of your panties, which he slowly starts to pull away from you, throwing them off the couch.

“Lean back,” he says huskily, and picks up the kisses just below the last button on your blouse, on that soft rise of your stomach, the one that drives you up the wall in the gym because it never seems to go away. He doesn’t care, if the way he kisses is any indication.

And then he’s at the top of your curls, dropping kisses around the line of them, down the crease between your legs and your torso, down… down… down…

“James, I—”

He pauses, waits, his breath hot on your dampened skin.

“Do you want me to stop?”

You shake your head, unable to speak.

“Good.”

The heat of his mouth on your folds makes you groan, push your shoulders and head back into the pillows. One hand instinctively reaches down, and he grabs it with his, letting you twine your fingers together, gripping him tightly, as he lets his breath warm your pussy. His lips are barely touching you, and already you feel the desire rising, the warmth increasing, the wetness begin anew. You spread your legs for him—you can’t not, you’re barely aware of the way you hook one leg over the back of the couch—and his other hand touches you, helping spread your pussy lips, opening you wide.

“Gorgeous,” he whispers, then runs his nose along your soft folds, before following with something softer, sharper, wetter.

His tongue, you only belatedly, hazily, realize, as his thumb lands on your clit and begins to circle it again.  

You lose yourself in the sensations, his licking up you over and over and over. His thumb and forefinger, alternating between flicks and light pressure, twists and circles, riding the high of your gasps and groans, the way you press up against him and send your thighs fluttering around his head.

Wave after wave of pleasure, of release, of rising as the orgasms rush over you, softly one after the other, never-ending. Your cries and moans fill the room, against the crackle of the fire and the soft, wet sounds of his warm mouth against you.

His fingers, wet against your skin, stroke and press, flick and tease, until you are wrung out, exhausted, relaxed and limp against the pillows, without the strength to even continue holding his hand.

The gentleness of his kisses, as he wipes the slick away from your inner thighs, the skin and curls around your exhausted, swollen, touch-sensitive pussy.

He nestles behind you on the couch, wrapping you in his arms, nuzzling into the back of your neck, your heart still pounding.

“You lied to me earlier,” you mumble into the pillow, pulling his arms tight around your torso.

He’s quiet for a moment, his lips on your skin. “Hmm?”

“You said only one orgasm. That was a lot of orgasms.”

He chuckles into your neck. “Guess so. Did they work?”

You don’t answer. You’re already asleep.

*

It’s an hour later when you finally leave the brownstone.

You’d dozed in James’s arms for a good forty-five minutes, and woke feeling more relaxed and rested than you had in… years, maybe, you can barely remember. Your panties and jeans are neatly folded on the nearest table; there’s a bottle of water next to them, and James is over by the bar, water running.

He comes over once you’ve redressed. You wonder if he even took off his clothes at all. You don’t think so.

“Good nap?” he asks pleasantly, like you’d just fallen asleep on the couch, no nefarious or sexy times preceding.

“Yeah.”

He nods, and for a moment, it looks like he wants to say something else.

“I have to head out—it’s a ways to my apartment. I think Nat’s going to meet you in the foyer, though. Don’t worry about leaving a mess, there’s people who clean that up.”

You nod, suddenly shy and uncertain. Isn’t there… payment of some kind? A tip? Or… something?

“Hey,” he says suddenly, and you look up, just in time for him to lean over and kiss you.

A sweet kiss, unassuming, a press of his lips against yours.

You smell yourself on his skin, the rich muskiness of your come, and you lean up into it.

But he doesn’t open his mouth for more, and all he says, when he pulls away, is a quiet, whispered, “Bye.”

And then he’s gone.

You let out a long breath and slump against the cushions, your hands pressed to your chest. Thinking only, did that really happen?

Must have. You’re still wet, still warm, every nerve still alive.

Nat’s waiting for you in the foyer, already in her coat. No one else is around, and there’s a flush to her cheeks, a relaxed smile on her face.

She hands you your coat. “Ready?”

“Aren’t we supposed to… uh, pay?”

She shakes her head, but she’s got a pensive look on her face, like there’s something you’re not quite catching. “Already took care of it.”

“Nat…”

“Happy birthday?”

You groan and grab your coat.

You’re halfway down the block when Nat says, “Sooooooo.”

“Oh my god. Don’t tell me you’re looking for an after-action report.”

“Yep. How was it?”

You just sigh and shake your head, grinning.

Nat knocks her shoulders against yours; you knock her right back. “Gotta say. Maria’s great, but she’s no Bucky.”

You glance at her. “Hmm?”

“I figured you’d like him, that’s why I wanted you to meet him. I mean, Maria does this thing,” begins Nat, lifting her hands as if to demonstrate, “and I can’t figure out what she’s doing exactly, it’s a weird angle, but—”

“Nat, stop,” you say, grabbing her by the arm. “I was with James.”

Nat stops walking and stares at you. “James.”

Your heart stops in your chest. Your eyes go wide.

“Oh no,” you breathe. “Nat. Nat. Who did I just have sex with?!?”

“James, apparently,” says Nat. “Who introduced you?”

“That Coulson guy! He said, this is Mr. Barnes! And James said he knew you! Twice. I figured he was your guy!”

“Huh,” says Nat. “Who told you to call him James?”

“He did,” you shriek—well, mostly shriek, it’s gone one in the morning and there’s probably people sleeping and you really, really don’t want anyone overhearing this conversation.

“Interesting,” muses Nat. “Not Bucky?”

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

Nat starts walking. There’s a spring in her step, and since it hadn’t been there a few minutes ago, you don’t think Maria’s the one who put it there. “Good night all around, apparently.”

“Naaaaaat,” you groan, falling into step beside her.

“He told you to call him James,” says Nat, smug, as if that makes anything clearer. “I knew you guys would click.”

You almost stop in your tracks. Again.

You stare at her. “Wait. James… is Bucky?”

Nat turns to look at you. “Well. That’s his name. But the only one I’ve ever heard him give to clients is Bucky. Including me.”

Your eyes go wide. You can’t really focus on anything.

“I wondered why the charge was so low,” muses Natasha.

You remember the way he sketched out his current project, the intelligent questions he’d asked about your current case. The way he’d laughed and kept the conversation going for over an hour before he even tried to kiss you.

The way he’d looked at you before leaving, like there was something he wanted to say…

“Nat,” you say slowly, “did… did you set me up with an escort? Or a boyfriend?”

“I don’t know. Did you get his number?”

“He didn’t give it to me, he said putting his number in my phone without permission was skeevy.”

“Okay, so did you give him permission?”

“No,” you start to say, but then you remember.

You kinda did. And then you slept for about forty-five minutes.

You pull the phone out of your jeans pocket so fast, your hands shake.

Quickly you open your contacts.

There’s no James there.

Or Bucky, either.

Your heart sinks, and you bite your lip.

“Sorry, honey,” says Nat quietly.

“It’s fine,” you say, and shove the phone back in your pocket.

It doesn’t go very easily, and when you hear the crunch of paper, you realize why.

Slowly, you pull the crushed business card out of your pocket and stare at it.

The Stark Industries logo jumps out at you, followed by a familiar name listed as Head Engineer. The phone number in the corner is circled several times, as if he was worried you’d miss it, and there’s a notation: Direct Line!

You turn it over and see the handwritten message on the back.

Still skeevy, more so if you’re asleep. Lunch? –JBB

You grin at the card, and then at Nat, and then at the card again, smiling so wide that your face is going to split open.

“Good birthday present?” asks Nat.

“Nope,” you say, pleased, placing the card carefully in an empty pocket, where it won’t slip out again. You hook your arm through Nat’s and head down the street. “Amazing birthday present. I have no idea how you’re going to top it next year.”

“I bet James will have a few ideas,” says Nat smugly, and your laughter echoes down the street.

MCU Masterlist ~ Also available on A03

[danzer8705]

I am loving this series!!!!!!

Making Out for America

Congressman!Bucky x America’s Sweetheart!Reader, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage fanfic

15.8k words || in progress || no y/n || fluff and angst || mental heath issues || f!reader || sexual tension || set during thunderbolts*

Bucky Barnes, the reformed assassin turned congressman with a major PR problem that just won’t let up. Tabloids bad mouth him. Society fears him. How can he get the American people to believe that he has what it takes for a seat at the office? Desperate for a breakthrough, Bucky needs a way to win over the nation’s trust. Then his press secretary suggests a bold solution. Marriage to you, the poised, beloved daughter of a decorated war hero. America’s sweetheart. The embodiment of everything he’s not. It’s all for show. For Bucky, it means a shot at redemption. For you, it’s a chance to elevate your late father’s legacy and secure support for your foundation. Strictly business, and no space for love. Everything is going well. But behind closed doors and the flashing cameras, you two can't stand each other, and it's taking everything in you two to not rip each other's throats out.

can be read here <3

[danzer8705]

I am absolutely loving this series! Can’t wait to see what happens next!

Wildflower

Single dad!Farmer!Bucky x Florist!Reader, enemies to lovers fanfic

14.2k words || in progress || domestic fluff || sexual tension || no y/n || f!reader || angst/comfort || eventual smut || read here

After your grandmother’s passing, you inherit not only an empty house but also a failing floral shop teetering on the edge of closure. As you settle back in town, your bad day only gets worse after a horrible run-in with none other than the grumpy local farmer and single dad, Bucky Barnes. Immediately off the get-go, you despise each other. You both made a silent vow to never cross paths again. But this town is too small for the both of you. Especially after you reluctantly hire a moody teenager named Jamie to help around the shop… not realizing he’s Bucky’s son.

if you liked Grade-A, you might like this one! currently in progress, can be read here <3

[danzer8705]

”I’ll protect you.” Oh. My. Heart. I don’t think Bucky has any idea how much his heart needs that! 😍

Declassified [9] - Overprotective

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves, you are so amazing🩷 I hope you like this chapter as well! 🥰 And please let me know what you think! 🩷

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary: Some lines shouldn’t be crossed.

Warnings: Explicit language, yearning, drinking.

Word Count: 3.7k

Series Masterlist

One had to be fast and adaptable in order to work in politics, everyone knew that. The excitement was one of the best things about it, and you thought you knew just how chaotic it could get.

Until you moved to DC with Bucky and the rest of the team.

This was a whole different level. Your caffeine intake had doubled up in the last month, you were waking up from your sleep to note down ideas to add into the draft you were working on, and just last week someone had started an argument at the cafeteria because apparently he had been so on edge due to not having slept in two days, so needless to say you were right in your element.

And at least all this chaos distracted you from your feelings for Bucky.

…Mostly.

“Yeah no, we are not adding that,” you said, holding the phone between your shoulder and your ear, mouthing thank you to the barista as you took the cup. “No way.”

“Did you check the revisions?”

“I actually did, and they’re still very open to interpretation.” You rolled your eyes. “No offense, but it’s an amateur loophole.”

“Can you at least make sure Barnes sees it?”

You scoffed a laugh.

“John, I know we don’t exactly know each other, but trust me when I say Congressman Barnes is not going to see that draft until I give the okay, and I won’t give the okay until you fix the parts I asked you to.”

“He—”

“I speak for him,” you cut him off. “Before you ask again.”

He heaved a sigh. “You’ll have it before the recess.”

“Thank you,” you said and hung up, then shook your head and made your way through the hallway to the stairs, but your head whipped around when you heard someone calling out your name. A cute guy strode to you, then leaned down a little with his palms on his knees to catch his breath.

“Jesus, they were not joking about you,” he commented, still out of breath, then held up your wallet, making your jaw drop. “You forgot this.”

“Oh my God!” You took the wallet from him. “Thank you.”

He cleared his throat and gave you a smile.

“I’m Lucas, I work for Congresswoman Gray,” he said, offering his hand and you shook it, introducing yourself as well.

“Oh I know,” he said. “Trust me, everyone knows. You work for Barnes, and you’re Drexel’s prodigal daughter who climbed her way to the Congress.”

“Well, could’ve been worse,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders, then took a sip of your coffee. “Hold on, what did you mean? They weren’t joking about me?”

“Your nickname.”

“Sorry?”

“You’re the new kid on the block,” he said. “You all have nicknames. Don’t worry, I had one too when I first got here.”

You blinked a couple of times. “Wh—what’s my nickname?”

“Well, you scared the shit out of Harry when he tried to bypass you, your name is already in a draft, and on your first week here you managed to charm Congresswoman Lawrence, which, she is not impressed easily.”

“So the nickname is…?”

“Hurricane on heels.”

You made a face and shook your head, then started making your way to the office with him walking beside you.

“I talked to Congresswoman Gray on the election night.”

“Oh I know, she really wants you,” he said. “The minute Barnes lets you go…”

You hummed. “And what makes you think he’d let me go?”

“Well he won’t if he’s smart,” Lucas said. “But seriously, I checked your credentials that night. You’re pretty good.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that,” you said as you entered the office and he followed you to your desk, making Caleb and Kelsey exchange glances before they turned to watch him. You stole a look at Bucky who was reading the file you had given him, then forced yourself to turn to Lucas.

“I’m in charge of the clean energy draft team,” he said. “And I happened to have read your project last weekend.”

“You just read random projects on your weekends?”

“Only if the person who writes them is as pretty as they are smart.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Bucky’s head snapping up and you arched a brow, then repressed a smile.

“Wow. Smooth.”

“Not my best work,” Lucas said, making you huff out a laugh while Bucky stood up from his chair to make his way through his office. “No but seriously, I meant—you have good ideas, we have a draft, and the people we work for have the same political stance. Why not work on it together?”

“I was told the bill wouldn’t be ready until next year, so I made my schedule accordingly.”

“We’re pushing for six months.”

“And I’m pushing for a dessert bar in the office.” You snorted. “Equal odds. You can’t pass it in six months.”

“We think we can.”

You thought for a moment.

“No offense, but I’ve only seen the first version of that bill. If I’m going to move it up, I’d need to see the revisions you’ve made since then.”

“Not a problem, I’ll send it right now,” he said, taking his phone out oblivious to Bucky who was leaning sideways to the doorframe, glaring daggers at him while he held the back of Caleb’s chair as if he wanted to do something with his hands. Caleb craned his neck to look up at him, then turned to you and wiggled his brows.

“There,” Lucas said. “Just emailed you.”

You looked down at your phone. “Oh, thanks.”

“And if you want, we can grab coffee this weekend to discuss—”

Your head shot up when a crack echoed through the room, making you turn your attention to Bucky who apparently had grabbed the back of the chair too tight.

“Jesus Christ, could’ve been my fucking neck…” Caleb muttered, standing up from the chair and Bucky cleared his throat, putting the small piece of wood on Kelsey’s desk.

“I uh—the arm malfunctioned.”

Kelsey raised her brows. “It can do that?”

“You were holding the chair with your right hand, Bucky,” Caleb added helpfully while Bucky kept glaring at Lucas and you looked between them, your brows furrowed.

What the hell was happening?

“Who are you?”

“I’m Lucas Anderson, Congressman Barnes. I work for Congresswoman Gray, it’s an honor to meet you.”

Bucky didn’t even dignify that with a response and Lucas shifted his weight under his glare, then turned to you.

“I’ll—I’ll email you, is that okay?”

“Sure!”

“See you later, Hurricane.” He joked as walked out of the office, and Caleb grinned as if he was having the time of his life while Kelsey rolled her eyes, muttering something that awfully sounded like “men” under her breath.

“You know, it wouldn’t physically hurt you to be nice,” you told Bucky as you followed him into his office and shut the door behind you.

“It might.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Bucky.”

“Hm?”

“You scared the poor guy.”

“Good,” he said as you sat down across from his desk. “Maybe next time he will think twice before pulling that nonsense.”

“What nonsense?”

“He—” Bucky gestured at the door. “He crossed the line.”

You hummed. “And the line would be…?”

“He asked you out!” Bucky insisted, making you let out a laugh.

“To discuss the clean energy bill that bounced months ago!”

He shot you a look. “Birdie.”

“He just wants to work together and get that bill passed.”

“That’s an excuse,” Bucky told you. “A gateway. That’s how it starts. One minute he’s talking to you about the bill, the next minute he’s trying to convince you to go to his place and then...”

You tilted your head. “Why do you sound like one of those vintage anti-drug PSA movies?”

“I don’t trust him.”

“After all those two minutes you spent in the same room?”

 “And what was that hurricane thing?”

You slipped a little on the seat and rolled your eyes. “Apparently, we all have nicknames now that we’re the new guys.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. “So not only did he ask you out, he also gave you a nickname?”

Of course Bucky wasn’t jealous.

He didn’t get jealous over you.

“I don’t think he was the one who came up with that nickname—”

“What’s next?” he asked. “Moving in together?”

“No, we will actually elope,” you told him, trying to keep a straight face. “Right after I get pregnant out of wedlock. Because apparently we’re just tossing impossible scenarios around now.”

If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought the big bad scary Winter Soldier was sulking.

“I’m being serious.”

“You’re being childish.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Only one person in this room has a toy.”

“For the millionth time, it’s a plushie,” you said and pointed at him with your phone. “And keep Blinky out of this.”

“The guy asked you out,” he insisted as if he was trying to make you see an undeniable truth. “It’s very clear what his intentions are!”

“I’ll react exactly the same way the next time a congresswoman wants to discuss anything with you,” you said with a grin. “I’ll be screaming my head off about how they’re after your virtue at the door.”

“To repeat, people aren’t asking me out on dates in the middle of the office.”

“Well that makes two of us, because he did not ask me out on a date,” you retorted before scoffing a bitter laugh. “It’s not like I could’ve gone anyway, by the way. I’m going to be very busy this weekend, remember?”

His gaze softened in a second. “Dinner with your family?”

“Yep,” you said. “I’ll do that on Saturday, and probably I’ll spend the entire Sunday trying to pull myself together. So no dates.”

His jaw tightened.

“Birdie, I’ve been thinking,” he said. “Maybe I should come with you.”

You pulled your brows together. “What?”

“Yeah, to dinner.”

“Don’t you think it’d be a bit weird if I took my boss to my family dinner?” you asked with a grin. “Not to mention, you told my father to go fuck himself the last time you saw him, which I’m incredibly thankful for, but unlike me he didn’t like it.”

“Someone should be watching your back in there.”

You could feel a pleasant warmth blooming in your chest.

“Bucky, I’m not going to war,” you reminded him. “It’s just family dinner.”

“How about that time you lost your voice after that screaming match?”

You smiled. “I didn’t know you still remembered that.”

He looked at you like a kicked puppy as if the only way to soothe him was to let him come with you to dinner. You heaved a sigh at his furrowed brows and his downturned lips, and had to physically grip the arm of your chair so that you wouldn’t fling yourself to him to kiss away that expression.

 “My mom will be there,” you managed to say. “She’s the only reason I said yes to that dinner anyway. And she doesn’t like it when we talk politics or when we fight, so we will play nice.”

“But will he?” he insisted and you thought for a moment, then nodded your head.

“Oh yeah,” you said. “And either way, you don’t need to worry about me. I will be totally fine.”

                                                    *

Well.

You had spoken too soon.

If anything, the dinner had started pretty normal. You made sure to stick to the topics your mother chattered away; about her vacation plans for the summer, her retreats and the families of her friends.

But of course, eventually the main topic of the conversation turned to you.

“Your father tells me you’re knocking everyone out the park in the Congress!” she said. “How’s that going?”

You nodded vigorously, sitting up straighter.

“I think people like me,” you said. “Just today one of the people who work for Congresswoman Gray told me she wants to work with me on the clean energy bill, it bounced a couple of months ago I don’t know if you remember—”

Your father frowned. “You’ll work with Gray?”

“Yeah.”

“Seriously? Gray of all people in the Congress?”

“I think she’s very successful.”

“Not very successful at passing bills.”

Nope.

Nope, you were not going to take that bait.

You licked your lips and turned to your mother.

“But also, Bucky is doing a great job,” you said, a smile warming your face the moment his name left your lips. “We are actually working on this veteran bill, and then after that we’ll focus on the education of children in low income families, it’s going to be amazing. I have so many ideas and he supports all of them.”

“And he is quite handsome,” your mother said and you bit back a giggle.

“Um, it’s—we actually joke about it a lot at work,” you said. “Like, half the reason why he got elected was because of his looks.”

“And because people love a hopeless idealist,” your father said, making you narrow your eyes.

“He’s not a hopeless idealist. He wants to help people just like I do.”

Your mother took a sip of her wine. “And he used to be an Avenger, no?”

“Yeah.”

“And before that, he used to be an assassin,” your father added and you scoffed.

“Not by his own choice.”

“Oh I’ve seen the PR campaign you guys ran,” your father said. “I mean it’s good, don’t get me wrong, but some of us aren’t naïve enough to fall for that.”

You bit inside your cheek, commanding yourself to be calm.

“What’s his star sign, by the way?” your mother asked and you huffed out a laugh.

“Pisces.”

“Aw, no wonder why you two get along.”

 “Really?” You made sure to keep your voice flat. “I didn’t know that.”

That right there was a goddamn lie. You definitely knew.

Kelsey had pulled up his birth records to check your compatibility just the other day.

“I don’t trust him,” you father said. “I mean, his past…”

Don’t take the bait.

Do not take the bait.

“And regardless of what your bleeding heart tells you Pumpkin, some people don’t deserve second chances. Least of all the Winter Soldier.”

Fuck it, let’s take the fucking bait. 

“He is not the Winter Soldier anymore, and he is the best man I’ve ever met in my entire life,” Pride was laced in your tone, making your mother tilt her head while your father raised his brows. “He’s smart, he’s loyal, he’s brave—before he was tortured and brainwashed, he fought in the Second World War with Howling Commandos and Captain America. He put his life on the line to protect people, and then HYDRA took him, they tortured him, they…they put him through things no human being could survive.”

Your mother grabbed her wine glass to down it, then filled it again.

“Then, when he actually broke through decades of brainwashing, people said all that shit about him, and even then he tried to save the world. He tried to protect people knowing that those same people could imprison him for something he couldn’t control, something—something HYDRA made him do,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion. “I don’t give a shit about his past, I’d follow him anywhere.”  

And just like that, the mood of the room shifted.

“…That’s quite the loyalty for your boss,” your father pointed out, his glare enough to pin anyone to their spot but you glared back at him.

“Yeah,” you said, your nose in the air. “Yeah, and you know what? I’m not going to let you or anyone else disrespect him.”

“I’m sure your father didn’t mean—”

“No mom, he did. And Bucky deserves better than being criticized like that,” you insisted and turned to your father. “I’d trust Bucky with my life. So how about you show him some goddamn respect when we both know you wouldn’t be able to survive if you went through quarter of the things he went through?”

Your father kept his eyes on you as if he was trying to read your mind and you let out a breath, then pushed your chair back and stood up.

“I’ll talk to you later, mom,” you muttered and your mother heaved a sigh.

“Honey, please sit down.”

“I have things to do,” you said, averting your gaze from your father. “I’ll call you later.”

With that, you walked out of the house, your ears still muffled with blood rushing in them, fury pounding in your head.

                                                   *

Fine.

Alright, maybe you had lost control and went all “But daddy I love him!”

Whatever.

 You were still angry but you managed to smile at the Uber driver and thanked him when he pulled over in front of your place. You got out of the car, trying to decide whether to ask Caleb and Kelsey if they needed anything before going in, but before you could pull your phone out, you heard a familiar voice.

“So how did it go?”

Bucky.

You could feel the anger leaving your body as you turned around to look at him, a smile warming your face. He was leaning against his motorbike, his gaze fixed on you as you heaved a sigh, then shrugged your shoulders.

“That bad?” he asked and you nodded, biting inside your cheek. He eyed you up and down, then licked his lips and nodded at the small pub around the block.

“Come on.”

“What?”

“You look like you need a drink,” he said and pushed himself off the motorbike, then gently touched the small of your back to steer you. “So we’re going to drink.”

“What are you doing here?” you asked as you started walking beside him, and he shrugged.

“I was worried about you.”

Like it was normal.

Like it was an everyday occurrence.

Matter of fact, simple, and honest. I was worried about you.

“How’s your throat?”

You shook your head. “It wasn’t a shouting match.”

“But…?”

“But it wasn’t pleasant,” you said slowly. “But hey, it’s not like we expected pleasant, right?”

He hummed as you both entered the small pub and sat down at the closest table, Bucky ordering two glasses of whiskey for you. You put your bag beside you and looked for your compact mirror, but it was very hard to find it with the files you had taken to your father so that you could go over them if you had the time, so you pulled out the files out of your bag first to put them on the table, then checked yourself in the mirror.

At least your makeup was still fine.

Bucky watched you while you put the mirror back in your bag and the waiter brought your drinks to place them on the table. You smiled at him, then turned to Bucky to gently clink your glass against his.

“Thank you,” you muttered and he raised his glass a little.

“Don’t mention it, Birdie.”

You took a sip of your whiskey, then let out a breath and leaned back, running a hand over your face.

“Gosh, it was a disaster,” you whined, pressing your palms on your eyes, then dropped your hands. “Like, yes there was no shouting but I think I basically gave my father a very passionate TED talk—not that he didn’t deserve it.” You added in a hurry. “He did. He crossed the line.”

You took another sip and made a face.

“And like— what gives him the right to even…even criticize?” you asked, motioning vaguely. “As if he knows what he’s talking about. It’s not just crossing the line, it’s also the audacity. You know?”

“I don’t actually,” Bucky said with a small smile. “You’re gonna need to give me some idea about what happened if you want me to contribute to this conversation.”

You scoffed. “He’s just vile. No respect whatsoever.”

“What was it?” Bucky asked. “The bill we're working on? The projects? The clean energy—”

“You.”

Confusion pinched his brows together. “What?”

“He badmouthed you.”

For a couple of seconds, he only stared at you without even saying anything, and you could almost see the wheels turning in his head while he tried to wrap his mind around what you said.

His voice was soft when he spoke: “Birdie…”

“I know what you’re going to say.” You shook your head. “So save it.”

“You shouldn’t do that.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Well, good thing it’s my choice and not yours.”

“Listen, don’t get me wrong,” he said. “Obviously I hate your father, but you shouldn’t just throw yourself into a fight because of me.”

“To repeat, he said bad things about you!”

“Sweetheart, a lot of people say bad things about me.”

The patient tone of his deep voice combined with that term of endearment was enough to wake a fire underneath your cheeks but you licked your lips, trying to focus.

“Well, they can’t say it in front of me though, can they?” you asked, determination clear in your voice. “No. Because tough shit.”

“You—”

“That’s simply not going to happen,” you insisted, “because I won’t allow it.”

“That’s not how it—”

“I’ll protect you.”

You only became aware of the silence falling upon him after you took a sip of your whiskey. You frowned slightly and put your glass down, then turned to see him watching you with awe etched on his handsome face, that fond light gleaming in his blue eyes.

Focus.

You gave him a quizzical glance and he tried to pull himself together.

“Sorry?” he managed to ask and you shrugged your shoulders.

“I’ll protect you,” you repeated, fire still burning your cheeks. “Do you have a problem with that?”

He paused for a moment as if he was surprised by your words, and a boyish smile flickered across his lips before he shook his head.

“No ma’am,” he said, that old Brooklyn accent peeking through his voice. “No problem at all.”

You held back the giggle threatening to climb your throat, then stuck your nose in the air.

“Good,” you said and held up your hand to motion at the waiter. “Glad we cleared that out. I’m gonna order fries, want some?”

[danzer8705]

This series was AMAZING! I already can’t wait to read it again!

Grade-A Pain in My Ass

Single dad!Bucky x Teacher!Reader, enemies to lovers fanfic

64.2k words || completed || domestic fluff || sexual tension || no y/n || f!reader || angst/comfort || smut

Bucky Barnes is a single dad who doesn’t do love. He’s got everything he needs: a steady job, cozy home, and his whole life wrapped up in one little girl, his daughter Rebecca. No complications, and absolutely no room for romance. After a rude and not-so-pleasant first encounter, he finds out you’re the elementary school teacher of Rebecca’s class. He would make it his mission to avoid you at all costs and to absolutely not fall in love with you. I mean, how could he? Especially since you’re a grade-A pain in his ass.

can be read on ao3 here <3

[danzer8705]

THEY FOUND EACH OTHER!!!

Not Like Before Chapter Three

Pairing: Jax Teller x fem!Reader Word Count: 4.5k [Series Masterlist] [Jax Fic Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; nurse!Reader, canon-divergence (no Abel or Thomas), fluff, angst, friends to lovers, eventual smut, girl dad Jax

a/n: I've had this series stuck in my head and I'm curious to see the reactions y'all have to these next few chapters! I've been binge writing them... Feedback is always appreciated! Dividers by the lovely @secretlysamcro.

series tag list: @kmc1989 @secretlysamcro @chloe-skywalker @cindsvibes @aussiefangirl95 @sjester42-blog @danzer8705 @uknowmesstuff @mmarysha @shiggynuggiez @stevie75 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @kaydallas21  @orymgraves @unholycheesesnack @livewaspsblog @leather-n-velvet @staley83 @moongirlgodness @shelbyteller

Standing beside the hospital bed, you found yourself in a stare down with the last patient on your rounds for today. The rhythmic beeping of his heart monitor repeatedly broke through the silence of his room as he held your stare with his own. Placing one hand on your hip, you absolutely refused to back down from this standoff.

You raised the chocolate pudding cup in front of yourself, watching Chibs’ attention switch from you to the dessert in your hand. “We had a deal for this past week, Chibs,” you reminded him, shaking the pudding cup to emphasize your point. “That's the only way this works.”

“Bit more like a bribe, sweetheart,” he countered, his eyes narrowing as he met your gaze again. “And what's a few ounces of water even matter? I'm gettin’ discharged this afternoon.”

“Well, until then,” you began, turning around and setting the pudding cup down onto his bedside table, just out of his reach, “you're still my patient. In my care. And we–” you turned back towards him, crossing your arms over your chest and fitting him with the same stare you used on Em, “–had a deal. Drink your water if you want the extra pudding cup.”

Chibs frowned back at you, but you didn't ease up on the stern expression and the Mom Stare you'd long since perfected. You'd done this dance far more times than you could count with a four year old who's brain wasn't nearly as developed enough to comprehend logic and reasoning, especially when she really wanted something. So Chibs? He was nothing in comparison to your stubborn and hard-headed girl. He broke far easier than Em would have for his damn extra pudding cups. 

After another few beeps from his heart monitor marked the passing time, he finally folded. Releasing a sigh, his shoulders dropped before he reluctantly reached a hand out. Grinning triumphantly, you grabbed the large jug of ice water he'd been avoiding drinking and placed it into his awaiting hand.

“Swear ya must be a witch,” he muttered.

Biting your lip, you fought down your laughter as you switched your focus to filling out his medical chart for the last time. Admittedly, you were going to miss seeing him on your rounds since he was getting discharged this afternoon. He was the last patient on your schedule for today, meaning this would be your last visit with him. Over this past week that he'd been here, he'd brightened your days at this small hospital far more than your other patients–like Mrs. Trenton down in room 245. She spent most of her time telling you how her eldest son was the devil because he wouldn't sneak her food into the hospital that went against her dietary restrictions.

“Not a witch,” you assured him, focused on filling out his chart, your head bowed over the clipboard. “Just have a lot of experience with getting my stubborn daughter to listen to me.”

Chibs swallowed his water, lowering the jug to his lap as he eyed you curiously. As your pen continued to scratch across the paper, you could see him watching you from his bed out of the corner of your eye. He'd told you he had a daughter the other day as well. Though he'd never elaborated on it further, and the somber look in his eyes when he'd mentioned her kept you from asking any questions.

“She get that from her mother?” he asked curiously. “That stubborn streak you're always talkin’ about?”

Grinning, you shook your head as you continued working on his chart. “No, not from me. I'm not nearly as hard-headed as she is,” you told him, a fondness in your words as you spoke about her. “Probably gets it from her father.”

When you realized what you'd said, you fell quiet, the grin gradually falling off your face as you continued writing down a few notes on the chart. Emilia’s father was a difficult topic for you. It wasn't as if you wanted people to know that you'd hooked up with a stranger for one night and the encounter had resulted in your daughter because people were judgemental. 

Even if that night with him had been beyond incredible–and one of the last times you'd really had sex, or at least great sex. You'd obviously not been with anyone during the time you'd been pregnant with Emilia, and at the time, that had been the furthest thing from your mind. After Emilia was born, you had attempted to date, but the moment you mentioned your little girl, the dates always ceased. 

Eventually, you'd resorted to having one time flings, getting a sitter for Em so that you could have a few hours to be something other than mom for a while. But those nights only further proved how unique that first night had been with Em's father–because you were quick to discover flings did not go like they had that night. They were quick, unsatisfying, and boring, so you’d given up years ago. It had always just been you and Em ever since she’d come into your life.

“Never seem to want to talk about her father,” Chibs pointed out. “Why is that?”

“I never really knew him,” you stated softly, still focused on the clipboard.

Judging by the quiet hum he made in response, you knew he understood what you hadn’t actually said. Em had been a surprise, fathered by a stranger. You figured if anyone in this town wouldn't judge you, Chibs was probably one of them. 

“Ahh, I see,” he replied. “At least he wasn't some deadbeat prick that needed his arse kicked. Though I woulda been happy to do that for ya.”

Lowering your pen to the paper, you turned and looked over at Chibs, a small smile creeping over your face. “Can't say most of my patients repeatedly offer to beat up men for me,” you teased lightly. “I'll definitely miss having you around here.”

“So ya do like me,” he shot back with a chuckle. “I knew it, sweetheart. Can't really resist my charms.”

You rolled your eyes at him playfully before grabbing your clipboard from the counter. Chibs lifted the jug of water from his lap, taking a few deep drinks through the straw. As he drank, you turned and grabbed the bedside table, wheeling it closer to him so he could reach the pudding cup.

“Enjoy your last stolen pudding cup,” you told him. “But you should really drink more water when you're out of here.”

Chibs was quick to set his water down and grab the dessert, a soft laugh falling out of you as he tore into it. You didn't know the rest of the guys in his motorcycle club, but he seemed harmless enough. You still didn't understand why the other nurses here were so against caring for him, acting like they thought he’d shoot them for taking his blood pressure or administering some pain medication.

“Be honest with ya, sweetheart,” he said, already scooping up some pudding with a spoon, “that ain't gonna happen.”

“Could have at least lied to me,” you pointed out with a grin, beginning to walk towards the hospital room door. You could hear loud voices coming from down the hall just outside of it, but you kept your focus on Chibs. “I hope I don't see you injured back in here, but I will miss your awful jokes brightening my days. Take care of yourself, alright?”

“Aye,” he said with a nod. “You as well, sweetheart.”

You gave him one last goodbye before turning and opening the door of his room, stepping into the hall where the unmistakable noise of his friends was impossible to ignore. Glancing over towards the right, you saw a group of Sons making their way towards Chibs’ room. You had been about to turn away from the loud bikers and continue down the hall, needing to change out of your scrubs and go pick up Emilia from preschool, but then your eyes caught onto a set of blue ones. 

He froze and so did you.

Hugging your clipboard against your chest, your breath died in your throat as the rowdy group continued their way towards Chibs’ room. None of the others seemed to notice the strange way you’d gone entirely immobile just staring at the blonde who was staring back at you. Maybe it was partly due to the fact that the hospital staff here always treated them differently, but you didn't give it much more thought. You were too distracted by how the blonde had reacted to you, just standing there staring at you with wide, surprised eyes that probably mirrored your own.

As the others continued obliviously into the room you'd just exited, one guy with a thick, dark beard and a neck tattoo hung behind when he finally realized his group was a man down. Returning to his side, he nudged an arm against the blonde whose face was quickly resurfacing in your mind from so long ago. The taller man leaned over, asking him something you couldn’t quite hear. The blonde nodded before his friend glanced over at you for a moment, a curious look in his eyes before he turned and joined the other Sons in Chibs’ hospital room.

Then you were left standing alone in the hallway with him, your heart violently pounding in your chest as you stared at the man you had no doubt was your daughter’s father. The man who had absolutely no idea he had a child with you. And considering he didn't know that, it only made his strange reaction to you incredibly confusing and unusual. He seemed to have recognized you just as quickly himself even though it'd been five years since you’d spent those few hours together, something you were certain he'd done countless times with other women since then. 

Why did he recognize you? How could he possibly have remembered you? 

He took a few cautious steps towards you in his pristine Nikes like he wasn’t entirely certain if he should. Squeezing your clipboard tighter to your chest, you still felt as if you couldn’t breathe. You were carrying a secret he had no idea about. A massive, life-changing one. While years ago you’d initially wanted to find some way to tell him when you’d discovered you were pregnant, now you had absolutely no idea what to say. You were entirely unprepared for this encounter. You’d known he’d been in some sort of motorcycle club back then, but you hadn’t ever thought that it could be the one here where you’d just moved. 

The silence felt suffocating the longer it stretched on in the otherwise empty hallway, your nerves steadily rising as his eyes scanned over your face in disbelief. You didn’t know what to even say, but you knew that you couldn’t just blurt out the truth to him. That wasn’t something you just dropped on somebody five years later the second you saw them. But while your mind was racing with thoughts about having found your daughter’s father unexpectedly all these years later, you had no idea what the hell was running through his mind with the way he kept staring at you.

“You’re…” he began, that odd look still on his face. “You’re the girl from Fresno.”

Palms beginning to sweat against the clipboard you were holding in a death grip, a strained smile tugged at your lips. “I guess? I mean I used to live there,” you told him. “I uh, moved. Recently.” Your eyes darted towards Chibs’ room where the Sons were currently still making raucous conversation inside despite being down a man. “Obviously,” you added awkwardly, focusing back on him.

A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips at your answer, like he’d been surprised but pleased to hear it. “So you remember who I am?” he asked. 

How the hell would you ever be able to forget him? That night had been easily the best sex you’d ever had and probably would ever have. But besides that, he’d given you your daughter. The one thing you loved above anything in the world. Of course you hadn’t entirely forgotten him, you’d just never expected to ever meet him again.

“Yeah,” you answered. “You look a bit different now, but I’m pretty sure there’s only one biker who’d have a reason to recognize me. Though I’m…truthfully kind of surprised you even remember me.”

He bit his lip, fighting back the growing smile as he took a few steps closer towards you, closing some of the distance between you both in the hallway. Your feet remained rooted to the floor as he stopped a short distance from you. Unable to resist, your eyes began to scan him over in return.

He’d changed from the memory you had of him all those years ago. The long, shaggy hair had been replaced with a different style, something slicked back and neater. His facial hair wasn’t nearly as unkempt and outgrown, but he still had that blonde beard on his handsome face–a face which had only grown more attractive over the years. He’d matured from the young man you’d taken home with you back then to the broad, muscular man standing in front of you now. But he still carried that dangerous aura which oddly drew you in instead of away. 

“Couldn’t forget you, if I’m being honest,” he admitted.

He still had that smooth voice of his, too. You remembered how it had once murmured such dirty things into your ears, but even now it could still make your pulse quicken. 

“That was a damn good night,” he added.

Clearing your throat, you felt goosebumps prickle along your forearms at the comment. A ‘damn good night’ seemed like a vast understatement to the way you’d both been so completely tangled up in each other for hours. 

“Yeah, it was definitely something,” you agreed quietly.

The smile lingered on his lips as something hid behind his pretty blue eyes. But the longer you held his stare trying to make sense of it, the more you began to realize that Emilia’s eyes were the same shape as his, and that smile he was wearing looked incredibly familiar, too. She’d inherited more than you’d realized from her father.

“Honestly, darlin’, I never thought I’d run into you again,” he confessed with a shake of his head. “But now you live in Charming?”

You nodded, the nerves in your stomach growing under the weight of his gaze. Five years ago, you'd had a completely different reaction to his undivided attention than you were having now.

“Just moved here about three weeks ago,” you replied.

Still hugging the clipboard tight to your chest, you could feel the erratic thudding of your heart beneath it. While part of you wanted to stay and talk to him–admittedly you could feel that familiar attraction and the strange draw towards him even years later–you knew you really couldn’t. Besides the fact that you needed to pick up your daughter from preschool, you were also struggling not to just blurt out the words ‘you got me pregnant’ the longer you stood here with him. 

But you knew dropping that on him out of nowhere would not be the best way to disclose the news to him. Which was apparently now something you needed to figure out how the hell to even go about doing, but a run-in with him for the first time in years didn’t seem like the best time. Especially when you really needed to get going and didn’t have time to sit here and answer the questions he might have.

Running a hand over his mouth, he nodded his head at your answer. With the way he was acting, it seemed like he wasn’t ready to let this conversation just end. He hadn’t excused himself to go into Chibs’ hospital room with the other Sons, lingering in the hall like he'd rather be out here with you. Which only had you growing curious about why that was.

“You move out here with a boyfriend or somethin’?” he questioned next.

Lips parting in surprise at the blunt, bold question, both of your brows rose up onto your forehead. The man chuckled at the look on your face while you contemplated the audacity of him asking about your relationship status so quickly and easily. 

“Just wondering. Don't know if I gotta worry about some guy tryin’ to start shit with me for having history with you,” he told you, shrugging his shoulders in faux innocence. “Just wanna make sure I’m not kicking someone’s ass that I probably shouldn’t, y’know?”

Somehow you had a feeling he wouldn't mind kicking anyone's ass.

“No, I uh, definitely didn’t move here with anyone like that,” you answered him.

You’d been about to add on that you’d moved here with your daughter, but the words got stuck in your throat. Tongue feeling like it had turned to lead, you couldn’t get the words out. Because if you told him about your daughter, you felt like you needed to tell him the full truth. And you'd already established that it didn't feel like the time and place.

“So no guys I gotta be lookin’ out for, huh?” he teased, unaware of your internal conflict.

It felt like there was something else in his words, a flirtatious undertone. While you’d love to have a repeat of that night–sans another pregnancy–you couldn’t just sleep with him now. The dynamic between you two was going to get messy and strange once you finally did tell him the truth. If he didn’t want to be in Emilia’s life, you couldn’t possibly imagine letting him sleep with you again. But if he did want to be, well, that further complicated matters when it came to possibly co-parenting with him in the future. 

“Not at the moment, no,” you told him. 

You caught the way his head tilted to the side and his smile grew wider before your attention shifted to the clock hanging on the wall in the hallway. You needed to get out of the hospital and go pick up Emilia from preschool before you were late. As if he’d figured out where your thoughts were, you saw his smile had dimmed when you focused back on him.

“Gotta go?” he asked, sounding a bit disappointed.

“I’m actually off my shift now,” you told him, gesturing your thumb down the hallway behind you. “I was on my way to change out of my scrubs and…I needed to make an appointment.”

The lie felt uncomfortable and wrong as it fell out of you, but what else were you supposed to say? If you mentioned a daughter now, you knew you’d feel even worse lying to his face by not telling him that the daughter you were picking up wasn’t just yours. 

“Don’t let me hold you up then, darlin’,” he said. “Maybe I’ll see you around town now that you live here.”

“Yeah, I'm sure,” you replied awkwardly.

Biting your lip nervously, you ignored the weird sensation in your gut as you took a step away from him, the feeling begging you to just spill absolutely everything to him. Instead, you released the clipboard with one hand and gave him a brief wave before you turned around, beginning to head in the opposite direction down the hall.

“Wait!”

You’d only managed to take a handful of steps before he’d called out after you. Stopping at the sound of his voice, you looked over your shoulder at him behind you. He was smiling again, and that hint of something in his eyes had returned, the sight of it making your heart skip. Even after all this time, he still had that same effect on you.

“Can I get a name this time?” he called after you. “To finally go with the pretty face?”

Unable to help yourself, a small smile spread over your lips. He was still far too smooth for his own good and dammit if it still didn't work for you, too. You called back to him, giving him your name and watching some unknown emotion flicker across his face.

“You have a name?” you questioned in return.

“Jackson,” he told you, already beginning to walk backwards towards the door to Chibs’ hospital room with something in his step. “But I go by Jax, darlin’.”

And there you finally had it. Emilia’s father’s name. Five years after the fact. 

“Was good running into you,” he said, his grin growing a bit cocky as his hand pressed down on the handle of the hospital door, pushing it open. “Be seein’ you.”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “I'm sure you will.”

But not for whatever reason he was probably expecting.

Sitting on the couch in your living room, you barely paid attention to the show that was playing on your television. You were sitting on your couch with your legs tucked up beside you, trying to relax before bed this evening. Harley, your pitbull mix, stretched his legs out on the cushion beside you, raising his large, gray head as his mouth opened wide in a yawn. Afterwards, he lazily dropped his head onto your thigh, dark eyes staring up at you. Glancing down at him, his tired eyes met yours before one of your hands absently landed on his head and began to pet him.

Your surprise encounter earlier with Jax at the hospital had been on your mind for the rest of the day. It had been near impossible to focus on what Emilia had been telling you about her morning at preschool–and anything else she’d been going on about the rest of the day–because your thoughts kept drifting back to him. You had not expected to run into him in Charming. Or ever, for that matter.

As much as you'd wanted to focus on the fact that he seemed like he was interested in you, or at least interested in sleeping with you again, all you could focus on was how you were supposed to tell him what you obviously needed to. You hadn’t been prepared for this, and the stress had been eating at you all night, making you feel sick to your stomach. You'd hardly been able to eat dinner, having to lie to Emilia about not feeling well when she’d asked if you were alright. You'd put her down to sleep just over an hour ago and all you'd done since was sit on the couch drowning in your thoughts.

“What am I supposed to do here, Harl?” you asked your dog softly. “How am I supposed to tell him this? We barely know each other. Took me five years to even learn his name is Jax, how do I look him in the face and tell him he's got a four year old daughter?”

Harley stared up at you, his dark eyes watching as he listened to you speak. Head falling against the backrest of your couch, you continued to pet him gently, finding a bit of comfort in his presence. 

“I don't even have his number,” you mused aloud. “No way to contact him besides showing up at that motorcycle clubhouse by that garage. And I really don't want to do that just to ask him to talk to me. Cause that's weird, right?”

Harley raised his head from your leg at the inflection in your voice, tilting it curiously to the side like he was trying to understand you. You sighed, beginning to scratch behind one of his ears as you let your thoughts freely flow out of you to the only one you could ever really talk to–your dog.

“What if I tell him and he wants nothing to do with her?” you asked him. “It was one thing when I just didn't know how to find him, but to have her dad not even want to know her?”

Your heart ached at the thought. Emilia had been asking questions about her dad starting almost a year ago. You had struggled trying to explain to her that her daddy just wasn't in her life because he didn't know about her and because you had no way to find him. You’d tried to make it a point for her to understand that him not being around wasn’t by choice or because he didn't want her. You'd hate to have to tell her the truth when she was older, that you’d found him and he hadn’t wanted anything to do with her. 

“But what if he does want to be in her life?” you continued thinking aloud to your dog, absently petting him as he stared up at you. “What kind of man is he? He's part of a motorcycle club–whatever that even really means. Which was fine for some random one night thing. But as a father?”

Could this man even be a father? What would that even look like with whatever it was that he did for that club? Was his life even safe enough for Emilia to be in it? 

“I wasn't anticipating this to happen when we moved to Charming, Harl,” you murmured, blankly staring ahead at the television screen again. “I don't even know how I feel about finding him. For so long it's just been Em and I. We've never really had anyone else. How am I just supposed to let a literal stranger into our life if that's what he wants?”

Sighing, your eyes drifted back down to Harley as he stared back at you. He made a quiet little noise before he dropped his head onto your thigh again. Your hand moved to his back as you lightly patted him.

“You want to tell him for me?” you asked Harley hopefully. “We could trade places for a bit and you can have that conversation for me. Because I'd honestly rather go piss in the backyard as a dog for an afternoon instead of having to look him in the eye and tell him he knocked me up all those years ago and now he has a daughter running around Charming.”

Harley shifted his head on your leg with a soft groan before his eyes slowly closed. A frown pulled at your lips before your attention drifted back to the television. Those same thoughts continued to spiral in your head. You knew you needed to tell Jax everything because the longer you waited, the worse it would be to tell him the truth. 

“Figured as much,” you murmured quietly. “Next time I see him, I’ll do it. Whenever I'm not in a complete rush and Em isn't around. I'll just have to spit it out,” you quietly vowed to Harley. “Don't really think there's any other way to do it. He deserves to know, however he ends up reacting to the news. She's his daughter, too.”

You only hoped the opportunity came sooner rather than later so he didn't feel like you'd been trying to hide something from him. 

[danzer8705]

Fuck this was HOT!

Raw

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel begs to cum inside you.

Warnings: 18+. If y’all don’t like an age gap and a nasty, nasty breeding kink, DO NOT read this shit—I’m serious. Unprotected p-in-v. Daddy kink. Jealous!Joel. Feral!Joel. Cumplay à la sucking Joel’s dick clean after he fucks you.

Note: This is a one shot in the Waiting Game universe. If I had to guess, I’d say it takes place between Homemade & Ruined!

Another Note: ‘Sweet Emotion’ by Aerosmith is the song Joel’s listening to when he’s trying to kill his boner LOL.

Word count: 3.5k

Joel’s mind was always buzzing with bad ideas.

He’d left for work that morning with his dick as hard as steel, balls as heavy as rocks, and you, gorgeous and naked and entirely unfucked in his king-sized bed.

Idiot that he was, he forgot to buy condoms last week. You’d cleared all thirty-six of the rubbers he’d had during your most recent visit from college, and since then, Joel had been meaning to restock, but it just slipped his mind—now, he was suffering the consequences of that oversight in spades, as he hadn’t been able to get his typical fill of you before he left for work. Or last night.

You’d so sweetly suggested some 69 action after he’d picked you up from the airport the night before, knowing just how badly you wanted each other—despite the fact that it was three A.M. and you happened to be ovulating. But it wasn’t meant to be. No sooner had Joel shucked off his boots, jeans, boxers, and shirt and crawled into the space beside you in bed than you were passed out. Snoring loudly and lying splayed between his sheets without the faintest idea of how horny the old man was.

There is something very wrong with me, he thought.

He’d been so pent-up and wild with thoughts of you writhing underneath him, cunt snug around his cock, that he hadn’t even been able to rub one out after that. It was like some maggot had crawled its way inside his head and had him needing insane things. Stupid things.

Shit that would legitimately get him locked up, or kicked to the doghouse, if he ever shared these thoughts aloud.

He wanted to pump you full of cum.

He craved the feeling of you leaking him.

He felt an urge to fill you like he never had before.

Had he really forgotten to buy those condoms last week? Or had it been the workings of his own subconscious mind, begging him to test the waters of what you would look like flush with that milky white substance and drip—

Shit.

Joel almost spilled his piping hot two-dollar coffee from the gas station onto his pants. Again. He cut the wheel and made the turn, set the cup in its little holder, and, without a second thought for his own well-being, cranked the car stereo to fifty. Fuck his hearing.

‘SWEEEEEEEET EMOOOOOTION!’

That should do the trick.

It seemed deafening himself with classic rock was the only way Joel could keep some semblance of composure today. Admittedly, it worked wonders. He learned it was much harder to stay horny when your head was ringing.

Of course, it had been just his luck that before he’d been able to stop by H.E.B. to buy rubbers on his lunch break, you’d called and said you needed a ride from the repair shop. Apparently, your dad’s truck was all kinds of fucked up and he’d asked you to drop it off at the mechanic that afternoon. You’d needed a ride home after, and Joel had only too happily, and hornily, obliged.

He was still stiff as shit pulling into the parking lot a minute later. He reached for the radio dial again but quickly found that he’d turned it all the way to its limit.

His phone buzzed in his pants.

Your name was on the screen.

I gotta fill out some bullshit paperwork. Come on in.

You must’ve seen him park the Bronco from inside.

Is that you blasting Aerosmith in your car? 🤨

Joel let out a sigh and shut off the engine.

Readjusting his rock-hard cock in his jeans, he went in.

And the moment he stepped in there, he regretted it. Joel got exactly one foot inside the door before his eyes nearly bugged out of his head and his jaw hit the floor.

You were signing paperwork alright—bent over the front desk where everyone in the waiting room of the repair shop could see right up your miniskirt. Joel choked.

There had to be fifteen men in there, at least. All but one old guy dozing off in the corner were gawking at your backside pushed up in the air. Joel saw you shuffle some papers around, eyeball a form and pose a question to the man behind the desk, who was also trying his damndest not to stare, and then hum something low. You laughed.

You were so naïve.

As if a switch had flipped in his head and every thought thenceforth was from a place of being an overprotective, asshole-ish, caveman of a guy, Joel strode in, scowling.

He shot pointed, putrid looks of disdain at every shameless voyeur drinking you in with their eyes, and, to his surprise, a couple turned their gazes guiltily away.

That’s right. Keep your fucking eyes to yourself.

Then, without even really meaning to think it:

She’s all mine. So don’t get your hopes up.

Would anyone in there think you were with him? Did it even matter? In that moment, Joel didn’t give a shit. He just walked in with his head up, jaw clenched, and eyes shooting daggers at every scumbag who dared to keep looking. He approached the front desk just as you turned

“Oh! Hey.” You breathed a sound of surprise, smiling. “You scared the shit out of me. I’ll just be a minute.”

You had about thirty seconds before he yanked you out by that little skirt and drilled you on the hood of his car.

Instead of saying that, though, Joel just frowned.

“C’mon, kid, I got places to be. Hurry it up.”

You flashed him a puzzled look but said nothing in reply. He hadn’t expected you to, seeing how occupied you were with discussing your old man’s truck’s transmission flush, tire rotation, wiper blade replacement, and on and on and on until Joel’s head was spinning with all the jargon. Since when did you know about ignition coils?

No matter.

Just a few more action items to parse through, then you’d swipe your card and get the hell out of there.

“I mean…do y’all have to replace that cabin air filter? Can’t my dad do that himself? Or just wait a little bit?”

Surely you knew you were torturing him now.

There was no way you weren’t doing this on purpose.

The shop employee scratched the back of his neck and gave a sheepish smile, right after he’d unglued his gaze from the cleavage spilling out of your top. He coughed.

“Well…well, uh, see here, our last service report says…”

Joel didn’t give a flying fuck what the service report said. He tuned out the rest of what the little pervert was trying to tell you then and turned to face the waiting room with a flinty, stern look. Several sets of eyes snapped away.

One in particular, he noticed, didn’t flinch at all.

Of course it belonged to some shit-brained kid. Probably only two or three years out of high school and ogling you like a slab of meat while his father sat beside him, trying to do the same but slightly more discreetly. How polite.

It was almost as if Joel had acquired some supersonic hearing ability over the last five minutes, and he could somehow tell what the ass-hat was muttering to his dad.

‘Hell, I’d like to bend her over a desk myself.’

His father grinned, eyes wandering again.

‘Yeah. I bet she’d like that. Love it, even.’

Fuck this.

Technically, Joel hadn’t heard the words come out of their mouths, but the intentions had been behind their eyes all the same. He hated it. The longer he stood here with you, the more the odds grew he’d end up decking someone, or throwing a chair at their head, so he swiftly tilted and pressed a touch to your elbow. It amazed him how gentle it was, given the bloodlust percolating within.

“Honey, we need to go,” he told you, voice low.

“What?” You turned. Brows furrowing. “Why?”

Because every swinging dick in this establishment wants to get in you. Let’s dip before I kill someone.

“Because I’m paying for all the repairs. C’mon.”

Before Joel could even begin to contemplate the ramifications of this offer—exactly how much cash he’d be blowing on his best friend’s truck thanks to his impulsiveness—he slid his credit card across the desk and jerked his head toward the door. Telling you to go.

“Joel, you can’t—” you’d just started to say.

“Now that’s a real fine thing to do for your daughter, b—”

It was the latter of these two statements, seemingly spoken at once, that Joel paid any mind at all. The stranger behind the desk’s thinking that he was your dad, and not your partner, made his blood boil beneath the skin. His conviction to do this only grew stronger.

Suddenly, Joel was turning his body to you. Leaning down, gripping your chin in one hand, and letting his mouth land firmly on yours, so that there would be no mistaking who he was, or what he was to you. Not today.

Your lips were warm, and they kissed him back gently. When he’d pulled away, your face, and every expression around yours was painted with some degree of surprise.

The man behind the desk cleared his throat: ‘Uh, sorry.’

Not the dad. Got it.

Joel was glad to spread the message, even if your gaze was lingering on his with a wordless little threat, like you would get him for this. He just grinned and nodded to the door again, then watched you leave, skirt swishing and bobbing all the way to the door. Hardly any eyes followed now, as most were too busy flitting to him.

Good.

Great.

“That’ll be $4,898.72, sir.”

Goddamn.

You hadn’t seen Joel this feral in ages.

Hell, maybe ever.

His cock seemed to be cleaving your body in half with how hard his thrusts were coming in now. How loud those wet slaps against the swell of your ass rang out through the cramped backseat of his car, how deep his tip sank, and how quickly the motions repeated, like Joel was beating a drum somewhere far down in your cervix.

Your eyes rolled. Jaw slackened. Tongue darted from either corner of your lips to lap away the spit that was trickling out. Joel was fucking you that hard. His strokes jostled your body, dick wedging deep and unforgiving, and his eyes were alight with a look you couldn’t quite decipher. Your own vision was blurring at the edges.

“Tell me it’s mine,” Joel panted against your neck.

Then, as if his hips had been made to pummel at this relentless, frantic pace, he lowered his torso to yours and drilled away even quicker. The force and the friction were so great you had only to grip his forearms and meet his gaze, barely able to get the words out: ‘Y—Yours, Joel.’

Doing this the day after your period tracker claimed you’d been ovulating probably wasn’t the best idea. Insane as he was with desire, the thought did also seem to cross Joel’s mind as he pounded away. More than once, his brow pinched, and his hips made as if to stutter to a halt. Then the need kicked in. The thing picked up again, harder than it had before, and Joel was back to fucking you hard on the upholstered seats of his Bronco.

Above you, his jaw clenched. His teeth ground tighter.

“This…” he grit out, as if words evaded him. “…OK?”

Yes, Joel.

You’d never seen such bare-faced need from him in all your life, and you loved it. It wasn’t just the expression of a man in love—which he was—but also the face of a person in pain. Someone whose need for your touch was so agonizingly great that he was blind to anything else. Joel lifted his arms to bracket your head so he could get in even closer, and his frantic pants warmed your cheeks. Come evening, you’d happily be popping Plan Bs like candy if it meant another moment of seeing him like this.

Sweat glistened on his brow and in between spatterings of silver and black along his jaw. His gaze was hard and determined, like he was contemplating something else.

Slowly, and with legs trembling against his sides at every thrust, you reached to cup his face. You stroked it gently.

“Is—Is everything alri—”

“I wanna cum inside you.”

Joel’s voice was deadpan, with no preamble or warning. Mere inches from your face, his own was twisted in that strange, pained look. His cock twitched; its pace slowed.

Your walls clamped around him instinctively. You blinked.

“W-What?”

“Wanna fill you up.”

There wasn’t a shred of hesitation in his tone as his hips rocked steadily against you. If anything, his grip grew even tighter, like he was trying to press you down.

“But Joel, I’m—” Another clench. Another strangled breath. “I still might…be…ovulating. And you’re…”

“Old enough to be your father, ain’t I?” he sneered. “Least, that’s what everybody in that shop seemed to think. What if you made me one today, hm, sweet pea?”

He didn’t mean it.

Joel knew how bad it’d be if he really knocked you up. Just the same, you couldn’t contain the sharp, startled whimper as his cock stirred inside you and that thought took shape—his hot and sticky seed being shot in ropes, painting your needy walls, making you so, so full of him.

Your lizard brain didn’t bat an eye at that.

Blame it on ovulation, a glaring oversight in sex education, your undoubtedly compromised morals or whatever the case may have been, but you wanted it.

You needed him in, making a mess where he shouldn’t.

With sunlight bathing you both in the backseat of Joel’s car, classic rock drifting through the speakers, and one handsome, weathered, earnest expression hovering over yours with the faintest of smiles, how could you refuse?

He sped up again. The hands that had slid to your hips constricted to an almost suffocating level, but it was possessive. Protective. Envy sparked in Joel’s eyes.

“Don’t want nobody oglin’ what’s mine, y’hear?”

It was a question, but it didn’t warrant a reply.

You nodded anyway, watching the older man’s gaze shift from your eyes to your lips to your breasts to, eventually, the sight of his length plunging in and out of your body below. Your eyes trailed after it, and you watched one hand of his move from your hip to your ribs. Rubbing.

Your wet and pliant hole took him with ease and welcomed him in. The sounds of your shared fluids were obscene, but it made the kind of wild, dizzying refrain you knew you wouldn’t be able to forget for years, if ever.

Slowly, Joel’s palm slid over, and his fingers splayed out.

His hand rested flat against your belly as he fucked you with abandon. At a particularly deep thrust, it was as if you felt him all the way up in your lungs, and your throat pushed out a cry. Your legs tightened around Joel’s waist, and you knew the end wasn’t far from sight.

“All—All—All yours, daddy. Cum in me, please.”

Joel’s fingers flexed gently on your tummy, then he moved them back and forth as his dick did the same.

The friction nearly sent your mind in a spiral; you glanced down, and you saw his outline, faintly, under that touch.

Joel was so big, and your body was lying perfectly supine on the seat that you could feel him—see him—push repeatedly inside you. A little bulge took shape where his hand was pressing in, and the sensation was overwhelming. Your hands slid to Joel’s hair and yanked.

“Fill me—wanna feel you, daddy, please just fill me—”

“Think a little swell in that belly’ll keep those boys from lookin’, huh? Is that what I gotta do to show ‘em you’re—”

“Yes! Fuck!” you whined.

“—always gonna be mine?”

Joel’s thrusts were relentless. Your brain was on the fritz. Your hips tried to lift, mindlessly, begging him to fill you with his cum, but the man had you pinned underneath him. Sweat drenched you both, and the wildest ideas were humming between you. You were almost there.

“That’d be one way to tell your dad, huh?” Joel panted.

Oh, fuck.

“Have you come home from college all swole up with my kid—he couldn’t keep us apart then, huh?” he went on.

Your father would probably skin him alive if he found out. Still, your lips parted, and you dumbly, sweetly mumbled, OK, OK, Joel. Give me one. Make me a mommy, please.

Joel almost lost his hold on your hip and your belly with that last part; he all but folded in on you with that request. Breathily, through his teeth, he gritted:

“You mean that, baby?”

Again, you nodded.

Momentarily forgetting the outline of his cock in your tummy, the thought of seeing you leaking his cum and squirming for more, it seemed, Joel just sank into you.

He bracketed his arms around your head like he had before, flattened his chest to yours, and fucked you.

It was primal. Needy. Wet. Insatiable. You probably looked feral and senseless, and neither of you cared.

Overhead, the strains of an old ZZ Top song reached a crescendo, and Joel’s eyes stayed locked on yours. His cock stretched you in a way that seemed implausible—you felt him from root to tip and could sense the oncoming pulses before they ever left a drop.

Then Joel kissed you. In his warm, soft, and loving way, his lips melded to yours and caressed them continually. Though it might’ve only lasted a few seconds, the effect was profound, and you found yourself pulling him deeper. Squeezing him tight and taking him whole.

“You really wanna have a baby with me, Miller?”

“Nope.” Joel’s response was instantaneous.

“Wh—”

“Eight kids, at least. You OK with that?”

If you weren’t on the verge of climax, you would’ve laughed in his face. But because you were, and you happened to be head over heels in love with this man, you grinned, nodding. Joel smiled and kissed you again.

“Alright. First one’s comin’ now if you’ll just—oh, fuck.”

It seemed like Joel wanted to drag things out a little longer, but his body had other plans. Yours did, too.

Right as your walls clenched and your senses started to flood with those sweet, euphoric feelings, Joel’s cock throbbed once. Twice. Again and again, unleashing ropes of his cum in a seemingly endless stream. Your heels dug deep in Joel’s back, and your jaw fell open, instinctively. While that sticky-wet warmth filled your insides and Joel continued pounding away, a shriek clawed out from you.

It started as a cry and quickly morphed into a moan, shrill as anything: “Please, baby. Please, please, please.”

You never thought you’d want to upend your life with a child before you even graduated from school or got a job.

Joel clearly hadn’t been planning for that either, and still, his voice was as slow and sweet as molasses in your ear.

“Take it all now, darlin’. That’s it. That’s my girl. So good.”

He stroked your hair and emptied himself completely. His balls must’ve been drained, because you could sense what felt like a torrent of warmth between your legs.

When he pulled out, you both groaned at the sight.

Joel was drenched in his cum and yours. Dripping.

Still oozing a little at the tip, the old man was spent, and it appeared he was about to give himself a good shake and wipe it all off, when you stopped Joel in his tracks.

Your mouth watered as you watched him. You swallowed.

You didn’t even bother to ask for what you wanted, just stuck out your tongue and peered up with doe eyes.

Joel groaned and nodded. He shuffled closer and lowered himself in until his tip was at your mouth.

Your lips closed around him, and your head bobbed down. As his cock filled you whole, your mind went blank. It wasn’t even a matter of sucking him off or getting him clean; you just needed to feel and taste the cum that had sprayed your insides. You craved the scent of the sweet, affectionate man who was well over twice your age and still on board with giving you his babies.

Even if it was just a fantasy between you both…for now.

You hadn’t even realized your eyes had closed until your lips slipped off him with a pop, and your vision suddenly brightened. You eyed Joel curiously from below, and your heart skipped a beat when you could see he was smiling.

Before he could speak, or else try to clean you up any himself, your own lips twitched a little at the corners. Your gaze searched Joel’s with a soft, tender intensity, and for a second, you debated whether or not to say it.

Quickly, you made your choice.

Just as Joel was about to lean down to reach for his clothes, maybe search the floor for a clean t-shirt or towel to wipe you both down with, his eyes were still glued to yours, and your grin was slowly growing bigger.

Joel cocked a brow in question, and you went on ahead, fighting the urge to laugh while you said, sweet as ever:

“So…it looks like my little miniskirt trick actually worked.”

And if I said Reader got pregnant with twins…THEN WHAT