larajadeschmidt13

[larajadeschmidt13]

"he has 5 more minutes before i throw his shit on the lawn," bucky mutters as he brings a cup of coffee to his lips. he's standing by the window overlooking the street, his brows furrowed together as watches the cars pass on the street.

you roll your eyes at him, bucky had a flair for the dramatics - even if his idea did sound tempting.

you had been dreading this day for a while - your ex was coming to pick up the last of his things. finally.

it all fit neatly into a box: an old t-shirt, a reusable water bottle, a beat up copy of to kill a mockingbird and some other miscellaneous trinkets that you just wanted out of your place. out of your life.

bucky clears his throat and turns away from the window, the sign to you that your ex was here - the knock on the door a few moments later confirmed it.

you walk to the door, bucky only a few steps behind you with his arms crossed over his chest watching as you open it up to reveal the man on the other side.

not much is said as you let him in besides a few pleasantries - though you can tell your ex is biting back some choice words as he sees bucky standing behind you.

the box is sitting on the kitchen table waiting for him, but he doesn't grab it right away. his hands rest on his hips as he eyes the contents.

"where's my sweatshirt?"

"i gave it back to you already," you say, a frown on your features. you remember it being the first thing you gave back when you broke up.

"what about my phone charger?"

"you took that when you left. this is all i have."

"and my -"

"enough. this is all you left," bucky's voice cuts him off.

"this doesn't concern you," your ex snaps back, his head turning in bucky's direction. "this is between us, alright?"

a scoff leaves bucky's lips as he grabs the box off the kitchen table with his metal hand, not listening as your ex tries to get him to stop. there was no stopping bucky barnes.

"you can take your shit and your attitude somewhere else," bucky says, opening the front door and throwing the box. it explodes across the grass, leaving all of your exes stuff in a million pieces.

a few curses are yelled as he leaves in a hurry to grab his things, you watching with your hand over your mouth as you try your best not to laugh.

"i told you," bucky says with a smile as he slams the door shut. "i'd throw his shit on the lawn."

- hurt/comfort prompts

[larajadeschmidt13]

Any Bucky Barnes/ Sebastian Stan fan girls that like to read, please send me a message! I have a book for you!!!!! Smut and all.

[larajadeschmidt13]

every little thing she does pt.2 - bucky barnes x reader

one-shot/roommate!au bucky barnes x roommate!reader warnings/tags: mild language / swearing, emotional tension and misunderstandings, angst, frustration and conflict, past heartbreak, minor arguments, mentions of loneliness or feeling unloved, possible emotional manipulation or jealousy (handled maturely kinda), slow-burn romantic tension (BRING BACK YEARNING) author's note: very very late update sorry for that, i have some exams coming up for my masters (yep recent graduate but i never stop) i am going to be busy with them for a while :( word count: 5.5k part 1

“You’re really still seeing Brad?” Bucky’s voice wasn’t raised — it never was — but something in his tone made you stop mid-spoonful of cereal.

You lowered the bowl slowly. “Yes. Is that a problem?”

He didn’t look up from where he was rinsing a coffee mug in the sink. “Just didn’t think you’d waste your time like that.”

That caught you off guard. “Excuse me?”

Bucky turned off the tap and finally met your gaze, jaw tight. “He talks over you. Every time we hang out. Doesn’t even notice when you stop laughing.”

Your chest tightened. “Wow. That’s— Thanks for the unsolicited opinion.”

He shrugged, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “You asked.”

“I didn’t ask, I made a comment. You decided to turn it into a character assassination.”

“I didn’t say he was a bad person,” he muttered, turning back to the sink. “I said you can do better.”

You stared at him, jaw tight. “You’re really going to stand there and judge my love life?”

He met your gaze, silent.

Something bitter twisted in your stomach. “This isn’t about Brad, is it? You still hung up on your ex that Sam always mentions right?”

That made him flinch. A flicker of something unreadable passed through his face before it went blank again.

“Don’t bring her into this,” he muttered, low.

You felt the sting of guilt instantly, but it was too late to take it back.

“I’m just saying,” you added, more defensively now, “maybe you're projecting. Maybe I do deserve more, but you’ve barely looked at me the same since I moved in. You’re either grumpy or pretending I don’t exist—unless I date someone. Then suddenly you have opinions.”

“I’m not projecting,” he said sharply. “I’m watching someone I-- someone decent, waste her time on a guy who doesn’t see her.”

You frowned. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I do,” he said. “Because I see you.”

You froze.

He looked down, exhaled like he hated himself for saying that. “Forget it.”

You grabbed your bowl and walked away, your heart slamming against your ribs. You didn’t even know if you were mad or hurt or just… exhausted.

However, two nights later, after Natasha's teasing and Sam’s subtle glances, you still got dressed. A little black dress. Lipstick. The perfume that always made you feel a bit more like the version of yourself you wanted to be.

Brad was supposed to pick you up.

He didn’t.

You waited fifteen minutes in the lobby. Checked your phone four times. Messaged him once. No reply. Eventually, you went back upstairs, heels echoing in the stairwell, trying to pretend you didn’t feel humiliated. Again.

You slipped your shoes off at the door and collapsed on the couch, face tilted toward the ceiling, willing yourself not to cry. The apartment was too quiet. Too warm. Too much.

You didn’t even hear Bucky come in until the cushion beside you dipped.

You turned your head. He was holding out a tub of ice cream — your favorite. No words. No smug look. Just… offering.

You hesitated, then took it, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Thanks.”

Still, he didn’t say anything. Just reached for the remote and flipped through options until he landed on a movie you’d rewatched three times already. Your comfort film. It started playing without him asking.

You smiled faintly. “You hate this one.”

He leaned back, arms crossed. “Yeah. But you don’t.”

You watched it in silence. You didn’t talk. You didn’t cry. You just sat — dressed up like a girl waiting for a date that never came — eating ice cream beside the one man who never asked anything of you but your real self.

Sometime during the movie, your head slipped onto his shoulder. You didn’t mean to. Maybe the sugar crash got to you, or maybe it was the warmth of him, solid and steady, that finally knocked you out.

Bucky noticed the shift, but didn’t move. He turned the volume down a notch. Stilled. Waited. When your breathing slowed and your grip on the spoon loosened, he gently took the ice cream from your lap and set it aside.

He looked down at you — your lipstick smudged, your mascara faded, still beautiful in a way that had nothing to do with how you’d tried to impress someone else. He reached for the makeup wipes you always kept in the side table drawer, as if he’d noticed it long before now.

Carefully, quietly, he wiped the makeup from your skin. He paused when your brow twitched in sleep, thumb hovering. Then, he gathered you into his arms — gently, like you might break — and carried you down the hallway.

Your door creaked open. He laid you on the bed, pulling a blanket over you, tucking the edges in like it was instinct.

He stood there for a minute, watching.

Then he turned out the light.

In the hallway, as he closed your bedroom door, he whispered to no one, “It was never about her.”

The next morning, there’d be no big conversation. No confessions. Just fresh coffee waiting for you, a quiet nod from him across the kitchen.

The kind that only comes after someone shows up when it matters most.

The morning sunlight spilled through the kitchen window in that soft, golden way that made everything look gentler than it felt. Bucky stood over the sink, pouring water into the coffee maker with mechanical precision, like if he just focused on that, he could ignore the tight, strange feeling in his chest.

The living room was quiet. No TV. No usual singing of yours while tidying up.

She was still asleep. He knew because he’d carried her there. Tucked her in after wiping away the remnants of a night that had clearly broken something inside her, no matter how hard she’d smiled through it.

And he hadn’t stopped thinking about it since.

The way she slumped into him, vulnerable in a way she never let herself be. The way she hadn't stirred at all when he brushed her hair from her cheek. The way he whispered it was never about her before realizing he meant more than he was ready to admit.

Natasha entered the kitchen like she owned it — because, frankly, she kind of did. She was crashing on the Sam's bed that week, and she already had her coffee mug in hand like she’d claimed territory.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You look like you slept in a war zone.”

“I didn’t sleep,” Bucky said flatly, pressing the brew button.

Natasha leaned on the counter. “So... you and Sleeping Beauty had a night?”

Bucky tensed.

She caught it immediately. “That wasn’t a no.”

“She got stood up,” he said. “I gave her ice cream. We watched a movie.”

Natasha tilted her head. “And then you fell asleep sitting on the couch because you’re a repressed disaster?”

He didn’t answer.

“Or…” She grinned, slow and shark-like. “You carried her to bed.”

He exhaled through his nose. “She was asleep.”

Natasha sipped her coffee. “And you wiped off her makeup.”

“She was wearing a lot of mascara,” he muttered.

“Oh my God.” She set her mug down, eyes wide with smug delight. “You babied her.”

“I didn’t—”

“You did,” she interrupted. “You tucked her in and made sure she was warm and probably whispered something tragic and heartfelt when you thought she couldn’t hear you. Don’t even try to lie.”

Bucky stared at her. “How do you know all that?”

She smirked. “Because I know you. You pretend you’re emotionally constipated, but the minute someone you care about gets hurt, you’re a freaking nursemaid with a brooding complex.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “It doesn’t matter. She thinks I’m still in love with my ex.”

Natasha’s smile faded, just a little. “Are you?”

Bucky shook his head, jaw tightening. “No. That ended before she moved in. Before I even met her.”

“Then why haven’t you said anything?”

He looked away. “Because she was with him. Because she’s bright and funny and sings into kitchen utensils. And I didn’t want to mess it up. I didn't want her to feel like I was just the next guy in a long list of disappointments.”

Natasha’s voice softened. “Bucky… you are nothing like Brad.”

He didn’t answer, but the coffee mug trembled slightly in his grip.

“She’s not going to wait forever,” Natasha added gently. “If you keep watching from the sidelines, someone else will get there first.”

Bucky looked toward the hallway, where her bedroom door was still closed. “I don’t want to be the next guy.”

“Then don’t be.” She paused. “Be the last one.”

That made him glance back at her, something sharp and vulnerable in his expression.

“I’m just saying,” Natasha added, picking up her mug again. “Girls remember the guy who brings ice cream. But they fall for the one who stays after.”

The smell of coffee pulled you out of your warm blankets. You blinked up at the ceiling, realizing two things at once:

You were still wearing last night’s dress.

You didn’t remember putting yourself to bed.

You sat up slowly. There was a blanket draped over you — not your comforter, but the soft throw from the living room couch. The memory of sitting there in your makeup, blinking too hard to keep the tears in, hit you like a wave. Brad hadn’t shown up. No text. No call. Nothing.

But Bucky had.

You pressed your fingers to your face, embarrassed and confused and something else entirely. You padded out of your room, feet bare on the old hardwood floors, hair slightly frizzy from sleep and half-hearted curls. You rounded the corner into the kitchen and paused.

Natasha was perched on the counter, sipping from her coffee mug like a smug black cat. Bucky stood at the stove, flipping pancakes, wearing a plain white t-shirt and grey sweatpants like he hadn’t just tucked you in like a fragile glass last night. He didn’t look at you, but you could feel the shift in the air the second you entered.

Natasha was the first to speak. “There she is. Our almost-Cinderella.”

You squinted. “What?”

“She made it to the ball, but the prince stood her up, so the knight in grumpy armor made her pancakes.”

You ignored Natasha's comment and turned to Bucky. “You made pancakes?”

“They’re not poisoned,” he muttered.

“Low bar,” you said, cracking a smile despite the flush in your cheeks. “Thanks.”

Natasha hopped off the counter with a feline stretch. “Well, now that I’ve witnessed enough emotional repression for one morning, I’ll leave you two to your weird roommate. I’m meeting Yelena for brunch.”

As she passed you, she muttered in a sing-song voice, “Ask him how you got to bed last night.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Nothing.” She disappeared through the door before you could demand answers.

You turned to Bucky, who was now very focused on stacking pancakes with military precision.

“So…” you started carefully. “Last night.”

“You were asleep,” he said. “I didn’t want you to wake up on the couch with a sore neck.”

“Right. So you… carried me?”

He glanced at you, then back at the plate. “You’re not heavy.”

That shouldn’t have made your stomach flip. But it did.

You walked toward the table and sat down, watching him bring over the plate and set it between you both like a peace offering. He grabbed a second fork and sat across from you.

You studied him, the soft morning light washing out the usual hard edges of his expression. “Did you wipe off my mascara too?”

He froze. Just for a second.

“…It was smudging your face, and you never skip double cleansing.” he said eventually.

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “You’re really bad at pretending you’re not soft.”

“I’m not soft,” he grumbled.

“You literally made me pancakes.”

“They were for me,” he added quickly. “You just… happened to wake up in time.”

You picked at the food, suddenly aware of how not hungry you were — but not because of the pancakes.

“I guess Brad’s not really the type to show up with ice cream and carry you to bed,” you said lightly.

Bucky’s fork paused. “No. He’s the type to say all the right things and disappear when it matters.”

You looked at him, startled by the edge in his voice.

He noticed your stare and shifted, forcing a neutral tone. “Just saying. You deserve better than that.”

There was a long silence. You wanted to say something — to tease, to thank him, to ask why your heart was racing — but you didn’t know how. Instead, you both sat there, slowly eating pancakes, with an almost unbearable quiet humming between you.

Somewhere in the distance, your phone buzzed with a new text.

You didn’t check it.

Bucky didn’t ask.

The rain hadn’t stopped all day.

Soft and steady, it drummed against the windows, turning the city into a blur of gray. The apartment was quiet except for the occasional creak of the old radiator and the hum of your laptop fan. You were curled up on the couch, legs tucked under you, a red pen between your fingers and a stack of wrinkled worksheets balanced on your knees.

The hoodie draped around your shoulders — definitely not yours — was a last-minute grab from Bucky’s closet that morning when your own laundry turned out damp. You didn’t think much of it. It was warm. Oversized. Smelled vaguely like sandalwood and coffee. The sleeves were far too long, sliding down to your knuckles every time you reached for a paperclip or tried to sip from your mug.

You were deep into grading - eyes narrowed at a particularly suspicious answer about simple past tense - when you heard footsteps from the hallway.

Bucky wandered in, rubbing the back of his neck, looking like he’d just woken up from a nap he didn’t mean to take. He was in sweats, hoodie hanging off his frame, hair a little messy.

And then he stopped on his tracks.

He blinked, then frowned not upset, just confused. “That’s my hoodie.”

You looked up from your stack of worksheets, pen still between your lips. “Hmm? Oh—yeah. Mine’s in the wash.”

He stared. Not in a rude way, but like he was trying to process the sight of you — hair up in a clip, dark circles under your eyes, sleeves too long, surrounded by piles of color-coded paper and a half-eaten chocolate bar.

You raised a brow. “You okay?”

He blinked again, then averted his eyes like he’d just realized he was staring. “Yeah. Just… surprised. Thought you were just binging bad rom-coms again.”

You let out a mock gasp. “Excuse me. I’m shaping young minds here.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, stepping closer and glancing down at your pile. “Is that… a drawing of a dragon holding a sign that says ‘homework is evil’?”

You sighed. “Yep. That’s Daniel. He writes that on every assignment. And he’s eight.”

Bucky tried - and failed - to hide a smile. “That’s kinda impressive.”

“Tell that to his spelling,” you muttered, flipping the page. “Anyway. The hoodie okay? I can take it off—”

“No. I mean—it’s fine. You can wear it.”

Your eyes flicked up. “Thanks.”

He hovered a second longer than usual before sitting on the other end of the couch, stretching his legs out slowly. “You always work like this?”

“Like what?”

“In a nest of paper. Wearing other people’s clothes.”

You grinned. “Only when I’m being extra productive. I’ve graded like seventeen papers. I deserve the hoodie.”

He shook his head with a quiet breath, almost a laugh. “Sure. Keep it. You’re clearly terrifying when in teacher mode.”

“You haven’t even seen me with stickers. I go full power trip.”

There was a long pause. The rain kept falling. You went back to grading, red pen scratching away. Bucky watched the TV for a few minutes, but his eyes kept drifting back to you.

You looked so settled. So at home. In his hoodie. On his couch. Surrounded by bits of your world, even in this small corner of his.

At some point, you caught him staring again.

“What?” you asked softly.

He looked like he was about to say something. Then he didn’t.

You leaned your chin on your knee, looking at him.

“You’re acting weird again, Barnes.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “You just… never stop surprising me.”

You offered a tired smile. “Good surprising or bad?”

He looked at you for a long moment.

“Good,” he said. Quiet. Honest.

You didn’t answer. Just looked back down at your papers, trying to hide the smile pulling at the corners of your mouth.

He didn’t leave the room. Didn’t move away. Just sat there in silence with you, listening to the rain.

Somehow, it felt louder than anything either of you could have said.

You kept grading, but you didn’t flip the next page.

You could feel him still watching you — not staring exactly, just… aware. Like he was waiting for something. Maybe for you to say something. Maybe for him to finally say something himself.

The quiet between you had shifted. It wasn’t just comfort anymore. Something in the way he looked at you like he wasn’t used to having someone like you around. Someone who wore his hoodie like it was the most natural thing in the world. Who treated his silence like a conversation instead of a dead end.

You swallowed, keeping your eyes on the worksheet even as your mind drifted.

“Bucky,” you said finally, soft and tentative.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been thinking…”

He shifted slightly. “Yeah?”

You turned your head toward him, resting your cheek on your knee. “You ever—”

The door slammed open.

“HELLO, PEOPLE WHO PAY RENT!”

Sam strode in like he owned the place, dropping his keys into the bowl by the door with dramatic flair and kicking his shoes off in the direction of the hallway.

Bucky blinked like he’d been woken from a dream.

You jumped a little, startled by the sudden sound after so much stillness. Your red pen fell to the floor.

Sam paused mid-stride when he saw the scene in front of him.

You. In Bucky’s hoodie. On the couch, papers all around you like a chaotic halo.

Bucky. Sitting a little too close. Arms resting on his knees. Staring at you like you were a puzzle he was halfway done solving.

Sam’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“…I’m interrupting something, aren’t I?”

“No,” you said quickly, reaching for your pen. “Just grading.”

Bucky muttered something that might have been “not anymore.”

Sam looked between you both, slowly, and then — with a painfully obvious smirk he tried to suppress — turned toward the kitchen.

“Oh, good. Because Natasha and I agreed to go on that double date tomorrow. Thought we could all get dinner first?”

You looked up. “You and Nat, again?”

Sam opened the fridge. “Yeah. She said something about you bringing Brad, right?”

Bucky’s expression instantly soured like Sam had just cursed in the house of God.

You didn’t notice, too busy scribbling a note on a worksheet. “I don’t know. Maybe. If he’s not too busy naming all his green flags in bullet points again.”

Sam leaned out of the kitchen, sipping water from the carton.

“Well, if Brad’s coming, I will definitely come. You’ll need someone to carry the emotional weight of that dinner.”

You laughed.

Bucky didn’t.

“Brad’s coming?” he asked flatly.

You looked up, blinking. “You just heard the whole thing.”

“Still rude.”

Sam arched a brow. “Jealousy’s not a good look on you, Barnes.”

“I’m not jealous,” Bucky said, standing up a little too fast. “I just thought you wouldn’t see him again, remember?”

You tilted your head. “He kind of begged to meet me, I couldn’t say no.”

“I’ve seen enough.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but Bucky was already leaving the room — retreating down the hall, hoodie sleeves bunched at his elbows, jaw clenched tight.

You looked at Sam.

Sam looked at you over his water carton and raised his brows.

“What?” you asked.

He held up his hands. “Didn’t say a word.”

Then he disappeared into the kitchen again, whistling.

You sank back into the couch, red pen hovering over an unfinished sentence, wondering if Brad was even worth the mental gymnastics anymore.

The person you should be thinking about was already here. Down the hall. Wearing a frown and his heart closer to his sleeve than he’d ever admit.

You thought maybe it was just a fleeting look on Bucky’s face when he paused by the door, hearing you say you might give Brad one more chance. But that night, the apartment felt different — colder, quieter.

He barely spoke to you, retreating early to his room, leaving you alone with your grading and your swirling thoughts.

The next morning, you tried to break the silence with a cup of coffee and a tentative “Good morning.” He nodded, eyes tired, no spark. When you asked if he wanted breakfast, he said he wasn’t hungry. When you suggested maybe talking about the chance you gave to Brad, he just shrugged and said, “Do whatever you want.”

You felt the weight of his distance like a stone in your chest.

Days passed with small, clipped exchanges. He was polite but distant, keeping his space, his words few. You found yourself hesitating to mention Brad, afraid it would push him further away. You missed the way he used to watch you — like you were the only person in the room — the way his voice softened when he spoke to you.

The silence had stretched for three days — long, cold, and unbearable. A silence that didn’t just fill the room; it seeped into everything. He left the apartment early each morning, long before your alarm went off, but the half-empty coffee pot stayed behind like a ghost of routine. A habit. A quiet placeholder.

Meals were eaten in solitude. Even the sound of your fork scraping against the plate felt too loud in the stillness.

By the fourth night, you were worn thin — emotionally frayed, work-weary, and starved for something real. You walked in late, your bag strap biting into your shoulder, hair a mess from the rain. The apartment was dark except for the low flicker of the television, casting shifting shadows across the room.

Bucky sat on the couch, eyes fixed blankly on the screen. He didn’t look up when you dropped your keys in the bowl.

That was it. The final straw.

You moved in front of the TV, blocking his view. He looked up then — slowly, like it cost him something — his expression unreadable.

“Are you ever going to talk to me again?” you asked, your voice sharper than you'd planned.

He took a slow sip of his beer. “I’m talking to you now.”

“No, you’re not.” You crossed your arms. “You’re hiding. One minute you’re making me pancakes when I get stood up, you’re carrying me to bed, wiping mascara off my cheeks like it’s nothing. The next, I wear your hoodie and suddenly you look at me like I’m the only person in the world — and then poof, Sam mentions Brad and I don’t exist anymore. What did I do, Bucky?”

His jaw flexed. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Don’t give me that.” You took a step closer. “You pull away the second things get real. You let me in, then shut me out like clockwork. It’s whiplash, Bucky. One day you’re warm, the next you’re ice. Why?” Your voice cracked. “Why do you only care when it’s too late?”

His eyes flared. He stood abruptly, beer set down hard on the coffee table.

“It was too late the second you knocked on that damn door!”

His voice thundered in the small apartment, bouncing off the walls. You stood frozen.

“I didn’t want a roommate,” he went on, pacing now like he needed to move or he’d explode. “I wanted quiet. I wanted peace. But then you came in with your off-key singing, and your string lights, and your goddamn sticky notes on the fridge like it’s some Pinterest board.”

He laughed bitterly. “You talk enough for both of us, you leave your mugs everywhere, and you always smell like vanilla and trouble, and I hated it.”

He stopped pacing. His chest rose and fell, breath shaky.

“Except... then it was too quiet when you weren’t here. I started making extra coffee in the mornings, just in case you’d gotten up early. I started watching movies I thought you’d like, just in case you wandered in and sat next to me.”

You stared at him, your heart climbing up your throat.

“I saw you on that couch, looking broken after Brad stood you up,” he said, voice softer now, strained. “And I didn’t want to comfort you. I wanted to find him and make sure he never made you feel that way again.”

He stepped closer — slow, deliberate. His voice was low but trembled with intensity.

“You wear my hoodie like it belongs to you. You barge into my room talking about skincare and Taylor Swift and stickers. And I tried — I tried so hard — not to care.”

He stopped inches away, his hand clenched at his side.

“But you make it impossible.”

He broke then — voice cracking under the weight of everything he’d been holding back.

“I’m not jealous of Brad. I’m terrified. Because I love you.” His voice dropped, raw and shaking. “And I don’t know how to love someone like this. Not without breaking. I don’t know how to stand by and pretend I’m okay watching you date someone else. When everything in me is screaming that you should be with me.”

His next breath was a shudder. His hands trembled.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, like it hurt to say. “And you don’t even know it.”

The words hung between you - ragged and real - and the room went still. The blue light flickered over both your faces, shadows dancing across the hardwood. His heart was in pieces at your feet, and for once, he wasn’t hiding it.

He just waited bare and breathless for you to do something with it.

You stood there, blinking.

His words echoed in your chest, bouncing around your ribs like they were trying to make space - trying to settle into a truth you hadn’t dared name out loud. Your throat felt tight. Your fingers tingled like they weren’t sure what to do.

For a second, neither of you moved.

You looked at him. Really looked at him.

His hair was a mess, jaw tight with tension, eyes rimmed red like this wasn’t the first time he’d tried to say all this — just the first time he let himself break open. And still, he looked at you like you were already slipping away.

“Say something,” he said hoarsely, his voice a brittle thread.

You swallowed. Your throat felt tight, your heart pounding so loud you thought he might hear it over the silence.

Then, slowly, you reached out — not fully sure if to touch him, or just to steady yourself.

“Bucky…” Your voice was barely more than a whisper, raw and trembling. “I never knew… you felt all that.”

He looked away, embarrassed, biting his lip like he was trying to hold back a tide of feelings.

You took a step closer, closing the space between you.

You just stood there - wide-eyed, lips parted like you wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

And Bucky saw it. That split second of hesitation.

And it cracked something inside him.

He took a shaky step back, letting go of your hand like it burned him.

“Forget it,” he said, voice suddenly colder. Flat. Defensive.

You blinked. “Bucky-”

“No, it’s fine,” he said, jaw clenching as he grabbed his half-empty beer again, anything to keep his hands busy. “Of course you didn’t see it. Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

You stared at him, confused. “What are you talking about?”

He let out a bitter laugh. “I mean, you were too busy with someone who didn’t even care about you that couldn’t see me?”

The words stung more than you expected. Not because they were cruel - but because they were true. Because you had been looking everywhere but at him. Because some part of you always wondered, but you never let yourself believe it could be him.

“Bucky, I didn’t-”

“Save it,” he muttered, already brushing past you. “I don’t want you to say something just because you feel sorry for me.”

“I don’t feel sorry for you,” you snapped, stepping in front of him again. “I’m trying to understand!”

“Well, maybe if I was more like Brad,” he spat, eyes flashing, “with his bullet-pointed green flags and emotionally available smile, maybe then you’d get it.”

Your mouth opened in shock.

“That’s not fair.”

“No,” he said, “it’s not. None of this is fair. I didn’t plan on falling for you. I didn’t want to. But I did. And I waited. I waited for you to see it. For once. And you didn’t.”

You stood there, aching, silent.

His chest rose and fell in jagged breaths.

Then, quieter, broken:

“And now I don’t know what to do with all of it.”

You stood frozen for a breath, two, while the sound of the rain clawed at the windows like it wanted in.

Then you moved.

You followed him - down the hall, past the laundry basket he always forgot to take to the machine, past the coat rack with your umbrella still dripping.

“Don’t walk away from me,” you said, voice trembling but steady.

He didn’t stop. Not until your fingers wrapped around his wrist.

“Bucky. Don’t.”

You stepped forward, not caring how shaky your hands were. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to pour your heart out and then decide for me how I feel.”

He opened his mouth, but you cut him off.

“No, shut up. My turn.”

He just looked. Eyes red-rimmed, jaw tight, still trying to be the unshakable one. Still trying to protect you from his hurt even now, when the damage was already done.

“You said I didn’t see what was right in front of me.” Your voice cracked. “You’re right. I didn’t. But not because I didn’t care. Because I did. Too much. And I didn’t know what to do with it.”

He tried to look away, but you stepped closer, standing toe-to-toe in the dim hallway, surrounded by silence and truth and months of tension finally snapping loose.

“You think you’re the only one who’s scared?” you whispered. “You think I didn’t notice the little things? The way you always made extra popcorn even when you said you didn’t want any? The way you check the locks twice before bed when I’m home but not when you’re alone? The way you look at me like I’m… like I’m the sun and you’ve been living underground your whole life?”

His lips parted, breath caught in his throat.

“I didn’t say anything,” you continued, “because I thought you still loved her. Because I didn’t want to be a rebound. I didn’t want to be someone you settled for.”

Bucky looked shattered.

“I don’t want him,” you whispered. “I don’t want safe. Or polite. Or bullet points. I want you.”

He reached for your face then, almost reverently, cupping your cheek with a hand that had held so much violence and now only trembled with gentleness.

“Say it again,” he breathed.

You leaned into his touch.

“I want y—”

You didn’t finish.

Because the second the words hit the air — half-formed, trembling — he was kissing you.

No more space. No more maybe. His mouth found yours like it had been aching to for months, desperate and certain all at once. You clung to him, your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie like he was the only thing keeping you steady.

You gasped into him, your hands fisting in the front of his hoodie — his hoodie, still hanging off your shoulders like it had always belonged there. Like you had.

He kissed you like he had been waiting for permission. Like now that he had it, he’d never waste another second.

And when he finally pulled back, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his voice was quiet and wrecked.

“Finally.”

You smiled, dazed, your hands still gripping his shirt like you weren’t entirely ready to let him go.

“Good,” you whispered, breathless. “Because I was really about to lose my mind over your stupid cereal notes.”

He laughed, really laughed, soft and close and warm against your lips.

Taglist: @iyskgd @awesompawsum @dilf-whore @borkybawnes @the-sylver-dragon @marianastudiesart @silverdoragon

[larajadeschmidt13]

Say Don't Go | AU

Parings: College!Hockey Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Angst, asshole bucky, drinking

Summary: In college, you’re a photography student capturing every moment of the hockey team, where your childhood best friend Steve Rogers is captain. As your feelings for star player Bucky Barnes deepen, his notorious commitment issues leave you feeling uncertain. But as flirty banter turns into deeper connections, Bucky’s commitment issues and fear of vulnerability complicate the budding romance. You find yourself questioning if his feelings are as real as yours, and if you can bridge the gap between friendship and love. you must decide whether to take a chance on love or protect your heart from getting hurt, or will the uncertainty of his heart leave you both standing on opposite sides of what could be?

--

Part One 🏒

Part Two 🏒

Part Three 🏒

[larajadeschmidt13]

Very very very interested in The Ranch Hand and the twists in each chapter!

I hope you are doing lovely and are treating yourself well. You deserve love and peace and happiness, and I wish you all the best 🌄

Hi there! Thank you! I tried my best with that one. I’ve been super crazy busy. I have a book coming out Saturday and I’m moving home. Too much going on at once!! 🩷

[larajadeschmidt13]

series summary: you decide to spend the summer before your final year of college back in your hometown, reconnecting with childhood friends. entertaining any summer romance is the farthest thing on your mind... until you reunite with your - significantly older - uncle’s good friend.

series warnings: This series is specifically 18+ only!! please do not interact if you are not 18+, or if you do not like the topics. age gap/forbidden relationship (~15 years), smut (again, 18+ only!!), general angst, semi-slow burn romance

part 1 - 6.8k

part 2 - 7.6k

part 3 - 7.7k

part 4 - 8.2k

more parts coming soon <3

[larajadeschmidt13]

I’m INVESTEDDDD

jealousy & flirtation • 4

FOUR: MR. BITTER

18+

After bringing your situationship with Bucky to an end, you soon meet his petty side - but surely you aren't jealous, are you?

Content Warning: Frat!Bucky x F!Reader, mature themes, jealous!reader, angst.

Series Masterlist

Digging the spoon back into the tub, Bucky stuffs another bite of chocolate ice cream into his mouth. He's sprawled out on the couch, thick blanket covering his body while an old rom-com plays on the TV.

Meanwhile, Steve and Wanda watch from the doorway. Steve looks on with concern, while Wanda's gaze is more one of morbid curiosity. "He's been like this all week," Steve mumbles, shaking his head.

"That girl really did a number on him," Wanda says with a raised brow. "Why'd she end it, anyway?"

"No fucking idea," Steve replies. "Bucky won't tell me anything. Just that she didn't wanna see him anymore."

"You know I can hear you guys, right?" Bucky suddenly calls out from the couch, turning his head to them. "And the reason I didn't tell you anything is 'cause she didn't tell me anything."

"Huh?" Steve asks as he and Wanda walk into the room. "What do you mean?"

Bucky sinks lower into the couch with a shrug. "I don't wanna talk about it," He says lowly, keeping his eyes on his ice cream.

Wanda rests a knee on the end of the couch. "She didn't give you a reason?" She asks, tilting her head. "That's weird."

"I know," Bucky says bitterly, digging his spoon back into the tub before looking up at both of them. "I'd like to make it clear to you both that I am great in bed, before you make assumptions."

"We weren't assuming anything like that, Buck," Steve says with a soft chuckle, before that look of concern returns to his face. "I wanna talk to her-"

"Absolutely not!" Bucky exclaims. "She's gonna think I sent you to beg her to give me another chance- I'll be damned before I let her think I'm just moping around, hoping she comes back."

Sharing an awkward look, Wanda and Steve wordlessly decide amongst themselves not to point out the fact that Bucky is clearly moping around, hoping you come back.

"Alright, I won't," Steve swears, though he has no intention to keep that promise.

Somehow, Bucky's even hotter now that you've ended things.

He's left his hair a little scruffy and he's wearing the vintage, dark brown YSL hoodie you tried to steal from him multiple times. Not only that, but he's also visibly pissed off every time you meet his eyes - no sweet smile like usual, instead a clenched jaw and seemingly unbothered, blank stare.

And it's such a turn on.

"Hello?" You're nudged harshly, pulling you from your stalker-level staring.

"Huh?" You mumble, turning your face to Thor. "Oh. Sorry."

"You need to get a grip," He tells you sternly. "It was your choice to end it, so now you have to deal with it."

"Why are you being so mean?" You ask him, grabbing the kettle bell from the ground.

"I'm mean? You broke an innocent man's heart!" He retorts. "All because he's friends with a girl."

With a scoff, you glare at him. "You don't understand, T. It wasn't that he was friends with a girl, it's about..." You find it hard to explain it out loud, especially to someone who you know wouldn't see your point.

"You didn't even have an honest conversation with him about it," Thor goes on to say with his hands on his hips. "I'm very disappointed in you."

Doing your best to ignore the pang in your chest, you begin lifting the weight, using your pain as motivation. "It's complicated. I can't just tell the guy that I don't like his best friend - that would piss him off," You say, stealing another quick glance at Bucky who's running on a treadmill on the other side of the gym.

"Yeah, he'd be understandably pissed off because that isn't a valid reason to end it," Thor says curtly.

"She was putting me down in front of him," You tell him, exasperated. "Juniper didn't like that I was seeing him. He's never had a girlfriend, and there's a reason for that. Why would I put myself in a position where I could get hurt, just for a man?"

A gorgeous, funny, sweet man. Stop it.

You and Thor continue in the free weights section while you sneak glances up at Bucky. Eventually, you see him shake Steve's hand before he leaves the gym, and you feel a slight magnetic pull as you do your best not to follow him out.

Just as you put your kettle bell away, you feel a tap on your shoulder. Assuming it's Thor, you turn around with a raised brow, but you're taken aback when you see that it's not Thor.

"Steve?" You utter, confused. "What's up?"

He pulls out an airpod from his right ear before nodding backwards. "Spot me?"

Surprised that he's asking you, you slowly nod. "Sure," You reply, giving Thor a shrug as you follow Steve over to a bench.

He grabs a barbell and lays down on the bench while you stand behind him. For his first few reps, neither of you say a word, and you assume he honestly only wanted you to spot him - but once he hits 5 reps, he speaks up.

"Bucky told me what happened between you," He says bluntly, making your guts churn. "That was pretty cold of you, Y/N."

Wanting to be anywhere but here, you squirm where you stand. "Oh," Is all you say.

"I thought you guys were going well," Steve continues. "Things seemed good between you - what changed?"

Shaking your head, you feel yourself begin to panic. "I- I don't know what to tell you, Steve," You tell him honestly.

With a huff, he slams the barbell onto the ground and stands up, facing you with a glare. "How about the truth?" He says harshly.

"Everything okay here?" Thor interjects as he appears next to you, placing his hand firmly on your shoulder as he frowns at Steve. "Can I help you, Rogers?"

There's a tension between them you've never noticed before. Looking up at the glaring blond, you gently nudge his stomach. "It's okay, T," You say.

Unsatisfied, Thor continues concentrating his cold gaze on Steve. "If you have a problem, you can take it up with me," He says sternly.

"It's nothing to do with you, Odinson," Steve hits back at him, an equally weighted look of bitterness in his eyes.

"And Bucky's love life is anything to do with you?" Thor asks with a scoff. Though he made it clear to you that he disagreed with the way you ended things with Bucky, Thor will be damned if anyone else tries to take a shot at you.

"He's my best friend," Steve reminds him.

"And Y/N is mine," Thor replies. "You don't see me interrogating Barnes, do you?"

"Because he's not in the wrong here," Steve hisses, making you wince as he takes a step closer.

Thor subtly pulls you behind him while moving even closer to Steve. "Get off your high horse, Rogers. Who was in the wrong in freshman year?"

That throws you for a loop. "What?" You utter with a frown.

Steve lets out a laugh. "Wow. You're really gonna bring that shit back up? It was fucking years ago!"

"The principal is the same," Thor snaps. "None of us are saints. How is what you did to me any different to what Y/N did to Bucky?"

What Steve did to Thor?

With an eye roll, Steve pulls out his airpod from his pocket and sticks it back into his ear. "Get over it," He grumbles while storming off.

"I will when you will!" Thor calls out after him.

Once Steve's out of sight, you stare up at Thor, lips parted in shock. "Since fucking when were you and Steve Rogers a thing?" You ask him, utterly baffled.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "It was nothing. Happened before you and I became friends, wasn't a big enough deal to mention," He says casually.

"And what, he broke your heart?" You ask as the two of you make your way to the exit.

"He wishes," Thor says bitterly. "It wasn't serious. Same as you and Barnes, to be honest. We hooked up a few times, then he ghosted me."

Processing that information as you leave the gym, you shake your head. Never in a million years would you have thought Thor had history with Steve, but now that you know, it does make complete sense. You even go so far as to think they would make an awfully attractive couple.

"Stop," He growls as you cross the road back onto campus. "I know what you're thinking."

"Thor, he is super hot," You say with a laugh. "I mean, if I were you, I'd forgive the whole ghosting thing."

Maybe you only feel that way because you'd like to think Bucky would be able to forgive you.

"Shut your trap," Thor says sternly. "It's obviously clear that our friendship groups should never collide. Only ends with someone getting hurt."

As you both make your way back to the apartment, you begin to understand why Thor was so disappointed in the way you treated Bucky - it's because that's the way he was treated by Steve. Dropped like he meant nothing, made to feel worthless. As if you could feel any more guilty.

"Stop thinking about it, sweetheart," Thor says with a much softer tone, recognizing the remorse on your face. "You did what was best for you. It's not like you completely ghosted him - you at least had a conversation with him. That's more than a lot of people can say. More than Steve could say, at least."

You try to agree with him, but you can't. The memory of the pure look of heartbreak on Bucky's face when you told him you didn't wanna see him anymore is etched onto your mind. Did you do the right thing, or is Thor just trying to make you feel better? You suddenly have the awful thought that you threw away your chance to have a beautiful relationship with Bucky. Would you have made a good couple? Could you have fallen in love with him, eventually? What if he was your soulmate?

Class has been awkward recently. For a brief period of time, it served as an arena for you and Bucky to eye-fuck each other while competing with one another for who could send the dirtiest text to make the other crack. And now, it's back to how it was before the night of the fateful party where you first slept with him - only worse, because now you're left with the memories of the tryst that was over all too soon.

Instead of shooting you coy winks and drawing dicks on your notebook whenever he walks by, Bucky's avoiding your gaze and acting as though you don't exist. It hurts, but you know you deserve it.

"This project is worth 15% of your overall grade, so please don't treat it like a free-for-all," Professor Linum says to the class. "You'll be in groups of four, and I expect the workload to be divided equally amongst you. This is about artistic and creative collaboration. Now, I gave you all a color as you walked in today. Each table has a sheet with one of those colors written on it - find the table with your assigned color and sit on it. These will be your groups."

A buzz breaks out as your classmates start making their way to their groups. You stand up and look for your color, walking to the other side of the room before you find the word Green and place your things on the table. As you do, you hear a deep voice grumble, "You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

Looking up, you see Bucky sitting on the opposite side of the table. Of course. Inwardly wincing, you sit down, wanting the ground to swallow you whole. Maria Hill is sitting next to Bucky and a few moments of awkward silence later, Grant Ward sits next to you.

"Everyone happy with their groups?" Professor Linum asks.

Nobody speaks up, but Bucky's lip twitches. You're half-surprised he isn't bothering to ask if he can change his group.

"Fantastic. Your task is simple," Professor Linum continues. "Pick an emotion - something complex. I don't want any happys or sads. Give me nostalgia. Bittersweet. Resignation. You have two minutes to discuss with your groups and come to a decision. No two groups can have the same emotion - the quicker you can decide on one, the higher your chances of bagging it."

The room bursts into a cacophony of conversations as everyone gets their ideas out. Though you appreciate art and love studying it, you've never been much of an artist yourself besides the odd piece here and there, so you don't really mind what your group settle on, so long as it's interesting.

"Jealousy," Maria is first to throw her suggestion out onto the table. "I mean, we are the Green group. It's only right."

"Nah, that's boring," Grant says with a face as though he's just smelt something bad. "I want something sad. Sad paintings always have the most to say."

"I disagree. I think pieces exploring sex are the most interesting," Maria counters, before giving Bucky a sly wink.

His face is blank for half a second, then he quickly breaks out into a smirk as he moves closer to her. "I'm inclined to agree," He replies in a sultry tone, one which makes your throat burn.

Is he seriously trying to make you jealous right now?

"Blue Team are the first to confirm their emotion!" Professor Linum announces suddenly. "They'll be creating art that explores the theme of jealousy."

"Aw, that sucks," Grant says, but he doesn't sound at all regretful as he leans forward with his hands clasped together. "Saudade."

The three of you look at him, equally confused looks on your faces as you silently ask him to elaborate.

"It's a Portuguese word that doesn't really have an English translation," He says, the look on his face telling you he's incredibly excited to be the one telling you this, though he's doing his best to act nonchalant. "It's a deep longing for something or someone, linked with nostalgia and melancholy. Like, a sense of emptiness, a longing for that which you've lost."

"...Right," Maria says with an unimpressed look on her face. "That sounds depressing as fuck."

Grant glares at her. "It is."

God, he's petty.

"How about resentment?" Bucky says, and you don't miss the quick glance he shoots your way.

"Time's up!" Linum calls out with a clap of his hands. "Green Team - you're the only ones who haven't yet decided. What's it gonna be?"

Grant's the first to speak up, much to Maria's dismay. "Saudade," He announces proudly, his chin up high.

Not surprised at his student's pretentious answer, Linum nods. "Fine," He approves bluntly. "Now you've all got your emotion, here comes the hard part - I want you, in your groups, to create a piece of art together which explores your chosen emotion. The medium is up to you. At the end of this semester, you'll each present your work to the class."

He continues explaining the stipulations while you sink in your seat, feeling utter dread at the thought of having to work with Bucky. It's bad enough that he hates you from afar, but speaking to him every week? This is going to be a nightmare.

"Bucky," You call him back when the class ends and everyone's filing out of the room. He almost looks as though he's about to continue walking away, but with a clenched jaw, he turns back to you.

"What?" He asks curtly, none of the usual softness or flirtation in his tone that you became used to. It's a jarring change.

You watch as a few more people leave, waiting for it to quieten down before you speak. "Are you mad at me?" You ask, doing your best to be firm but not harsh with your tone. It's a dumb question - of course he's mad at you for prematurely ending what could've been a fun relationship - but maybe you just want a reason to speak to him.

Bucky looks as though he wants to argue with you for a split second, but the emotion on his face quickly dissipates as he changes his mind. "I'm not mad," He utters coolly, a blank stare on his face.

If it was anyone else, you'd believe them, but you know better. He's punishing you for cutting him off by being distant, and you can't blame him for it. But damn if it doesn't hurt. "We can still be... civil," You go on to say, holding back a wince.

His face remains void of emotion as he replies, "Okay."

This sucks. You'd rather he yell at you - in fact, a part of you wants him to yell at you, just so he's at least putting some effort into this conversation. You want him to be angry because that would mean he cares. That would mean he still thinks about you the way you think about him, and as much as you're a terrible and selfish person for it, you want to be taking up space in his mind. As toxic as that sounds.

"Bucky," You say, bordering on whining as you take a step closer to him. "Don't be like this." Yell. Call me names. Say you hate me. Are you purposely being annoying to piss him off?

"What do you want from me?" He asks you, allowing a slight confusion to twitch at his brows. "You said it yourself: we're done."

Your chest pangs and you immediately regret ending it. If you knew it would feel like this, you never would have done it. Screw Juniper, let her try and sabotage things, it's not worth losing Bucky.

"I'm sorry," You find yourself saying, not knowing what else to say. "I didn't want to hurt you. But there's no need to flirt with other girls in front of me."

That earns another eyebrow twitch. "Flirt with other girls," He repeats flatly.

"Yes," You say, not caring how immature or downright crazy you sound. "That whole... thing with Maria. What, are you trying to make me jealous, or something?"

His brow flies up. "You're jealous?" He asks, not allowing his tone to give away how he's feeling.

"Of course not," You immediately answer. "But it's pretty obvious, what you're trying to do."

"I'm not trying to do anything," He corrects you bluntly. "Maria's a pretty girl. I'm a warm-blooded man. I'm within my rights to flirt with her."

You stare up at him, silently willing him to give up the aloof act. You don't deserve him to be nice to you, or give you any of his energy at all, but you want it so badly. You want him to understand, without you having to say it, that you didn't want to end things with him and you still want him just as much as you always have. It feels surreal to know that it's your fault the man you've been pining after for so many years isn't with you anymore. He wanted you, and you rejected him. God, you suck.

"There you are Jamie, I've been waiting for you for ages!" Juniper herself suddenly calls out as she swoops into the room. "What are you still doing in class? We agreed to meet at- oh." Her face drops when she sees you, and she stops a few tables away. Folding her arms across her chest, she narrows her eyes. "What's going on?"

"Sorry, Junie, I got held up," Bucky mutters, not even sparing you a final look as he turns and walks over to her. She shoots you a cold glare over his shoulder as if to say stay away before she links her arm with his and the two of them exit the room.

"This sucks," Yelena complains as she looks around the bar. It's a typical Friday night at Swirl. The place is packed with students and the music isn't too loud, but Yelena isn't talking about the bar itself. She's talking about your low mood. Her eyes focus back on you as she takes a sip of her Cosmo while you rest your head on your fist, your Pornstar Martini untouched. "You really liked him, huh?" She asks with a pained look. "I don't think I've ever seen you this messed up over a guy. Not even Tony."

You let out a huff of air, no energy to try and deny it. The truth is, you're more upset than you thought possible, and you were more attached to Bucky than you initially claimed. Though your time with him was short, he was everything you look for in a partner, and you're sorely missing the gap he's left in your life - a gap you yourself carved out. Idiot.

Your response is something between a grunt and a whine, and Yelena gives up with a sigh.

"You don't wanna dance?" Yelena asks, though she already knows the answer. "Don't wanna maybe talk to someone else? There's plenty more fish in the sea, you know. Fish that don't have possessive best friends."

Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Thor's glaring at the man who just paid for his drink. "What do you think you're doing?" He asks Steve, who pulls his phone away from the card reader with a casual look on his face.

"What? I can't buy an old friend a drink, now?" Steve asks, resting an arm on the bar as he looks Thor up and down.

"Old friend?" Thor repeats with a scoff. "Please."

Steve places a hand on his chest with a pout on his lips. "You wound me, baby," He says, moving closer to him. "I just wanna share a drink. Nothing more. Unless you want more."

Utterly baffled by Steve's audacity, Thor only narrows his eyes.

"If you want more, I can give you more," Steve continues with a playful smirk as he moves even closer, lowering his voice as much as he can to remain audible over the music. "I can give you a lot, big guy."

"Don't call me that - what the fuck is going on with you, Rogers?" Thor spits. "What's your angle?"

"No angle!" Steve claims, holding his hands up, his eyes wide. After a second, he relaxes again, resuming with the sultry look. "Talking to you the other day... it was nice. Made me think of old times."

With a dry laugh, Thor shakes his head. "You're a fucking dick, Rogers," He utters. "Thanks for the drink, but I'd rather have it alone."

"Where's the fun in that?" Steve asks, leaning against the bar while facing Thor, a mischievous look in his eyes. "If I recall correctly, you said I was the best you ever had."

Thor snorts. "Yeah, when I was 18," He points out bluntly. "Don't fool yourself into believing I still think about you, Rogers."

"Ouch," Steve mutters as the bartender slides across Thor's beer.

Glancing over at him, Thor raises a brow. "How, uh, how's Barnes doing?" He can't help but ask, knowing what a mess you are and wondering if Bucky's the same.

Steve shrugs, hand clasped around his own beer. "Not great. Your girl really fucked him over," He says. "No warning, no reason. Must've took a leaf out of my book."

Thor takes a long sip of beer, doing his best to keep quiet but unable to stop himself. "There was a reason," He finds himself saying. "Just one that Barnes wouldn't have accepted."

"What do you mean?" Steve asks with a frown. "What was it? I know it wouldn't have been anything Bucky did."

"It wasn't," Thor confirms before sighing. "You ever wonder how Juniper really feels about him?"

Taken aback by his mention of someone who Steve didn't think had anything to do with it, he furrows his brows together. "Uh... what?"

Thor takes another sip before elaborating. "It's clear she feels strongly about him. Everyone knows that," He states.

"Oh, yeah," Steve agrees with a nod. "They're best friends. So, what?"

"So, Juniper loves her best friend a little too much to allow him to ever have a normal relationship with another girl," Thor spills out, immediately regretting his words.

Steve is baffled, his eyes wide. "Did- did she tell Y/N to end it?" He asks, shocked.

"No, not explicitly," Thor clears up. "But it was made clear that she'd make it difficult for them to progress in any way. Y/N figured it wasn't worth the heartbreak, so she quit before things got too deep."

It takes Steve a few moments to process Thor's words. Though at first, he's confused, he slowly pieces it together and things begin to make a lot of sense. "Oh, shit," He whispers to himself. "Wren. She was right..."

"What?" It's Thor's turn to be confused.

Shaking his head, Steve meets his eyes. "Nothing, never mind. So, Y/N ended things with Bucky because of Juniper's... closeness to him?" He asks.

"Pretty much," Thor says with a shrug. He's said too much now so he may as well say it all. "She doesn't mind that his best friend is a girl, heck, I'm one of her best friends so that would be hypocritical. It's just that Juniper can be pretty obvious when she doesn't like someone, and I'm sure she's a big reason that Bucky's always single."

Steve drums his fingers on the counter, shaking his head. "Wow," He mumbles. "I didn't even... wow."

"You okay?" Thor asks before having another drink of his beer.

Nodding, Steve turns to him. "Yeah, I just... it sucks that it had to end like that. I mean, Bucky was really into her, and he was so much happier," He says wistfully. "As much as Juniper probably doesn't want him to, Bucky's always wanted a proper girlfriend. He's lonely, and he's always thought it's his fault he wasn't able to develop anything with anyone he dated. He takes it really personally when things end, you know? Deep down, he's a sensitive guy. And Y/N seems like a great girl. It's a shame..."

"If only we could get Juniper away from him long enough for them to reconcile and get together," Thor says with a sigh.

"If only..." Steve trails off before his eyes light up. "I mean, we could."

Frowning, Thor puts his beer down. "We could what?"

"Get them back together," Steve says brightly. "All we have to do is make sure Juniper doesn't get the chance to come between them."

"That's a pretty big task, Rogers," Thor says. "Who's to say Bucky will even forgive Y/N?"

"He's too into her to pass up the chance of getting back with her," Steve claims. "His ego is hurt right now, but if he knew how much she likes him and that the reason she ended things was 'cause of Juniper, he'd be more than willing to give things a second chance."

"What makes you think he'd believe Juniper was the reason? I mean, haven't they been best friends since they were born?" Thor asks incredulously.

Steve nods, a determined look growing on his face. "It won't be easy, but together, you and I can make him see her true colors," He says, giving Thor a smile. "What do you say? Prepared to do what it takes to make our best friends happy again?"

Reluctant to agree to spend time with Steve, Thor hesitates. But when he looks to the other side of the room and sees you hunched over your drink looking utterly distraught, he knows he can't sit back and let you remain hurt when he has the power to change that. Turning back to Steve, he shakes his outstretched hand. "Fine. Let's do it," He agrees. "But if you think this puts you in with a chance to get back into my pants, you're dead wrong, Rogers."

With a smirk, Steve tightens his grip on his hand. "Whatever you say, big guy."

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[larajadeschmidt13]

The fact women can literally be in huge agonizing pain and cramps for days and still go to school or work and do chores and take care of kids but men get a cold and act like they are dying???

I mean I read so many studies that defend why men suffer more during cold,worse immune system,but when its about horrible female menstrual cramps and those waterfalls of blood we lose during our periods,scientists go like "neh,youre fine,ladies,its just teaspoon of blood".

[larajadeschmidt13]

get you back

summary: You hated that you loved Bucky Barnes, and he loved that you could not hate him.

warnings: mention of alcohol consumption, semi-drunkenness, carsex (18+), fingering, oral, swearing, smut, p in v, unprotected sex (don’t do it), fuckbuddy!bucky, dbf!bucky, implied age gap, mention of bad boyfriends (not bucky), using nicknames (princess, bunny) , slight degradation - nothing physical, some mention of food

minors dni

a/n: yes I AM BACK

A loud snap of fingers made you turn your head to him. “Are you even listening to me?” You sighed, pressing fingers on your temples to look like you were trying to remember.

No, you weren’t listening. You were thinking how that hot guy was about to give you his number, before James Buchanan Barnes a.k.a the actual devil, snatched you away. Leading you to his car without giving you a chance to say goodbye to the best body you have ever seen.

You. Hated. James. Bucky. Barnes.

“Something about… bunnies?” You shrugged as you turned your head back towards the road. Even though it was almost pitch black, you fought your urge to look at his profile under car’s lights. Even though he was angry and sleepless he looked better than all the guys you’ve ever known.

“Really? You are not even trying kid.” He said as he emphasized on the last word. He knew how much you hated the nickname.

“Stop calling me a kid. I’m not that young.”

“I will stop calling you a kid, when you stop acting like one. What were you thinking? What was the point of all that drinking? Get my attention or liver failure?”

The point was to get over your ex boyfriend finding someone before you did. You didn’t want to be the one who was stuck in an ended relationship.

You weren’t even prepared to the idea that he would start dating in a few months. His post just popped on your phone while you were scrolling through pictures on Instagram. Selfie with her, cheek to cheek and smiling like a true dumbass he is.

Getting ass drunk would be a nice way to forget. But you shouldn’t been too drunk to start texting and calling other people.

Especially calling the guy you hated the most. Because he would show up just in time, and yank you away from the guy you were flirting with.

You really shouldn’t have drunk texted your on-again-off-again hookup. Neighbour of your parents, a close friend of your dad.

It started just a few days after your heartbreak. You weren’t sure of how it started, but you remembered how it ended. In his bed, literally begging him for letting you cum as he pounded into you like an animal.

When you weren’t fucking, all you did was argue. Arguments about when to meet up or where to meet up… You hated meeting up in his place, so close to your parents. And he hated meeting only for an hour max.

You started fighting and decided to not meet up again. Either of you got tired of all the lies and secrets. It was you more than it was him. Bucky was always sure you would come back to him one way or another.

“Remind me not to call you again.” You huffed, resting your head on the window. Sun was about to shine in a few hours and all you wanted was to get into your bed. All you needed was forget the day and move on.

“Sure your parents would be thrilled to know their daughter would end up in jail for DUI.” You turned your neck so fast that it hurt.

“I wasn’t going to drive the car!”

“You getting into car of a drunk idiot is stupid enough too!”

“Stop acting like you are my dad! He was fucking hot, and he told me his place was really close.”

“What made you believe in him? I know what that kind of guy thinks. It is only getting you to the bed. You would be considered lucky if he bothered to call you the next day.”

“So? What made you think I am not okay with it?” You saw all the blood rushing to his cheeks, decorating them with a soft pink hue.

“Okay...” He said trying to not go any further with that discussion.

You dropped your shoulders, when you saw how his grasp on wheel tightened and his jaw clenched. If you didn’t know him that well, you would say he was offended.

Whether it was because of anger towards him or how tired you were. You didn’t say anything back but leant your seat back to at least sleep for the rest of the ride.

“Oh no princess, you are definitely not sleeping.” He said just before he slapped your thigh. Small ‘Hey!’ fell from your lips. It was fair to expect him to snap and say you crossed a line.

You yanked your leg away from his grasp. He shut you up before you could say anything back. “You made me get all this way three in the morning. Ofcourse there would be consequences.”

“I didn’t ask you to come.” You said as you rubbed your thigh.

“You sent me a picture of you lifting your skirt and texted all those things you want to do with me. But when I come to pick you up, I saw you on the lap of some dickhead.”

“I was horny. We’ve decided to stop with fooling around. Life moves on James.” As you finished the sentence, his foot stepped on the pedal so quick that he had to use his arm to stop you from falling forward.

“Get in the back of the car.”

“James, I’m tired.”

“Get in the back, or I will make you bunny.” You didn’t said anything back. Bucky never called you bunny, if he didn’t have something on his mind. You knew better than to take the risk of getting him angrier.

You rolled your eyes before unfastening your seatbelt. He caught the sight of your underwear as you bent over to move through the gap between the seats. Even though Bucky saw your pink thong, you acted like you had the upper hand.

“Take off your skirt.” He said before coming next to you. He almost yanked off the door before squishing you on the backseat.

He pulled you by your legs, making you lie down. The cold leather of the seats caused goosebumps on your skin. That and you knew what he was capable of when he was angry.

And he was pissed.

“Not so tired ha, bunny?” His large hands wandered along your legs, moving slowly towards your hips.

A loud noise of your gulp echoed in your brain. You could get used to that view. You legs hooked to his shoulders. His charming face inches over your lucky thong.

“Tell me again bunny.” He said as his eyes locked on your figure under his, trying not to smirk at the wet patch on your thong.

“Tell you what?” You asked. Blinking at him with nothing else on your mind.

“Tell me again the last thing you told me before breaking up with me. So I would not have my way with you.”

“Uhm...” He started kissing on the top of your thighs. Index finger was tracing your slit over the thong.

“We can’t keep doing this and not expect one of us getting hurt. Ah-“ He bit inside of your thigh, sucking a gentle bruise. “James.”

He didn’t listen to you. If he ever did that was not it definitely.

“I’m listening. Continue.” Kisses, soft bites started decorating your body.

His hands placed next to your waist. His teeth brushed along the band of your thong. You wanted to raise your hips. But the way he looked up at you, the darkness in his eyes, made you stop.

You licked your lips, closing your eyes to concentrate. “We continue lying to our close ones and soon enough the lies would get out of—“ You stopped as he curled his finger like a hook to pull down your thong.

He mumbled something that you were sure was Russian as he got close to your heat. His eyes looked into your eyes. You knew he was daring you to stop.

If you stop I’ll stop too bunny.

He didn’t need to speak for you to understand.

“—hands. Lies get out of our hands. It is too risky and it does not worth it. We both know that this affair does not take LONG!”

He licked a stripe over your slit. As his cold fingers separated your folds. He loved to torture you like this.

“I don’t want any of us to get hurt.” You manage to finish your speech as you felt the familiar tingles build up.

The tip of his tongue flicked your clit and you had to hold on to something, his hair, to stop your thighs to close around his head.

“See this is where you are wrong, bunny. There isn’t any chance where you can hurt me...” He said as his fingers collected some of your juices, raising them to his lips. “Unless you try to neglect me of your sweet nectar.” He sucked his fingers clean, you heard a tiny ‘hmm’ as his fingers touched his tongue.

He raised his head to look at you when he was circling around your weeping hole. “Answer this, do you want to hurt me bunny?” He wanted to make you weep as much as your pussy.

“N-no. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then why you try to break things off?” The tip of his finger slowly pushed into your whole. He pulled it back before you could enjoy this. “Are you going to try and break things off again?” Another question he didn’t need to hear its answer to. He could read it from your tearful eyes and slight pout. “Oh bunny.” He whispered to himself, pride filling his chest.

His finger went back to circling around your hole as he used another one to toy with your clit. You could not stop yourself from curling your toes and try to pull him closer.

That arrogonat smirk on his face made a comeback. “Are you going to flirt with other guys who I’m sure does not even know what a clit is?” You shook head your again and he pressed his thumb.

“Fuck.” You said as you squirmed under his touch.

“Not the answer I am looking for. Do you want to try again bunny?”

“I—I’m not going to flirt with other guy a—and ohgod!” He pushed one inch of his finger inside curling the tip so it would reach your spot. You didn’t stop so he wouldn’t either. “I’m not going break things o—off.”

One more inch and you knew you would start to drip onto seats. Before you knew it, his mouth got back onto your clit. “James!” You said again as you pulled onto his locks.

“Shit! It’s only been a week but your pussy is crying out f’ me.” He said as he stood back up.

Your legs started shaking by the time. You whimpered at the lost contact of his fingers and lips. You also missed seeing him with your thighs wrapped around his head.

You knew if you touched yourself he would bite your fingers and deny you any sort of release. He quickly unfastened his belt and lowered his pants and boxers just low enough to take out his cock.

The tip was swollen red it was starting to leak some precum as he pressed it on your clit. “You are an attention whore bunny. It’s been only a week and I find you cosy with another guy. This deserves punishment don’t you think?”

“Please! I’ve been just trying to get your attention.” He smiled at your confession as he aligned his tip.

“Tell me you are mine and mine only. If you tell me that, I’ll give you what you want.”

“I’m yours James. I’m only yours, I do not belong to anybody else.” He started slowly push into you.

He leaned over you to fix the hair got on your face. His lips brushed along yours when you moaned as he found the spot. Your legs started to got down but he held them back. Pushing your bent knee to your chest as he started moving.

His hips started rutting into you slowly. “So pretty like this bunny. All spread out for me.” His tongue darted out from his lips to giving you a longing kiss. All teeth and tongue, full of lust and desire.

His large hands pulled down your strapless top, letting your tits out. His tongue clicked on top of mouth. “And thinking I would be sharing them with some dickhead.” He pushed into you hardly, making you jump into his arms.

“I don’t share bunny. Never.” You knew he meant more with those words.

Air inside the car was getting thick because of your panting. His fingers started playing with your nipples to get them erect as he held your tits together and started licking and sucking both of them.

“Not the teeth ah!” You tried to protest but he had already sunk his teeth into your extra-sensitive flesh. Sweet melody of your cries caused him to increase speed. He wanted more.

You yelped as you tried to find something to hold onto, best thing you found was the back of his shoulder as you pressed your nails against his skin. Bruises and scratches would be greeting both of you as first thing in the morning but it didn’t bother you as long as it came with pleasure.

“FuckFuckFuck!” Familiar coil started to form under your belly button, and you threw your head back. “James, please please…”

“Wanna cum bunny? Is that it? Mumblin’ because you are too close?” He said after detaching from your nipples with a pop. The little numb was all swollen and covered in saliva.

“Y-yes oh.” He slammed his hips onto yours with more force and stayed pressed into you. “Cum for me bunny. Cream all over my cock, fuck, you filthy girl, so eager for a release.” He said as he stopped your wriggling hips against is. “Humpin’ me like a cute lil’ bunny.”

Your hips started moving involuntarily, chasing after your release. He helped you with continuing the pound into you. You were chanting his name unable to form more coherent words or sentences.

“That’s it bunny. Cum for me come on! I’ve got you.” Just after he was finished your release hit you like a wave, causing you to lose all the control of your mind and body.

But he didn’t stop, he increased his pace. Chasing his own release using your numb body. “‘So pretty like this bunny. Makes me want to keep you all to myself.”

“I’m all yours.” You whispered, truly meant it. As you became used to the swell on your chest each time you look at him.

You were really his.

“Yeah? Are you going to take my cum? Let me breed you? I’m sure you would love that don’t you bunny? All swollen with my cum, looking at me with those pretty eyes. Fuck!”

“Yes, yes yes give it to me please.”

“Fucking take it. You little cumslut.” You felt the wetness and warmth of his release shoot right inside of you.

He stood there with your legs wrapped around his waist. Looking at your tired and ruined figure. Taking the sight in just before he slowly pulled out.

“We—“ You tried to speak up, trying not to show him how much you missed his cock inside you already.

As he was putting his clothes back on you once were aware of this situation.

There was no We, you two were just fucking whenever one of you needed some release. No matter what you do to get his attention, all you would get was his dick pounding into you. It won’t be his heart.

Sound of glove compartment’s being closed made you raise on your elbows to look at him.

You saw him take out some tissues to wipe off his leaking cum. “Are you on the pill?” You shook your head, you knew how those were messing up with you. “I’m not ovulating, it’s fine.” He shook his head, “Still gotta get you some plan B. We shouldn’t be risking it.”

“Sure.” You tried to swallow the ache in your throat, and your pride.

You fixed your top and found your thong on the ground, raising it to put it on. Tension between the two of you was so thick that a saw could not even cut it.

He got back on his seat and started the engine. “The sun is about to rise, I can drive to a diner and got us some breakfast. There is a place I know makes your favourite. They are also good at making it.” He couldn’t hide his smile when he saw your smile at the mention of the food. He loved making you smile like that.

Sleep was the last thing on your mind, since he fucked your brains out. Since it had been more than 10 hours since you last ate something; growling sounds from your stomach was about to come. “Sounds good but I want to wear my skirt first.”

“Sure bunny.” He said as he tossed your skirt back to you.

And it was a second, just a second, that he felt like he could get used to it.

He could get used to having breakfast with you. He could get used to your face being the first thing he saw as he started his day. He could get used to having sex with only one person, someone really means something to him.

But when your phone buzzed, and he saw your dad’s name on the screen he got back into reality.

You put it onto voicemail, and leaned closer to him over the table. He saw the same smile again on your lips and the familiar spark on your eyes.

“So what do you say? Your place or mine?”

He smiled back at you, leaning over you. “Which one do you prefer, bunny?” He knew he could go on as long as you looked at him like that.

With the love you were slowly realizing but he was already addicted to.

[larajadeschmidt13]

I’m starting a small press… Lost Pages Publishing LLC.

Authors… I need you to submit some manuscripts!

[larajadeschmidt13]

Bigger Than He Was

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader One-Shot: SMUT

Request by @littlemiss-yeehaw: jealous!Bucky, fake dating, handjob.

Summary: Bucky pretends to be your new man when you run into your ex in public. However, the little act of pretending sparks something inside of him that he didn't know was there.

Warnings: profanity, alcohol consumption, handjob, oral (male receiving), unprotected sex, breeding kink, slight size kink, jealous!Bucky, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Word Count: 7.8k

A/N: The first request I wrote from the smut menu had to be from my Tumblr best friend. Not only does she pre-read nearly everything that I post, but she keeps me from deleting my blog on a near daily basis, and she keeps me sane. I hope you all enjoy it as much as she did. If it wasn't for this girl, my blog would've been deleted before Needs & Wants was ever completed lmao.

            You’ve decided that no one in the world looks more out of place than a super soldier in a grocery store. Specifically, a super soldier in the produce aisle of a small local market. He looks like a bull in a China shop as he scours through a bin of tomatoes to find ones he approves of. He holds one tomato in each of his leather gloved hands as he compares them carefully, acting like choosing between the two is every bit as difficult as deciding whether someone lives or dies in his usual line of work.

            “They’re pretty much the same, Bucky, and we only need two. Just put them in a bag.”  You say with a sigh, resting your elbows on the handle of the shopping cart that you’ve been pushing as you’ve trailed behind him. Though you’re the one carrying the team’s grocery list, Bucky’s been the one pulling things off of the shelves and setting them in the cart. You originally suggested each of you taking half of the list and splitting up to get the shopping done faster, and to avoid the pointless arguments and annoyances you’d face in each other’s presence, but Bucky’s only response to your idea was a furrowed brow and silence. So, you’ve been following him around with the shopping cart safely between the two of you.

            Bucky starts to put both of the tomatoes down and pick two different ones just to bother you, but he takes the high road and bags the two he’s already holding instead. He’s usually assigned to grocery shopping with Sam, which he definitely prefers, but with Sam off to visit his family this week, he ended up being stuck with you.

            “What’s next?” Bucky asks, setting the plastic bag of produce in the cart and then casting you a sideways glance. You cross tomatoes off of the small piece of paper in your hand before moving on to read the next item.

            “We’re done with food items, next is ibuprofen, melatonin, and some feminine products.” You answer, lifting your gaze to meet his as you tap the pen against the piece of paper absentmindedly. Bucky nods curtly and starts leading the way down the aisle, knowing all of the aisles with medication, first aid, and toiletry type supplies are on the opposite end of the store. You follow a few feet behind him, missing your usual shopping buddy, Wanda. Though it’s a menial task, you always seem to have a fun time when the two of you are on the grocery schedule for the week. Bucky is a stark contrast to your far more bubbly, lighthearted friend.

            You’re lost in thought as you turn a corner and enter the pharmacy aisle, not paying any attention as Bucky looks through various types of over-the-counter medications. It isn’t until you hear a voice one aisle over that you straighten up and tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. The voice sounds familiar, so familiar that you find your ears straining to hear it better so you can identify it. Is it an old friend? Someone from SHIELD? You can’t be sure, but you’re starting to think it isn’t a friend by the way your nerves seem to be rising with every incoherent word that they mutter. You leave Bucky standing at one end of the aisle as you walk ahead, trying to get closer to the source of the voice. You’re nearly at the opposite end of the aisle when suddenly, the front end of another shopping cart appears and quickly turns in front of you, almost colliding with the front end of yours. You stop abruptly for two reasons. The first reason being so you don’t cause a pileup on aisle thirteen. The second reason being because you now see whose voice was causing your heart rate to elevate and your stomach to twist into a knot. Your fucking ex-boyfriend.

            “Oh, wow, hey!” The man before you extends the greeting so casually, as if he didn’t waste a year of your life with meaningless words and empty promises. He raises a hand to rub the back of his neck, his eyes darting over his shoulder just as a pretty blonde woman steps into view. Oh. “This is uh, this is my girlfriend.” He gestures to the woman before looking back at you with a wary glance, clearly trying to gauge how you feel about him committing to someone new so soon. The woman offers a small smile and wave as she introduces herself by name, but it all goes right over your head. You’re frozen like a deer in headlights, unable to tear your eyes away from the piece of shit behind the cart full of organic produce and a questionable amount of wine.

            Bucky’s watching everything unfold from a few yards behind, acting as if he’s still deciding between a name brand bottle of ibuprofen and a generic version of the same. He gives you a few seconds to soak in the obviously awkward social situation as his eyes analyze your body language. You’re tense, your grip on the handle of the shopping cart is so tight that your knuckles are turning white. It’s been ten seconds since the woman introduced herself to you and you still haven’t uttered a word. Bucky glances to his right and notices the selection of condoms, lube, and pregnancy tests spread over the shelves next to the medication section. He only takes a second to weigh his options: let you continue to flounder in front of your shitty ex and his new victim or offer you an easy reprieve while simultaneously sending your ex into a mental spiral. His gloved hand wraps around a couple of boxes of pregnancy tests and he pulls them off of the shelf, signifying he’s chosen the latter.

            “Oh, trying for a baby?” Your ex jokes when Bucky approaches from behind you and drops a handful of pregnancy tests into the cart.

            “No, it’s just smart to have a few of these on hand when we only ever fuck raw. Do we know you?” Bucky’s tone is calm and even, like he’s just said something completely within the ordinary. It breaks you out of the trance you were in and you blink your eyes as you feel the heat from Bucky’s body enveloping you in warmth. He cages your body between his and the cart, his chest brushing against your back as he places his hands on either side of yours on the shopping cart handle. You don’t see the way his lips curve upward into a shit-eating grin as your ex’s face falls at both Bucky’s unfiltered words and the public display of affection he’s witnessing.

            “Aren’t you…” The man addresses Bucky with slightly widened eyes and an unsure voice. You almost laugh at the effect Bucky has on the poor guy’s demeanor, and the fact that Bucky towers a few inches over the man is just icing on the cake.

            “Bucky.” Your ex has just realized that not only are you grocery shopping with the Winter Soldier, but you’ve also been letting him fuck you.

---

            Your week has been full of unexpected moments, but two stand out in particular. The first moment was when Bucky so calmly chose to play the role of your fake boyfriend at the grocery store three nights ago. Nearly every waking moment since then has been spent replaying it in your head, wondering why he decided to step in and do that for you, why he decided to take such a blunt approach and tell your ex that the two of you prefer unprotected sex, and how the hell he acted as if nothing happened immediately after the interaction was over. The second moment is unfolding right now. Your eyes are locked in on your phone screen as you mull over the text that’s displayed there.

            Are you free tonight? Would love to sit down and catch up, want to talk about things.

            You don’t have the number saved in your phone but you know exactly who it is. It’s the same shitty ex you ran into two nights ago, the same one who now thinks you’re fucking the Winter Soldier. Before you’ve even considered responding, a second message from the same unsaved number rolls in.

            I’ll be at the bar we used to go to, the one off of 83rd street, in an hour. Hope to see you there.

            The way your face scrunches up in confusion at the sight of the two texts on your phone screen piques Bucky’s interest as he steps off of the elevator and uses the collar of his t-shirt to dab sweat off of his neck. He’s just finished a pretty strenuous workout and had every intention of heading straight to his room to shower and spend the rest of the night in there, but he can’t ignore the feeling of some kind of invisible string tugging him in your direction. It was only two nights ago that he pressed himself against you in the grocery store and pretended like he knew what it’s like to have you in his bed.  It was only two nights ago that you became a near constant thought in the back of his mind.

            “Don’t tell me he texted you.” Bucky’s voice catches you off guard. You lift your gaze from your phone screen and lean back into the couch cushions, attempting to look perfectly at ease in his presence. Truth be told, you’ve been a little on edge around him since the night in the grocery store, but you don’t know why. Maybe because he saw you in such an embarrassing and vulnerable moment, in your own personal hell.

            “He didn’t text me.” You lie, watching him carefully as the elevator doors close behind him and he takes the few steps across the room to reach the sectional you’re currently lounging on. It’s odd to see him sink into the opposite end of the piece of furniture so comfortably, like he’s such a normal guy. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him sit in the living room of his own free will, and it’s a sight to see.

            “You’re a bad liar.” Bucky huffs. His expression turns thoughtful as he thinks back to his encounter with your ex that night. The corners of Bucky’s lips curl up into a smile when he remembers the way the guy practically shrank when he heard that the two of you like to fuck raw. “What does he want?” Bucky seems to have a sixth sense about this shit, so you decide to go with it and tell him the truth, see where it gets you.

            “He said he wants to catch up and talk about things.”

            “Right after seeing you with another guy.” Bucky points out, hoping you’ll see where this is going. You shrug your shoulders and cross your arms over your chest.

            “I guess so, or maybe it’s unrelated. People break up and then discuss it later for closure sometimes, it’s a thing, Bucky.”

            “So, you’re going?”

            “I haven’t decided yet.” You answer honestly. You watch as Bucky nods slowly, as if he’s digesting the information and deciding what to do with it. He uses the collar of his t-shirt to wipe a bit of sweat away from his neck again, drawing your gaze down to the flexing of his bicep. You’re quick to avert your gaze back up to his eyes, but the satisfied smirk on his face tells you that he caught you looking.

            “We’re going.” Bucky decides, sitting up a little straighter on the couch and running a hand through his sweaty hair. The bewildered look that takes over your face says it all.

            “What the hell do you mean we’re going? There’s no we here, it’s just me.”

            “I meant exactly what I said, we’re going.”

---

            You stand in the garage of the compound, where everyone’s various vehicles are stored away safely. Your fingers pick at the frays of your black jeans absentmindedly as you lean against a concrete pillar, waiting for Bucky. You know you should just get in your own car and leave without him, there’s absolutely no good that will come out of letting him tag along for this. Yet, something in the back of your mind is tugging at you to stay and wait for him, to see what might come of this. Looking up at your reflection in the car window a few feet away from you, you take in the sight of your little ensemble. You’re wearing dark jeans paired with a tight little long-sleeved crop top that shows the tiniest bit of your midriff. You wanted to wear something fairly plain yet something that showed a little skin, so this is what you settled on.

            Unbeknownst to you, Bucky’s outfit for tonight will go well with your own. He’s wearing dark jeans as well, but with a dark t-shirt and black leather jacket. As the elevator carries him down to the lowest floor of the compound, he has a brief second of clarity where he asks himself what the fuck he thinks he’s doing. First, he went against every rational thought in his mind when he pretended to be your boyfriend in a damn grocery store. Then, he spent two nights thinking about what it might’ve been like if he actually had been fucking you raw like he’d told to your ex he was. Those two nights ruined him. You ruined him. It took less than 48 hours for his mind to become completely preoccupied with you.

            When the elevator slows to a stop and the doors slide open to let him into the private parking garage beneath the compound, his eyes fall on you instantly. Fuck. One look at you and he’s immediately decided that you’re not taking a car, no, you’re taking his bike. Hell, you’re dressed near-perfectly for it. The only issue is that bit of smooth skin you have showing beneath the hem of your little top, he’s not going to take you out on his bike and risk ruining that perfect skin of yours with road rash.

            The ding of the elevator draws your attention to your right, where Bucky is stepping into the parking garage looking totally different than when you saw him upstairs half an hour ago. His messy hair has been washed and dried, his flesh and metal biceps are hidden within the sleeves of his leather jacket, and his neck is no longer glistening with a sheen of sweat. You’re unashamedly focusing on the way his jeans are accentuating the muscles of his thighs when he starts stripping off his leather jacket.

            “Put this on.” He says as he holds the jacket out to you with one hand, reaching into the back pocket of his jeans with the other to fish out the key for his bike. Your eyes widen as you stare at the jacket in his outstretched hand. Shaking your head, you take a step back from him.

            “Why?”

            “Because you’re not riding on the back of my bike with skin showing, it’s not safe.”

            “The back of your bike? Bucky, we’re taking a car.” You say defiantly, crossing your arms over your chest. Bucky can’t ignore the way your breasts are slightly pushed up by the action, a hint of cleavage peeking out over the lowcut neckline of your top. He quickly averts his gaze back to his motorcycle that stands a few feet in front of you both, a sigh leaving his lips at your stubbornness.

            “Just put on the damn jacket.” He says, looking over at you one more time, but this time with a softened expression. You don’t know why you comply and take the jacket from him, but you do. It’s warmed from his body heat when you slip your arms into it and the way it engulfs you and pulls down on your shoulders with a bit of weight is almost comforting.

            The motorcycle ride to the bar, however, is anything but comforting. The only other time you’ve ever been so close to Bucky was that night at the grocery store when he cozied up behind you for show. But this felt different. This involved your chest pressed against his back, your inner thighs brushing against his hips, and your arms wrapped around his torso. This felt intimate. It felt the same way to Bucky and he couldn’t ignore it, no matter how hard he tried. When he stopped at a redlight in the city, you let your hold around his abdomen relax for a moment. Your hands slid down to rest on the tops of his thighs as you remained pressed against his back, and he was praying for the light to turn green again before one of your hands had a chance to shift and find out how hard he was beneath the fabric of his jeans. He can only blame himself for the torture, since he was the one that insisted you take the bike.

            When you turn onto the right street, you’re quick to tap Bucky’s thigh with your hand, completely missing the way he tenses up beneath your unexpected touch. You use that same hand to point to a small parking garage across the street from the bar that you’ll be heading into, and Bucky gets the signal. It’s only two minutes later that he’s parking his bike on the third floor of the garage and trying to keep his eyes off of you as you stand beside the bike, removing your helmet carefully. Some part of him can’t help but think that you’re being so careful because you want to look your best when you waltz into the bar to meet your ex, and he fucking hates it. He has the sudden urge to mess your hair up and send you in there looking like shit. But that urge only makes him think about all of the ways he could mess your hair up. He could grab you by it and pull you against him, he could run his hands through it and rake it into a ponytail while you’re on your knees for him…shit. He just volunteered to drive you to the bar to meet your ex. He can’t do a damn thing.

            You hand Bucky your helmet and immediately start smoothing down your hair, seeing the look of disdain he gives you but choosing to ignore it. He had no obligation to be here with you tonight, but he insisted, so he has to put up with it.

            “You don’t have to go in with me, I can do this on my own.” You say, hoping Bucky will choose to wait for you in the parking garage rather than go inside the bar with you.

            “What are you planning to do?” Bucky asks, swinging his leg over as he dismounts the bike and joins you on the concrete floor. He stands in front of you, slipping his gloves off and resting them on the seat of the bike before reaching under the chin of his helmet to undo the strap there. Your eyes drift to the veins on his flesh hand and golden accents on his vibranium hand as you formulate a believable response.

            “Hear him out, give him closure or whatever he’s here for.”

            “Whatever he’s here for?” Bucky repeats your words almost sarcastically, scoffing beneath his helmet. When he pulls it off and rests it on the seat next to his gloves, you can see he’s scowling. “Why are you playing dumb? He’s here for you.”

            “No, he isn’t. He’s with someone else now, and he thinks I am too.” You point out. A low chuckle rumbles past Bucky’s lips as he runs a hand through his hair and starts toward the concrete staircase on the other end of the floor.

            “That’s exactly why he’s doing this, because he thinks you’re with someone else and he can’t stand it.” Bucky sounds so sure of himself, as if he’s experienced something like this before. In fact, he sounds so sure that it makes you wonder if he really has experienced this before.

            “You think he’s jealous? You saw the girl he was with, didn’t you?” You question, falling into step next to Bucky. His leather jacket still sits heavy on your shoulders but giving it back to him hasn’t even crossed your mind yet. Bucky’s hoping you’ll forget about it and keep it on when you walk in and sit down across from that piece of shit ex you’re here for.

            “She doesn’t have shit on you and he knows it.” His words leave your lips parted and your eyes widening in surprise as he reaches the staircase and starts heading down in front of you. As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. For the most part, you’ve only ever heard him talk about you with an air of annoyance or indifference, but you could swear that what he just said was almost complimentary. If you could see the grimace on Bucky’s face, you’d know you were right. When he saw the blonde in the grocery store, he wanted to laugh at the way the guy had downgraded after losing you. She was pretty, sure, but you glow like the fucking sun even on your worst day.

            “So, what should I be doing here tonight then?” You ask, knowing Bucky probably has a plan in mind if he came all this way just to witness what’s about to go down.

            “Showing him that you don’t need him, that you’re better off without him.” You reach the bottom of the stairs and step out onto the sidewalk across from the bar. Bucky turns to face you as you scan the area for a crosswalk.

            “And how do I do that?”

            “For starters…” Bucky says, stepping closer to you and grabbing the front of his leather jacket that you’re still sporting, “keep this on.”

---

            Bucky’s been standing at the bar for the last fifteen minutes, nursing both a beer and an aching jaw. The ache is from how hard he’s been clenching his teeth together since your ex strolled in and took the seat across from you at a little two-seater table across the room. Of course, the guy showed up without his new girl. And, of course, he’s been trying like hell to get you to smile and laugh at whatever half-assed jokes he’s been cracking since he sat down. Bucky knew the guy wasn’t after closure.

            He watches with a less-than-pleased look on his face as the guy leans his elbows on the table and rests his hands a little too close to yours, but you don’t pull away. You’re sitting facing Bucky’s direction, yet you haven’t once let your eyes flit up to meet his. It’s infuriating. Bucky strains his ears to pick out your conversation through the din of the usual bar chatter around him. He listens intently as the guy tells you that it was nice to run into you at the grocery store, that he didn’t know if he’d ever see you again, that he missed the way you laughed. What a fucking ass. If Bucky remembers correctly, from overhearing gossip among the team, the guy had you nearly head over heels for him, and then one day he pulled the rug out from under you in and instant. He never even gave you much of a reason why. He simply called you up, ended the relationship over the phone, and a week later you heard through the grapevine that he’d met someone else. Why you felt compelled to meet the guy here tonight, Bucky will never understand. He doesn’t think the prick deserves even a minute of your time.

            “So, you’re really seeing someone else now?” The man’s voice is like nails on a chalkboard to Bucky’s sensitive ears, but he continues to focus on your conversation anyway. Bucky has to know how you’ll respond. He watches out of the corner of his eye as you push a stray lock of hair back over your shoulder, over the shoulder of his leather jacket, and then you blush. Why are you blushing? Bucky’s heart starts to race in the slightest because he can’t figure out if you’re blushing at the idea of you and him being together or at your ex prying into your personal life.

            “Yeah, he uh…at the grocery store, he…” You stutter through your answer. Like Bucky previously said, you’re a bad liar. The pink showing through the skin of your cheeks darkens another shade as you look away from your ex. Your eyes finally land on Bucky, who’s now standing at the bar facing you head-on. He holds your gaze assuredly and gives you a small nod, letting you know that you’re saying the right things. Somehow, just making eye contact with him and getting that small nod of approval calms your nerves.

            “Right, I remember. I guess I kind of thought that was a joke.”

            “A joke?” You ask, a bit offended at your ex’s confession. He rubs his hand across the back of his neck and lets out an awkward laugh before leaning back in his chair comfortably and taking a sip of his drink.

            “Yeah, I mean the guy said you only ever fuck raw. You never once asked me to fuck you raw. It just didn’t sound believable.” Huh. You’re silent for a moment as you sip on your own drink and let your gaze float back to Bucky once more, unaware that he’s just heard every word that the man said. The two of you stare at each other with some kind of…tension in the air between your table and the bar. Honestly, if you and Bucky were actually together in some alternate universe where you didn’t find each other incredibly annoying from the start, you think you would love to let him fuck you without protection. Something about it just sounds so filthy and enticing. But when you imagine it with the man that’s currently sitting in front of you, the man who promised you a lifetime and then kicked you to the curb like a broken piece of furniture, you cringe. No, you never asked him to take off the condom, and you probably never would have. Truthfully, that should’ve been a sign.

            Bucky’s eyes analyze the two of you as you put on a tight-lipped smile and then relax in your seat, fiddling with the zipper of the leather jacket draped around your frame.

            “It didn’t sound believable?” You ask softly, looking up through your lashes in a way that makes Bucky’s cock twitch, and he’s not even the one you’re looking at. When you do flit your eyes over to him, he can sense the change in your demeanor instantly. You’re not coming off so lighthearted and timid now, you’re giving off an air that says you-don’t-know-who-the-fuck-I-am anymore. “When I look at you, I can’t even fathom the two of us having unprotected sex. It never once crossed my mind to ask you for that. But when I look at him?” You let your gaze travel over to Bucky once more, and this time your ex catches on. He turns in his chair, scanning the bar behind him until he sees the super soldier leaning against the bar with a smug smile on full display. “When I look at him, I can’t stop imagining it.”

---

            Bucky’s leather jacket weighing on your shoulders, his body warmth seeping through his t-shirt and offering you reprieve from the wind that’s hitting you both head-on, his right hand reaching back to grip the side of your thigh as he weaves his bike skillfully in and out of traffic on the way back to the compound. All of those things are mixing and swirling together to create a near suffocating tension. You’re focusing on keeping your helmet from bumping into the back of his and even more than that, on keeping your mind out of the damn gutter. What you’d said back at the bar, the final thing you’d said before your ex realized he had no chance at getting back together with you, it was true. When you look at Bucky, you can’t stop imagining him fucking you without anything between your body and his. You don’t know when that started or when it might end, but it’s true. So, you left with him, climbing onto the back of his bike much more willingly than you had earlier in the evening. Not because you wanted to be close to him, but because you wanted to get home as fast as possible so you could get the hell away from him. Where on earth did this new found attraction come from? Why was your mind betraying your body with every single glance in his direction? Fuck physiology.

            Bucky can almost hear you overthinking behind him as he turns off of the interstate and onto a quiet, private road leading up to the compound. Hell, he’s overthinking too. He heard what you said at the bar, and he saw the look in your eyes when you said it. Had you been thinking about him the same way he’d been thinking about you since that night at the grocery store. No, there’s no way. If you really had been, then you wouldn’t have wanted to meet up with your ex tonight. Bucky lets out a breath and slows the bike as he nears the entrance to the parking garage. Neither of you said a word when your ex stormed out of the bar, nor did either of you when you made the walk across the street to the public parking garage and started the ride back home. It’s been silent, unbearably silent for too long.

            When Bucky finally parks the bike among the various vehicles owned by your friends and colleagues that reside upstairs, it seems as though you can’t get away from him fast enough. You swing your leg over and dismount the bike quickly before slipping your helmet off and taking a few steps over to the wall to set it on the shelf it originally came from. You’re halfway to the elevator when Bucky speaks, stopping you in your tracks.

            “The jacket, sweetheart.” He says coolly. When you turn around, you see him still sitting on the bike, looking down at the helmet he holds in his hands. It almost bothers you that he isn’t looking back at you. He can call you sweetheart but he can’t lift his eyes to your face? You let out a deep sigh before walking back over to him and standing a foot away from him and the bike. You strip off the leather jacket a bit reluctantly before holding it out to him. You have to admit you feel a bit like you’re missing something without it on now. Bucky takes it without glancing in your direction, and as soon as you turn on your heel to walk away, you can hear him dismounting the bike and setting his own helmet on the shelf. You’ve just hit the button to call the elevator down to the garage when he decides to speak once again. “You’re a bad liar.”

            “What?”

            “You’re a bad liar. I don’t know much about you, but I know that.” Bucky says. You stand in front of the elevator but you can’t tear your gaze away from him when he’s speaking so ominously. You watch him carefully as he turns away from the shelf and faces you, but still doesn’t lift his gaze to meet yours. Instead, he smooths out his leather jacket before laying it over one arm and tucking the keys to his bike into the back pocket of his jeans.

            “What does that have to do with anything?” You question, crossing your arms over your chest. Your eyes dart back to the screen above the elevator. It’s still so many floors away from reaching you.

            “I knew you were lying when you told me he hadn’t texted you. I don’t even think your piece-of-shit ex believed you at first when he asked if you were really seeing someone new, you couldn’t even get a full sentence out. You’re a bad liar.” The words pour out of his mouth with ease, as if he pre-planned the entire speech. When you don’t say anything, he finally lifts his eyes to meet your narrowed stare. A shiver runs down your spine, but you blame it on the fact that you’re no longer wearing his jacket. “When I look at him, I can’t stop imagining it.” When Bucky repeats your words so perfectly, you can feel all of the color draining from your face. “When you said that, you didn’t stutter, you didn’t hesitate. You weren’t lying.”

            “You think I was being honest?” The question leaves your lips with a hint of anger edging each word. Bucky merely shrugs in response, tilting his head to the side as he waits for you to answer your own question, since it’s obvious that he thinks you were being honest. “You think I look at you and imagine you fucking me raw?”

            “Do you?” Bucky taunts, licking his bottom lip before drawing it between his lips and pressing his top teeth into it. Your gaze darts down to his lips against your better judgement, and when your eyes settle back on his, all you see is a reflection of what you’re sure your own eyes are showing. Lust. He thinks about it. He thinks about fucking you raw. In this moment, you’re sure. In fact, he’s thinking about it right now.

            Your feet start moving before you even have a moment to consider the action, they’re carrying you straight toward him, ignoring the elevator that’s just arrived to take you away from him. When you stop a few inches in front of him, he’s staring down at you with a raised brow and building anticipation. He wants your answer.

            “Yes.” You breathe the word out. In an instant, Bucky’s dropping his jacket to the floor and tangling his flesh hand in the hair at the nape of your neck as his pulls you into him, crashing his lips against yours. It’s a kiss that takes your breath away and fills your lungs with a fiery burn, yet you don’t want to break for air. You kiss him back, moving your lips to suck along his bottom one as you tilt your head to the right to give each of you better access. Bucky languidly drags the tip of his tongue along your top lip before snaking it lower and letting it delve into your mouth. God, he might’ve imagined fucking you but truthfully, he forgot to imagine kissing you. He never would’ve thought it could be this good. His vibranium arm wraps around your lower back, pulling you closer into him until his body warmth begins sending tingles across the surface of your skin. Once he has you flush against him, that same cool metal hand begins unwrapping from your back and traveling down until it’s in place to grip a handful of your ass, hard. When you gasp into the kiss, Bucky pulls back and bites down on your bottom lip. Fuck. If you don’t stop him now, he won’t be able to stop himself from having you right here in the garage. As if you’re reading his mind, you place both hands on his chest and pull your head back until there’s an inch of space between your mouths. While your eyes are focused on his pink nose and swollen lips, your mind is focused on what you feel pressing against your thigh. He’s fully erect, his cock straining against the front of his jeans just from kissing you. You could overthink this, let your mind weigh all of the pros and cons of what’s happening right now, and then convince yourself to be responsible and go upstairs to your own room, pretending this never happened. But for some reason, your right hand is already coasting down his chest, over his abs, and sliding between your lower bodies. You find yourself palming the outline of his cock, offering him such a perfect amount of pressure and friction that he can’t help but lean his hips forward and press his cock further into your touch.

            “If you don’t stop now…” Bucky rasps, but his eyes flutter closed and he bites down on his lower lip before he’s even finished the sentence, your sensual touch getting the better of him.

            “If I don’t stop now?” You encourage him to say what he wants to say, but you can’t fight the teasing smile that’s beginning to play on your lips.

            “If you don’t stop now, you won’t be able to return all of those pregnancy tests on your next grocery run.” You laugh lightly as you lean in and press a soft kiss against Bucky’s jawline, continuing to rub his erection through the taut fabric of his jeans.             “Are you thinking about fucking me raw, James?” You tease. Bucky groans before opening his eyes and pulling you away from his jaw by your hair. He doesn’t stop you from slowly sliding your hand back and forth along the outline of his cock, but he makes sure you’re looking right in his eyes before he speaks again.

            “Right here in this damn parking garage.”

            Without a single thought in either of your minds, Bucky lets you push your palms flat against his chest and walk him back until he stumbles onto the seat of his motorcycle. In one swift movement, you slip your hand past the waistband of his jeans and boxers and the warm skin of your hand comes into contact with his hard length, without anything between the two of you. Bucky lets out a heady groan and his hands begin moving all on their own, working to unbutton and unzip his jeans to give your hand as much space as possible. As soon as he has his pants undone, you shift your hand and wrap it firmly around his cock, giving it a slow stroke inside of his boxers. When you near the head of it, a bead of precum drips onto the side of your thumb and you smile to yourself as you spread it back over the smooth tip of his cock. What is it about having a man this way that makes a woman feel so damn powerful? Bucky looks at you with a mix of annoyance and awe at the way you’re working his cock so effortlessly yet turning him into putty in your hands. He’ll let you have your fun for now, and then he’ll show you that he can have the same effect on you.

            The moment your eyes lock onto his, he slides his right hand along the side of your jaw and pulls you in for a kiss, the taste of your lips and the feel of your hand stroking back and forth along his hard-on is nearly enough to send him over the edge, and he inhales sharply, tugging his lips away from your own.

            “I’m not going to have much use for those pregnancy tests if we keep going like this, am I?” You ask jokingly, as you remove your hand from Bucky’s pants and raise it up to your face. Bucky runs a hand through his hair as he blows out a breath and watches you intently. Your thumb, still a bit shiny and wet from his precum, ventures dangerously close to your mouth. You keep your eyes trained on Bucky’s as you use that same thumb to tug down your bottom lip before sliding it into your mouth and sucking.

            “Oh, fuck.” Bucky groans, his rationality fleeing as his own flesh hand delves into his pants and begins mimicking your actions from a moment ago. The way your eyes follow his movements, your pupils blown wide with lust as you watch him touch himself, it’s too damn much for him. He grabs you by the hair once again, in that desperate, needy way that you’re quickly growing to love, and pulls you against his chest, kissing you as fervently as the first time. However, this kiss doesn’t last. He pulls away from you in an instant and suddenly, his hand is on your shoulder, pushing you down to your knees. Before you reach the floor, he uses the toe of his boot to slide his discarded leather jacket across the floor to cushion your knees. So fucking thoughtful.

            Bucky stands up with you on your knees in front of him and his bike resting on its kickstand behind him. His eyes never part from your face as he pushes his already undone pants and boxers down his thighs just enough to free his cock from their confines. Your breath hitches in your throat as soon as you lay eyes on it, as soon as you lay eyes on the sheer size of it. Bucky doesn’t make a move to stop you as you reach up with both hands and take hold of his length, using one hand to begin stroking it from the base to the tip while your other hand grips his thigh. Your eyes widen at the way it looks even bigger in your hand, which is a mental image that Bucky will probably be recalling every day for the rest of his life. You’re more than ready to lean in and take him in your mouth, to experience every second of what it’s like to suck him off, but his gentle touch halts your movements. His flesh hand softly cups the side of your face as he lets his thumb caress the skin over your cheekbone.

            “You’re so much bigger than he was.” You whisper, your eyes traveling up Bucky’s torso until you’re getting lost in his gaze. It’s true. Your ex was…well below average in this department. But Bucky? God, Bucky is so far above average it’s actually making you wonder if you can even fit half of him in your mouth. Bucky chuckles lowly before tracing your bottom lip with his thumb, and then copying your earlier move. He slips the pad of his thumb between your lips and watches with hooded eyes as you eagerly accept it, sucking on it gently. Fuck. He’s so ruined. Only a moment later, he’s standing there with his head thrown back and a string of curses are falling from his mouth as you bob your head back and forth, letting his cock slide along your tongue and brush against the back of your throat repeatedly. He’s fully lost in the pleasure of your mouth. He’s so lost, in fact, that when you grip his thighs with both hands and lean into him as far as you possibly can, letting your nose brush against his lower stomach and your throat tighten around his shaft as you gag, he lets out a groan that reverberates through the parking garage and sends a fresh wave of heat straight to your core.

            “Fuck, do that again.” He rasps, finally looking down at you as you pull your head back until only the tip is resting on your tongue. A smile plays behind your eyes as you dare to look up at him. He can’t help himself. Both of his hands move to run through your hair, encouraging you to do exactly what he just said. You repeat your actions, moving your head forward and taking his entire length in until you gag a second time. But this time, Bucky holds your head still there for two seconds. His eyes squeeze shut as your throat grips his cock tighter and tighter, the sensation bringing him so close to the edge that he abruptly pulls back and leaves only half of his length for you to taste. “Just like that, shit.” Another minute of your mouth doing exactly what Bucky wants and he’s fighting with every cell in his body to delay the inevitable. He wanted to fuck you raw, truly, it was his intention from the moment you admitted you thought about it. But having you like this? Having you on your knees for him, telling him that his dick is bigger than the last piece of shit you were with? God, he’s so close to cumming in your mouth that it almost hurts.

            “I’m so fucking close.” He groans the words out as if he’s in pain, as if he’s holding back because he doesn’t want to cum in your mouth. That just won’t do. So, you release him from your mouth with a pop and start working him with your hand as you tilt your chin up to meet his gaze.

            “You don’t want to cum in my mouth?” You ask innocently, looking up at him through your lashes. It’s the same way you looked in the bar earlier and he feels his last bit of resolve crumbling. He could easily cum in your mouth, but that’s just not what he needs right now. In that desperate, needy way that you love, Bucky grasps your hair and pulls you to your feet. A whimper leaves your lips as his cock slips out of your hand.

            “No.” Bucky says calmly, turning you around and pushing your back forward until your hands land on the seat of his bike. “I’m going to give you a reason to use one of those damn pregnancy tests.”

            He’s swift in pulling down your jeans and panties with both hands, and then lining his cock up with your entrance and making you think he’s going to fuck you. But no, Bucky lets the tip of his cock gather the wetness that you’ve been sitting in since you left the bar, and then he begins chasing his release with his own hand. You let out a needy whine, pushing your hips back against him and hoping his cock will just happen to notch inside of you and slide all the way in, but Bucky isn’t going to let it happen until he’s ready.

            He has a plan. He’s going to fill you with his cum first, then use his fingers, his tongue, and his cock to fuck it back into you after. The next time your run into your ex, Bucky wants you to be so fucking pregnant that the guy loses his goddamn mind.

There will be no tag list for the smut menu requests.

[larajadeschmidt13]

Wedded Bliss

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: The marriage was arranged, and the sex is deranged. Bucky is so obsessed with your pussy that he almost forgets he’s meant to be faking this whole thing—and hating it, like sworn enemies are supposed to do.

Warnings: 18+. Dubcon. Corruption kink. Virginity loss. Arranged marriage between enemies. Brat taming. Breeding kink. Beefy, mob boss Bucky devolving into a fall-to-his-knees-just-to-fuck-you kind of horny mess.

You kissed him and wished him dead in the same breath. You said ‘I do’ and meant ‘I don’t,’ exchanged your vows like your own last rites, and felt him slip the ring on your finger as if he’d just tightened a noose around your neck.

You didn’t want to be a bride, and you sure as hell didn’t want to be the bride to Mr. James Buchanan Barnes.

Frankly, you were mortified.

And terrified, too, now that you knew your groom might actually kill you in the kitchen of your honeymoon suite.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?!”

“I walked down the aisle, didn’t I?”

Another plate went crashing on the wall behind your husband’s head just as he managed to duck. He side-stepped a spray of porcelain and glass and probably crushed several hundred shards beneath his polished black oxfords when he walked—stalked—over to you.

You’d just reared back to hurl a serving plate at his face when you found your speed swiftly outmatched. Bucky had your elbow gripped between his forefinger and thumb in less a second, and, pinching the bone like he might readily break it, he said, even as always,

“Put it down.”

You did as he told you and dropped the platter to the floor with a crash.

Rather than berate you for the broken china—or the four other pieces before it—your husband only smiled.

“Are we done?”

Hell, you wanted to be. Slide over a pen and a one-way plane ticket to someplace in BFE, and you’d be signing those divorce papers in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, your dear husband was just referring to the temper tantrum.

You weren’t totally sure if you were finished on that front, so you looked him up and down and shrugged.

“Now darling—” he started.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Light of my life—”

“I’ll kill you.”

Your cool, level-headed groom took each gibe like it was his sworn duty, and only when he yanked your wrists behind your back and shoved you toward the bedroom door did you sense that he might not be too pleased with your behavior.

Your knees struck the edge of the California King at the center of the room, and before you could will yourself not to fall face-first, Bucky nudged you hard again.

Still pinning your hands behind you, he followed your collapse on the bed and leaned over your prone body.

His breaths were hot on your ear; you could tell he was smiling as he started to hike your dress up your legs.

“It’s all part of the deal, doll.”

You wriggled under his hold and tried to angle yourself better to see him, hoping he’d see your scowl.

“The deal was to get married,” you reminded him.

“Mhmm,” Bucky hummed, just then starting to trail a finger up the uncovered skin of your calf with his other hand, “And what is it that married people do?”

You kicked your foot reflexively, paused, then said,

“Fight. Constantly. Probably resent each other for the better half of two decades before we finally decide that ‘making it work’ for the kids isn’t worth it at all, and I claim half of everything you own in a bitter divorce.”

That earned a chuckle from Bucky. He kept his roaming hand brushing up the back of your thigh and squeezed the flesh just below the swell of your rear.

“Don’t worry, my lawyer drafted a pretty good prenup.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but then he was tracing the contour of your ass with his palm, and you cut yourself short. Bucky carried on, careless as ever.

“But the kids you mentioned,” he said, “How are we supposed to get those?”

You pursed your lips and tried hard not to move when his fingers drifted inward—you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm. The bottom of your dress was bunched around your hips now, leaving you sorely exposed. Had your bridesmaids not thrust that stupid white lingerie set upon you hours before the wedding, you probably would’ve chosen something a little more modest than a thong. But here you were.

At least the sight seemed appealing to your husband, whose eyes hadn’t left you once while his hands grew even hungrier to feel your warmth.

“I’m hoping a sperm donor or one of your double-crossing mobster friends will knock me up, honestly,” you said, feigning enthusiasm at the thought.

A tart slap delivered to your ass told you that Bucky hadn’t found that funny. After, he started kneading the skin a bit harder.

“No shot,” he shook his head, suddenly gliding his fingers down closer to your core and waiting for you to say something in protest, “Only one that’s gonna be pumping this thing full of babies is me, I promise.”

It was like he wanted your retaliation, whether that be by a thinly veiled look of disgust or a reactionary jab of your own. You weren’t keen on fulfilling any wish of his, but at this point, you felt you had no other choice. When you sensed he was distracted by the newly-discovered heat between your legs and had loosened his grip on your wrists, you flipped yourself over on the bed. Shoved at his chest before he knew what to do with himself.

Of course, the push didn’t send him far, but it was enough to get his attention—and his hands off of you.

“I’m not having your babies, Barnes! I am never going to fuck you, no matter how long we stay fake married,” you spat.

At that, Bucky just raised his eyebrows and wet his lips. You were cramming your wedding dress back into place, glaring at him the whole time, and were scarcely more aware of the bright, teeming city outside the window than you were of your husband’s own growing erection.

Finally, you’d said it. His new wife wouldn’t fuck him. The sound of your resistance was almost a pleasure unto itself, and the longer you stared at Bucky with growing contempt and resolve not to do that thing, the more determined he became to make it happen.

Cat-and-mouse games had long been a staple in his life, and he was pleased to see them carry into his marriage as well. Surely if he’d triumphed in every pursuit for the last twenty years—facing the likes of some seriously execrable bandits and racketeers—he could take on a bratty woman less than half his size. You said you didn’t want his babies now, but just wait until he’d fucked you full of his cum once or twice. You’d be begging him for it in no time at all, and shortly thereafter, he’d have you barefoot and pregnant as many times as he liked. Always swollen with one of his children and whining for more.

The woman before him now had a murderous glint in her eyes, but he could fuck that away easy. In fact, he would live to do it. He traced the outline of your thigh over your dress and smiled when you tried not to recoil.

“Surely you didn’t think we’d be finger-painting and reading poetry to each other on our wedding night, hm?” he asked, almost delicately.

“Thought you might have one of your other women lined up,” you snorted. When you tried to move away, Bucky pinched your leg to make you stay. You winced.

“That’s not funny,” he said, a little more consternation in his tone. Like he actually cared whether you thought him a profligate Lothario or not, “Now that we’re married, it’s only you and me. No mistresses, nothing.”

Yeah, and he was just as likely arriving to your marital bed a blushing virgin. You rolled onto your side and pretended not to feel him tighten his grip as you did.

“Try the carnal part of our marriage yourself and I’m sure you’ll find I’m an exceptional fuck,” Bucky continued, speaking low as he stroked the chiffon of your dress.

You didn’t doubt the man was good—certainly the extent of his sexual escapades as a twenty-something seemed to demand it—but exceptional? No fucking way. You knew men like Bucky, with the world and every walking pair of tits at their fingertips, and almost all were incurably selfish. Cocky. The kind to jackhammer a woman for three consecutive minutes, roll over, and say, ‘Did you cum?’

No, there was not a snowball’s chance in hell your husband’s sexual prowess was even half as good as he claimed it was. Deciding to bite your tongue for the first time that night, though, you just stared at him blankly.

What you didn’t know was that your silence only stoked the flames of his ego, prompting him to press the matter further.

“What? You think I can’t fuck?” he said, “Any woman lucky enough to bed me has cum at least twice. Every time.”

Sure they did, Bucky, you wanted to say, but were suddenly drawn into his lap before you could speak.

“But let’s pretend I can’t,” he said, heedless of the face you made as soon as you were straddling his hips, “You wouldn’t let your husband prove himself tonight?”

“I don’t fuck strangers.”

Bucky smiled at that.

“Everyone’s a stranger until you get to blow them, honey,” he teased, squeezing your hips when you didn’t seem amused at all. Then you let out a cry, feeling yourself thrown back on the mattress like a rag doll while Bucky moved off.

Before you knew it, he was tugging your ankles down the length of the bed and widening his stance just a bit. He stopped pulling once your knees were grazing his black dress pants and your feet were dangling off of the bed.

“You like skylines?” he asked.

You frowned and raised a brow that he was quick to interpret as a ‘yes.’ He hauled you onto your feet.

“‘Course you do. All pretty girls like pretty skies,” he rattled on, strolling with you step-by-step to the set of French doors at the end of the room.

Bucky led you out to the balcony. The air was warm as it ever was, dull gusts of the evening wind curling up from the coastline below. Just as your husband had promised, the skyline of Santorini greeted you on either side, and you had to admit, it was more than just pretty. The views from your villa were absolutely breathtaking.

You stood with your back to Bucky, hands resting on the marble balustrade, and you felt him there, behind you. You didn’t bother to tilt your head when he drew even closer.

“What do you like most about it?” The question was simple enough, punctuated with a kiss on your shoulder. Your eyes scanned the horizon, the sea, even the quiet little streets down beneath, and you racked your brain trying to think of an answer that might satisfy him.

Before you could, though, you sucked in a breath when you felt your dress start to come undone at your back.

Bucky was unzipping your gown, gentle as ever, and probably grinning from ear to ear as he watched you shift uncomfortably in place and try to hold the material above your breasts where it had been fastened all day. Presently, you kicked your heel backward and hoped it would land somewhere near his balls. You missed.

“James,” you hissed.

Bucky groaned at the sheer intonation of his name on your lips.

“Yes, dear?”

“Why are you undressing me?”

Bucky had successfully dragged the zipper all the way down to your ass, and it seemed he was trying to shimmy the dress off your frame. You held on tight.

“I’d like to fuck my bride over the balcony railing, if that’s alright with you,” he answered truthfully.

The man was nothing if not blunt and crass. You turned around to give him a look, yanking your gown even closer to your chest.

“I’ll— I’ll tell my mother, Barnes.”

You felt stupid as soon as you’d said it—using your go-to threat whenever you were in distress. What were you, eleven?

“Your mother?” Bucky repeated, words steeped in derision, “Last I recall, mommy dearest was practically begging me to get you pregnant at the reception.”

Your jaw clenched, and you internally cursed your whole family. Your parents were supposed to be on your side throughout all of this—it was bad enough they’d pawned you off to a mob boss of unrivaled infamy all to settle a debt, but this? Your mother had assured you just the day before that Mr. Barnes was bound to tire of you within the year. No mention of sex or babies whatsoever.

The same mother who had beat you over the head with the notion of your own virginity since you were old enough to read, the one who had underscored just how important it was to wait for the right man to give yourself body, mind, and soul to, turning around and telling this filthy criminal to have you any way he liked. And knock you up? The fucking nerve of that woman.

You were so preoccupied with thoughts of your own backstabbing family that you hardly felt Bucky drag your dress the rest of the way down your body. It was only when you were completely bare before him, and your husband had just started to skim his lips over your tummy that you tensed with surprise.

“I don’t have to fuck you just yet, doll,” he murmured, having sunk to his knees and only moving lower. Then the corners of his lips twitched, “Least not with my dick.”

You tried to pry his head from between your legs before he could stretch his tongue so much as an inch.

“James!”

Again with that name.

“You know, I love when you call me that, Mrs. Barnes.”

Bucky was peering up at you now, soaking in the sight of your body in a white lace bra, panties, and stockings.

“Is my bride feeling shy?” he teased, gently nipping at your inner thighs.

You weren’t sure what you were feeling in that moment, to be honest. Revulsion, betrayal, arousal, you name it—each crowned with an all-encompassing hatred for the man currently occupying the space between your legs—while a still stronger desire almost hoped he would stay.

“You can hate your husband all you want and still let him tonguefuck you,” Bucky growled against your skin.

Like he’d read your mind.

In reality, your husband hardly needed the powers of telepathy to tell him just how turned on you were; the sopping wet spot in your panties said as much. From his vantage point, Bucky saw the disgust in your eyes slowly eclipsed by lust, and with a single flick of his tongue, he knew he would have you exactly where he wanted you.

“Just let it happen, honey.”

He felt your fingers thread tight through his hair and the first stir of your hips in tandem. One small, delectable whimper crossed your lips, and it took everything in Bucky not to tear your panties straight off with his teeth.

Instead, the man opted for a soft, gentle lick over your clothed slit. Testing the waters.

Your whimper was quick to meld to a moan, and then, just as fast:

“N-no, Bucky.”

To your dismay, his tongue didn’t retreat, only making firmer laps against your centre while his lips grazed the lace. He gripped your thighs and wedged himself deeper, and again, you cursed the paper thin fabric of your panties for letting you feel everything his mouth was doing. He hadn’t even made proper contact with your cunt, and your knees were already starting to shake.

He pressed a kiss above your clit through the flimsy material, and you almost tore a clump of hair from his head.

“No. Please.” You hardly made sense to yourself; it was clear you wanted his touch, but something inside you wasn’t quite ready to submit to the idea that this was all okay. That your husband’s tongue and lips might be meant for something like this, and you didn’t have to feel so guilty for wanting it either. Fucking purity culture.

“My pretty girl,” Bucky presently murmured above the fabric, words sending a dozen little shockwaves in their wake, “My beautiful fucking wife.”

The man inhaled your scent and could’ve sworn he was in ecstasy. Blinded by desire as he was, he really wasn’t bullshitting in the slightest when he gathered you to him and said you were the best; he’d genuinely grown transfixed by the feel of you, in spite of every fibre of his being telling him not to. The marriage was arranged, fake, and fueled by hatred—and somehow, Bucky couldn’t get enough.

Nor could he wait any longer. One light swipe of his finger tugged your panties aside, and then he was latching on, no cover this time, to take your clit between his lips. Sucking hard, going fast, needing it bad.

A moan rang loud in his ears, and your hand on his head was instantly joined by the other. You yanked his hair like you never had before, pulling so tight at the roots as though your pleasure depended on it. Bucky smiled around the soft pearl in his mouth and flicked it gently with the tip of his tongue.

“Feel good, baby?” he breathed.

His head tilted up to you, and he could see you were struggling just to breathe, face painted with a medley of emotions.

You didn’t know if you could, or should, be feeling this good from a man so evil. Bucky flattened his tongue and licked a long stripe up your pussy to ensure that you would. Then he posed the question again, smirking.

“You like my tongue on this wet, needy cunt?”

His words were so damn obscene, but you nodded anyway. Feeling small and powerless beneath those big, broad hands as they pinned you back on the marble and spread you even wider for the taking.

He loved how innocent and lewd you looked at once, wincing with pleasure and still trying to keep your composure like you thought a good girl should.

Bucky wanted to break that resolve. He brought one hand closer to your entrance.

And, just as your breaths were starting to hitch and grow more ragged in your chest, he pushed two fingers inside. The act surprised your husband almost as much as it did you—not quite, but almost—upon feeling how tight you were, how resistant to even two digits you seemed to be. He hardly knew whether to shove them deeper or pull them out, so fast did your muscles contract around him.

When you whined a loud, protracted, ‘FUCK!’ he figured he would stick with the former. He grinned, having never heard you speak, much less swear, out of pleasure like this.

Your head lolled back and your body made an arch when his fingers curled inside you. You were panting, moaning, coating his hand with your juices, and Bucky knew you were close.

He started pumping his fingers in and out while his tongue worked your clit, chin practically doused in your arousal by now. A swell of pride rose within him: he could finally bring you home to that sweet release, have you a shaking, soaking mess above his face like you were wholly his and no one else’s. He moved his tongue even faster and sank his fingers straight down to the knuckle.

Then, unexpectedly, both were robbed of your touch.

Seized with fear, you shoved Bucky off and stumbled away from his glistening face. You took off toward the doors and fled the balcony before you could think.

“What the f— honey? Honey?!” Bucky sputtered. He bounded after you.

You’d thrown yourself in the master bathroom and locked the door behind you in the blink of an eye. Outside, your husband had only to stare in pure bewilderment and awe, mind reeling at what had just happened.

Fucking hell, he knows. He knows! You collapsed against the door and slid down a couple inches. Your hand reflexively flew to your mouth to stifle the sounds when Bucky began pounding the wood behind you.

“Baby, what’s wrong? What’s—what’s goin’ on?”

In truth, you’d rather chug bleach than divulge the thought that had just scared the everliving fuck out of you back there. It was stupid and senseless and should’ve been frightening you for weeks before it ever came to this, but here you were, panicked in the bathroom of your honeymoon suite because you’d never done this before—and you’d never reached climax in your life without bursting into tears.

Fuck, you felt stupid. How could you think this would be any different—or that Bucky’s tongue wouldn’t eventually attempt to wrest an orgasm out of you?

It’d just felt so good, you thought maybe a new climax brought by someone else’s fingers might free you from the same unsavory demise you’d met a hundred times before, but then it hit you, shortly after Bucky had plunged his fingers inside, you were going to cry.

You winced when Bucky’s knocks grew louder, his voice gaining more ire by the second, it seemed.

“Open the fucking door!”

He’d rake you over the coals for this. Getting so close to what he wanted, only to have his silly little bride snatch it all away and run hiding in the en-suite bathroom? Your stomach turned at the thought of what men in the mob were liable to do with women like you—what Bucky might conceivably do now that you’d sparked his rage.

Your eyes darted to the window just as his fist shook the doorframe behind you. You ran over to the tub, tucked squarely beneath the windowsill, and climbed onto it just to get a hold of the fastenings around the glass.

One click synchronized with the furious cadence being hammered on the door, and just as you started to slide the pane up the way, a heavy thud sounded outside. The weight of your husband’s body being thrust against the door, most likely.

You bit your lip and lifted one leg over the windowsill, shuffling your body even closer to the outside world.

Three floors up! Have you lost your mind? You could hear your father’s words ringing in your skull already. There was a ledge, you reasoned, no more than ten feet below, if you could just grab hold of the frame right there and slide down the cool stone you might—

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned.

You watched your husband heave through the busted door of the bathroom, wide eyes and a ‘Here’s Johnny’ flourish raging hot on his face. Your heart leapt to your throat, and you started to lower yourself out of the window, hoping desperately for that ledge below to be sturdy. But before you could make it even half of the way there, strong arms were circling your frame and yanking you back inside, hurtling straight into the bathtub with Bucky tumbling over you.

“What are you doing?!” he roared.

You wriggled under his weight, petrified of the fiery look in his eyes as he lurched over your frame.

He straightened up just enough to shake you by the shoulders—like a parent reprimanding a child.

“What the fuck was that?! Huh? You think that’s fucking funny, jumping out windows?”

No, no, not funny, you wanted to bite back, but found your mouth dry and unable to speak. When Bucky shook you again, you had only to whimper a pathetic sound.

The man was enraged. Stubble still damp with your juices and looking undeniably frazzled and spent, he drew closer to your face and demanded you look at him. When he took hold of your cheeks in both hands, the command couldn’t have reached you any more clearly.

“What— what was that for?” his voice lowered as he tried to catch his breath. You still couldn’t move.

“I-I don’t—” you stopped and hardly knew how to say it:

Sorry to cut our tonguefucking session short, I was just afraid I might burst into a fit of uncontrollable tears while you licked and sucked me through the best orgasm of my life. I’d rather jump off, or out of, a building than tell my mob boss husband that I can’t cum without crying. By the way, I’m a virgin!

Instead, you just blinked and stared back at him.

“Can’t…do it,” you murmured.

Bucky’s expression only grew more puzzled by the words out of your mouth. He squeezed your face tighter and leaned in even closer.

“Do what? Sex? Fuck, I— I didn’t mean to be that aggressive, hell, I’m sorry.” He stopped to run a hand through his hair, and for the first time, you could’ve sworn you saw the first glint of compunction in his eyes.

He looked away a few seconds, as if collecting what fragmented thoughts he could, then brought his head back down to your level and took your hands in his.

“Honey?” he tried getting your attention, just barely above a whisper now, “I know the whole thing’s fucked, I know.”

That was the understatement of the century. To your surprise, Bucky’s gaze softened when he saw a scowl cross your face.

“We don’t…have to do anything. I was just pushing your buttons earlier. Being a dick.”

His tongue moved to wet his lips once more, this time without the seductive, smug demeanor he usually wore and simply exhibiting discomfort. He swallowed. The bow tie around his neck appeared to him to be fastened far too tight all of a sudden, and then, haphazardly, he started clawing at the garment to get it off.

You didn’t know why you felt compelled to help. It was like all ten fingers just lifted of their own accord to join Bucky’s hands in trying to undo his tie.

The silk fabric wasn’t tied, but knotted, crudely and inflexibly, beneath the little black bow. You frowned. Still unable to meet his gaze as you worked your fingers under the tangled material and tried to pretend like the two of you weren’t still sweating profusely from the events that had just transpired—both the tonguefucking and the window-jumping.

“Who tied this, a five-year-old?” you muttered.

“I’m thirty-eight, thanks,” Bucky returned just as quietly.

Both of you indulged in a smile that lasted no longer than a second, but you felt the tension ease a little.

This was not where you thought your dreaded wedding night was headed before. Curled up in a bathtub with your hands around your husband’s neck—and not actually trying to kill him—while Bucky blinked almost nervously the longer your hands lingered on his collar. It seemed he’d found something especially tantalizing on the wall behind your head, because his stare remained fixed on that spot the whole time you fiddled with his tie.

Maybe that, along with the last ebb of alcoholic influence from the reception still coursing through your veins, had emboldened you to come right out and say it while Bucky was looking away. You couldn’t be sure.

“I’ve never had sex before.”

At last, the tie loosened a little.

Bucky flicked his gaze back to yours in a second.

“What?”

You lifted a brow, wondering if he really needed an explanation as to what it meant to have never gotten laid before, but you decided against indulging him any further. Bucky seemed keen on doing that all by himself.

“You’re a virgin?”

You nodded.

“Didn’t my overbearing mother make sure you knew?”

“Yeah, I thought she was full of shit,” Bucky answered bluntly. Then, catching sight of the semi-offended look in your eye, mixed with a tad more amusement than indignation, he added, “I mean— I didn’t think you’d, uh, wanna wait…twenty-five years for some action.”

He winced when he realized that sounded just as bad. His throat cleared shortly to make way for a new attempt at comity, but you cut him off, shaking your head as you finally got the knot to untangle.

“No, I get it. I don’t know why I waited this long either,” you shrugged.

As soon as you’d freed him from his bow tie, you started to stand from the bath tub. Bucky, too, straightened to his full height and started to close the window while you walked back to the bedroom.

You eyed the rose petals strewn across the duvet and felt a little more relaxed this time around. The weight of the V-word had been lifted from your shoulders, and now you had only to share the crying-while-cumming stuff to Bucky later on. Much later on, you hoped.

You crawled onto the bed and stretched out on your belly, playing with the soft red petals and wondering if room service was still offered at this hour.

Bucky had just stepped out of the bathroom when he halted at the threshold. Saw your body sprawled out on the bed, back arched and ass pointed in the air as you reached over for the phone on the nightstand. He stared for a second too long and felt a familiar stir in his pants.

Sonovabitch, he started to think, before chiding himself silently, Shut up, man, she’s a virgin. Be cool. Be cool—don’t make her jump out a window again.

He ducked back in the bathroom and eased the door to just a crack while you discovered a voice on the line:

“Hi! Hey, I’d like to order room service to, uh…” your voice trailed off. Then, covering the mouthpiece, “James, what’s our room number?”

Inside the bathroom, Bucky squeezed his eyes shut at the sound of his name. Already palming his erection through his dress pants as he leaned against the wall.

“We rented the whole building, dear,” he called back.

“Oh.” He could just imagine the slight pout on your lips as you spoke. Then you asked if he wanted anything to eat, Bucky thought only of the sweet nectar between your legs, and he answered aloud, no, he was fine, really.

For the first time in his life, the man felt positively ashamed he was about to rub one out in a bathroom, alone. It wasn’t like this was the first it had ever been done, but now there was you, innocent and oblivious in the next room over, while Bucky undid his belt and quietly freed his cock from his dress pants. It felt kind of perverted, in a way, but he knew he needed this release to put his mind at ease and not feel so affected by you.

While you scanned your phone for a menu and chatted with the concierge downstairs about various food items, Bucky was spitting in his hand and fumbling for his shaft. You talked American Wagyu sirloin, lobster thermidor, and seared Faroe Island salmon while he thought achingly about the way your cunt had tasted and how badly he wanted to try it again.

How did he feel about an artisan cheese platter? Bucky hardly had the wits about himself to answer beyond a strangled, ‘Whatever you want, honey’ and a tightened fist around his cock, stroking hard to get the filthy thoughts out of his head before the food arrived.

Ever sweet, soft, supple, and savory—his mind reeled with fresh memories of that place between your thighs, and he almost lurched forward in pleasure.

Your brute of a mob boss husband was irreparably pussy-whipped and hadn’t even fucked you yet. He gripped the bathroom sink beside him and sincerely wished it wasn’t his hand doing the work right now. But of course, he had to be patient, had to be kind—couldn’t force himself on a woman who clearly wasn’t ready.

Again, he spit in his palm and jerked himself fast.

Any minute now, he thought with some relief.

Your feet padded softly into the living room as the pleasure inside him was starting to crest. Still pining for your warmth and the way your legs trembled around his head, Bucky was all but fucking his hand at this point. He’d snagged his bottom lip between his teeth in a lopsided smile and groaned, too low to be heard, and pumped himself even faster for his impending orgasm.

A thought crossed your mind as you stopped ahead of the sofa. You pivoted.

Suddenly, you were skipping back to the bathroom, wanting to know Bucky’s wine preferences before you placed another order.

You barged in and froze.

“Sorry!” you squeaked, darting out just as fast.

Five seconds slower and you probably would’ve seen Bucky blow his load all over the sink. As it was, the man was left sorely at a loss for any form of release and heaving fast, ragged breaths from the colossal scare you’d just given him.

Good fucking going, Buck—your wife wants to cuddle and eat cheese and you’re out here beating your meat.

Bucky shoved himself back in his pants and waited an excruciating minute for the sound of your second window exit of the night. A slammed door, a frantic phone call, a few sobs into your pillow as you realized how dirty and depraved your husband was, anything.

He was only met with silence.

Taking one more shaky breath, Bucky reached for the doorknob and started back out. Cautiously.

The man took his slow, silent leave of the bathroom with his gaze trained toward the doors—half-expecting to see his bride rappelling from the balcony—but then quickly shifted to the bed. Finding you kneeling at the edge.

“James?”

Your voice almost pained.

A word was all it took. Bucky was back on his knees.

“I’m sorry. I just wanted it to go away, honey. I’m sorry.”

Go away? You quirked a brow and couldn’t hold his gaze much longer; just trailed your vision down his torso to his pants, then his erection, still standing prominent as ever.

Bucky struggled to decide whether you were ticked off or intrigued, seeing your eyes make their painful appraisal of his length beneath his pants. Your brow was pinched, but your head was cocked. Almost curious.

“Are you mad at me?” you asked, gaze fixed on the spot.

Immediately, Bucky rose to his feet and crawled back on the bed, seizing your body with both of his hands.

“No! No, not mad at all,” he mumbled as he sidled up beside you. Pleased to see you hadn’t recoiled, “I was just, uh…missing you, ‘s’all.”

If his men could see him now, Bucky was sure he’d be the laughing stock of all the town. Doting and kind, eyes softened beyond recognition, he just watched you and wanted nothing more than to repair the smile that had ebbed from your face. Come ridicule, hell, or high water, the man was infatuated with his bride—all broken plates and attempted window escapes be damned.

Presently, you brought your hand down to his bulge.

Bucky stiffened but didn’t speak. He wanted you to do this on your own, of your own volition.

“You seem kinda mad to me.” You hardly knew what you were doing. Just rubbing his length and hoping it was something he’d like.

Where Bucky had wanted to see you smile, you just wanted to hear him grunt and whine—maybe grab your hips and beg you to do something, please. You’d never felt any such degree of control, and you suspected Bucky had never not felt it himself. You wanted him desperate.

You were playing a dangerous game, you knew it, but something inside those baby blues said he wanted to do it, too. Do anything for you, quite frankly.

You watched the rise and fall of Bucky’s broad chest and stroked his length even softer.

“James.”

“Uh-huh?” His mouth hung open with a gentle grunt, fighting every instinct to buck into your touch.

At last, you squeezed his shaft and prodded him on. Let your head drift closer to his so his lips would graze the apple of your cheek, and just when you sensed he wanted a taste, you tilted your face toward his own,

“We haven’t even kissed since the ceremony.”

Bucky stared blankly at you, enrapt with the pulse of your fingers. You could tell he was aching to move.

“Oh yeah?” he murmured.

You nodded a wordless affirmation and slid sharply back in bed as Bucky lunged after you. Your hands flew from his pants to the plush mattress behind you as you shifted—or, rather, scrambled—back in place and felt your husband climb over you hungrily.

“That what my wife wants?” he murmured, frame slotting tight between your legs.

You nodded again, and had only to suck in a breath before Bucky was devouring your lips. The kind of flushed, frantic, filthy kiss that would’ve doubtlessly wrought looks of horror on every face at your wedding had he grabbed you that way after the declarations of ‘I do’ had been spoken.

You loved him like this, impassioned and a bit unhinged.

His tongue worked his way past your lips and scoured every soft, fleshy inch between the insides of your cheeks before he took your face in his hands, kissing you roughly.

Something hard and throbbing nudged your sex, and suddenly you were whining in his mouth. Wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Ah, honey, don’t,” Bucky groaned, visibly straining to contain himself. When you dug your heels even deeper in his back, the groan that followed from him was hoarse and guttural.

“I thought— I…fuck,” your husband turned his head to curse as you grinded your hips up to his. You had to bite back a smile.

“I just wanna do what married people do,” you murmured coyly, pretending not to see when Bucky shot you the most red-hot, wanton look he’d imparted all evening.

“Yeah?” Like a kid in a candy shop the size of Sears.

Bucky took your face in his hands once more and made sure to scan your expression for any shred of doubt. On finding nothing there, he sat panting, half-disbelieving and half-contemplating all the wretched things he wanted to do to you. You squeezed his sides with your thighs and just hoped your husband knew what to do, because, in truth, you didn’t have the first fucking idea.

A few dry, clinical terms flashed before your mind’s eye, along with your mother’s bleak depiction of what treatment lay in store for a woman on her wedding night, and as Bucky started to work his belt and his pants off, you just hoped he wouldn’t be cruel.

He couldn’t be, right? He’d only mowed down a hundred men and dismembered dozens more, you were told, but surely a set of eyes this soft, caring, and kind couldn’t belong to a monster. You let him lift your hips and shimmy your panties, garter belt, and stockings down your legs, and when he returned, you tried your best not to betray the thoughts in your head.

Bucky hadn’t been with a virgin for as long as he could remember—maybe ever. His own ‘deflowering’ an ancient relic of his boyhood and the multitude of partners since then a mere flurry of nameless faces, he sincerely couldn’t recall a time when he’d asked, or cared, whether the woman beneath him had her cherry intact. He didn’t suppose it could be too different, as he peeled the last pieces of your lingerie set off your body and saw you seemed perfectly ready. He ran a finger between your folds and felt you shiver with what looked like excitement. Piece of cake, he thought, smiling.

No doubt he would take great joy in making you his own. His bride, his wife, an unblemished beacon of light in a life as sordid as his, looked perfect spread before him. You would adjust to his size. Bucky trailed the head of his cock up your slit and coated himself in your juices, and just when he’d bracketed his other arm around your head on the pillow, you let out a small sound.

“Are you sure it’ll fit?”

Bucky fisted his length and pressed the tip to your entrance.

“Uh…yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

He hadn’t yet met a woman who wasn’t able to fit him.

“Okay.”

Somehow, your voice sounded even smaller, head lodged between pillows and the crook of Bucky’s elbow. You felt small. Frankly, it didn’t seem like your husband was quite computing the worries that were pervading your brain, but you decided he knew best—your mother had assured you that husbands always did—and when Bucky first pressed the head of himself to the seam of your cunt, you hardly even whimpered.

You watched his brow furrow above you. He tried to go further.

Your folds were as soaked as he’d ever seen a woman’s, your hole practically pulsing with desire, and somehow, he couldn’t push in.

Bucky snagged his lip between his teeth and braced himself with the aid of the headboard, taking your hip in his other hand. A breath sounded on your lips the second he adjusted, and shortly thereafter, he felt your gaze on the same place he was watching: the spot where your bodies were trying to connect.

His features darkened at the prospect of failing, or even appearing incompetent to you in the slightest. He’d done this hundreds of times before, why wouldn’t it work?

When he felt your eyes trail back up his body and study his face—maybe wondering why her new groom hadn’t gotten around to thrusting into her yet, he thought—he felt a swell of panic and pushed.

Against his better judgment and the feel of your body, he muscled his way through and forced his cock inside. Bottoming out in a single, stabbing thrust.

You seized in pain but wanted to be a good wife for him.

Bucky, too, felt his hips stutter at the resistance your walls were giving him, but then remembered how he’d sworn to be a dutiful husband, and kept going.

Together, you stared anywhere but the other’s face and gritted your teeth for two entirely different reasons—you, in agony, and Bucky, in ecstasy, the latter hoping with everything in him that you liked this as much as him.

Bucky took a tender, if not slightly awkward, rhythm rutting against your body and stared steady at the headboard like he always did.

You were in pain and faced with nothing but his hulking chest, moving up and down, back and forth, over and over again like a goddamn seesaw from hell while it felt like your insides were presently being torn to shreds.

Who fucking enjoys this? you wanted to wail, but feigned a moan instead, raking your nails down Bucky’s back, Why isn’t he looking at me? Why isn’t he touching me?

Your walls involuntarily clenched around him, and he swallowed a moan.

Just think of baseball, beer, math, the Roman Empire, anything to keep from busting right now, Bucky told himself as he clenched his jaw and fought to maintain his pace. Your pussy just felt so. fucking. good.

Beneath him, you had tried and failed to fight back tears. The burn was just too much; the longer he thrusted, the more your walls contracted, and confusingly, stupidly, it seemed like he was using you. Your mother was right, most likely, that sex was just a means to an end for men like Bucky, and your husband didn’t care about your pleasure at all. You fought hard to keep the waterworks at bay, that one thing you hadn’t wanted Bucky to see, but eventually, the tears were flowing freely.

You stifled a sob that your husband mistook for a moan.

He fucked you even faster and felt a grin start to twitch at the corners of his lips when you made a sound that seemed consistent with pleasure.

“Feel so fucking tight,” Bucky grunted, about to lower his gaze to your face for the first time since he’d entered you, “So nice and tight and w—hey, hey, baby?”

He stilled inside as soon as he saw that you were crying. Took your face in his hands and almost couldn’t believe the sight of your tear-stained cheeks beneath him.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” he asked, scanning your face for any signs of harm.

You just shook your head and tried to brush him off.

“Keep going, I’m good.”

Bucky seemed angered at the suggestion. He brought your face closer to his and stared almost reproachfully down at you. Then he paused a beat and swiped one of your cheeks with the pad of his thumb.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked.

“N—”

“Don’t lie.”

You squirmed a bit and winced. That was answer enough for Bucky, and he slowly pulled out of you.

“Aw hell.”

The two of you glanced down to see a blooming red spot on the comforter. Bucky rubbed the blood in disbelief.

He’d gone too far. Again. Hurt something inside of you that couldn’t be fixed with a kiss. While you struggled to sit up among the pillows, Bucky was running a hand through his hair and cursing himself up and down.

“Why didn’t you say something?” he scowled.

“I didn’t wanna interrup—”

“If I’m making you bleed, you stop me, for fuck’s sake.”

“Well you seemed to be having a pretty good time!”

Bucky didn’t need to tell you in words what was painted on his face; he was pissed off and probably bound to slip off the bed any second, when your tears started welling up again. Then he eased off, remembering he was more mad at himself than anyone else, and slid closer to you. He tried pulling you into his chest, but you didn’t budge.

“C’mon,” you said, grabbing his wrist, “Let’s keep going.”

Bucky eyed you incredulously.

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh-huh,” you insisted. He shot you a glare but didn’t protest when you guided his hand between your legs.

You were spread back open for him in no time. Still stinging like hell and ready for another go. Bucky almost couldn’t believe it.

“My headstrong wife.” He managed a smile before kissing the crown of your head, and kept right on kissing that spot no matter how far his fingers were traveling.

“You owe me two orgasms, remember, Mr. Barnes?”

It seemed Bucky’s boastful claims of late were in fact the furthest thing from his mind as he crawled back over your body. He pried your knees apart and left just enough room for his frame, taking his fingers to your folds and rubbing in light, gentle circles.

The bleeding had stopped. What little remained was long forgotten, and duly, the pain from recent memory was slowly but surely purged with every flick of his thumb. Bucky planted an arm next to your head and kept touching you there until your face relaxed completely.

When he chanced a finger inside, he was careful not to rub so much as plunge in quick, shallow motions, and at the first signs of pleasure, press light and tender kisses on your skin.

“If it hurts at all, you tell me.”

He sounded stern as he inserted another finger, but really, the man was all putty in your hands, wanting to please you and tease you in any way that he could.

When you told him faster, he sped up; you gripped his hair and said slow down, he did the same. He curled his digits in time with every whimper and moan you made and took care not to be too harsh on your sweet spot.

The only time he paused was when you looked up and asked him point-blank: could he fuck you sweet and gentle now?

Bucky paused. Swallowed.

The man would’ve screwed you six ways to Sunday if you asked him; that wasn’t the problem. The only traces of hesitation remained where your eyes said something different. Even as he shuffled between your legs at your behest, aligned his cock with your entrance, and felt a wave of desire wash over him, he pressed his forehead to yours and searched your glossy gaze once more.

“You sure about this, bunny?” he murmured.

Your heart melted at the name. You couldn’t deny you were frightened, and perhaps a bit worse for the wear after your last attempt, but his words were a comfort, his hand on your cheek a welcome gesture. When his thumb grazed your lips, you kissed it and nodded.

“Alright sweet girl,” Bucky said, tone laced with affection.

This time, before pressing the head of himself inside, Bucky caught your lips and kissed you softly. Rubbed himself up and down your slit—paying extra attention to your clit—and coated himself completely before trying to penetrate you again.

Your cheeks flushed, and you kissed him harder.

“P-please, Bucky, fuck me,” you murmured against his mouth, eliciting a small grunt from him.

“Yeah? You want your husband’s cock inside you, doll?” He kept the pretense of teasing, but really, he was just trying to make sure you wanted this as badly as he did. By the blissed out look on your face and the soft, ceaseless squelching noises produced by your arousal, he got the message pretty quickly.

He breached your folds with just the tip at first. You both felt your muscles contract. Instead of blindly pushing ahead like he had before, Bucky trained his gaze on your face and watched for any signs of discomfort.

“Everything okay, bunny?” he hummed as he brushed a few strands of hair from your face.

You were half in awe of how attentive he was, and doubly impressed by the stretch that followed—like a pinch, but nothing like the pain you’d felt before. You peered up at your husband and squeezed his shoulders.

“It— it doesn’t hurt this time,” you said, breathless.

Bucky could’ve caved at the sweet, innocent expression alone—like you were pleasantly surprised this hadn’t caused excruciating pain—and his lips moved down to pepper your cheeks with kisses again.

“Doll, I’m so sorry.”

The sounds and sighs of your pleasure beneath him, along with the words telling him it was okay, really, he hadn’t meant to do it, all made him feel even guiltier for having hurt you in the first place. It took him some time assailing your face with tiny, apologetic kisses before he even thought to feed you another inch.

When he finally plunged himself deeper, it wasn’t without your express permission; even then, Bucky feared he might split you in two.

The whole time he eased himself inside, he was moving his gaze between your face and the place between your two bodies—watching you open for him and take him inch by inch. He rubbed his thumb over your clit when you whimpered.

“Doing so good for me.”

“Stretching so nice for this cock.”

“My beautiful, beautiful wife.”

Every syllable of his praises flooded your head like honey. Feeling him stretch you out, fill you up, and rock you softly with his first shallow thrusts, all while talking you through it, had your mind ablaze and near-euphoric.

Pleasure practically searing your veins, you didn’t even hear yourself, or really mean to say it, as soon as you did.

“This doesn’t feel dirty at all.”

An epiphany to you and a puzzle to Bucky.

“What’s’at, honey?” He was still rutting his hips and slowly picking up speed. Your husband groaned when you clenched around him and pulled him even deeper—before you realized what you’d said.

Your cheeks flushed.

“I— I was always told sex made you dirty. This feels—” you stopped to swallow a moan when Bucky grazed a particularly sensitive spot inside you, “pretty nice.”

‘Pretty nice.’ Your husband couldn’t help the smile twitching at the corners of his lips as he leaned down to kiss you. He wrapped his big, muscly arms around you and pulled you closer to his chest.

“Makes you dirty?” Bucky said, disbelief evident in his tone before his smile broke into a grin, “Baby, you’re the cleanest, sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He didn’t let you endeavor to protest, just buried his face in your neck and pressed teasing kisses all over the skin while he continued to pump in and out of you. He knew to keep hitting that spot, too.

You were drowning in whimpers and kisses when Bucky brought his lips to your ear.

“Doesn’t make you dirty at all,” he assured you, “Just makes you my wife.”

You clawed Bucky’s back when he sped up a little, and you felt the pleasure soar to even greater heights when he propped your legs above his shoulders—a brand new angle for him to bend you like a pretzel and fuck you good.

“You take this cock too nice to be dirty,” he gritted his teeth and continued to soothe you just how he knew you liked it, “Such a good little wife, sucking up every inch of me like you were made for it.”

Your lips parted in a soft ‘o,’ feeling him plunge the depths of your cunt like he never had before. Bucky slipped his thumb in your mouth while he held your face.

“That what you are, bunny? A good girl?”

You nodded your head and sucked his thumb, feeling yourself fucked dumb as you did. Bucky loved that blissed out look in your eyes.

“Good girl for daddy?” he cooed.

Your ankles trembled around his neck as soon as he said it. You nodded again, yes, you were, and felt a light coil start to form in your lower stomach as Bucky kept pounding you and pushing his thumb between your lips.

Then, with a pop, he plucked the digit from your mouth and brought it down to your clit. He started soft at first, but before long he was rubbing vicious circles on that little bundle of nerves, watching you come undone before his eyes and clench around him even tighter.

“B-Bucky,” you whined, fisting the sheets underneath you both as you squirmed.

“Mhmm?” Your husband pretended to be oblivious.

“I w— I’m gonna—” The words could scarcely leave your lips without finding themselves punctured with a whimper as soon as they were spoken. Bucky thrusted harder.

“Gonna what? Cum for daddy?” he grinned, “Make a mess all over this cock?”

Your moans of pleasure more than sufficed for an answer. You nodded and winced, felt your whole lower half seize with a warm and heady feeling, and before you knew it, Bucky’s thrusts were sending you spiraling over the edge, with a wave of bliss following shortly behind. Sounds of skin slapping skin hardly faltered, and Bucky kept rubbing and fucking you all throughout the waves of your high.

Tears sprung to your eyes, and you didn’t care. Your mind was alight with more bright, fervid feelings than you could count or comprehend, and your body washed over with pleasure.

You clung to Bucky and felt him keep fucking you, even as you shrieked against his skin.

“One more for me, honey.”

You didn’t think that was possible. You had just spilled all over him, squeezing his cock like a vice and screaming his name, and now he wanted it all over again? So soon?

Your fingernails sunk into his arms as he continued to rut into you, and you started to shake your head.

“C-Can’t Bucky, I can’t, I can’t,” you sobbed, tears still streaming down your cheeks.

“Sure you can.”

Your husband had his mouth at your ear again, panting as the pace of his thrusts grew faster. He tilted his body slightly forward so your legs were pushed even higher above you—damn near grazing either side of your head—and pounded you relentlessly.

His voice seemed so calm and assured as he spoke,

“Cum for daddy. Show me just how fucking good this cock makes you feel and cum again for me.”

With a command like that, how could you refuse?

You came a second time, hands seizing Bucky's forearms, and screams tearing through your chest as you rode your high impaled on his cock over and over again. The sights and sounds and repeated, pulsing spasms of your pussy on his shaft sent Bucky chasing his release not long after, and you felt a warmth spread inside you.

Your eyes were filled to the brim with tears, your cheeks practically drenched already. As you came down from your high, you started to blink.

But just as you lifted a hand to sop up the moisture, Bucky was leaning over you and into you with the brightest smile. Then he was kissing each wet, salty stain like it was the most natural thing in the world, sponging soft and gentle touches all over the spots your tears had overflown.

It seemed every nerve ending in your lower half was on the fritz, your body little more than mush underneath him, but somehow you managed to catch his mouth as he traversed the skin. You kissed him back, and Bucky drew you closer.

The two of you separated for a second, Bucky’s cock still resting comfortably inside you and his broad frame engulfing you in bed. He paused a beat. Seemed to consider something in his mind before speaking aloud.

“Honey,” he started, unsure of how he wanted to say this.

You peered up at him, curious. His seed had filled every contour and crevice of your aching walls and was just then starting to dribble out of you. Bucky seemed unfazed. He cupped both hands around your face.

“I love you.”

You blinked. No fucking way you were hearing those words.

“What?” You felt too awestruck to say anything else.

“I love you,” Bucky repeated. A smile was starting to tug at his lips, his thumb tracing your cheek while you stared at him in disbelief.

You would’ve liked to speak.

Would’ve loved to say those three little words right back.

In fact, you had just opened your mouth to tell him that, when a sound at the foot of the bed startled you both.

The warm glow of moonlight pouring in from the window panes was your only means to see it. But sight wasn’t worth much at all when a man appeared and pressed the barrel of a gun to Bucky’s temple, letting out a chuckle.

Another man, clad head-to-toe in polished black tactical gear approached from the far end of the room. Bucky gritted his teeth but remained motionless, hearing that man cock his firearm as well. You were surrounded on either side of the bed. Your blood ran cold.

“Sorry to interrupt the fun, Mr. Barnes,” the man on the left spoke so low and gruff he could scarcely be heard.

When Bucky started to stir, the man on the right raised his pistol as well. Curled his finger on the trigger.

“We haven’t even met your beautiful bride.” A set of cruel, glinting teeth turned in your direction. Suddenly, all eyes were trained on you—along with a third handgun, pointed at your head, as another man approached.

“Wedded bliss treating you well so far, Mrs. Barnes?”

[larajadeschmidt13]

Inexperience Makes You Shine

Pairing: James "Bucky" Barnes x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, established relationship, kissing, virginity loss, condom use, gentle sex, clit stimulation, taking it slow

Word count: 1.2k

A/N: Commission for an Anon! I talk a lot of smack for someone with literally 0 experience but trust me, if I wanted to I could have so much of it.

1. “We’ll take it slow.”

Your lips met Bucky's while you straddled his thighs, his hands rubbing up your thighs slowly to make you as comfortable as possible with what would happen next. He pulled you close, licking over your lips and humming as you tried to mimic the movements of his tongue to cover up your inexperience.

"Are you sure about doing this tonight? You know I'm fine with waiting until you're ready." That's not what the bulge you were grinding against said. You felt guilty more then once for leaving him hard and confined in his pants. He never said anything about it, he was always happy to go to sleep and cuddle, nothing else.

"I'm ready. I want you Bucky. I want to have sex with you." You whispered against his lips. You never said it so blatantly before, not even to yourself in private. Why wasn't he saying anything back? The silence made you squirm in his lap, brushing against his cock even more.

The two of you have been dating for over a year now but neither of you took is as far as having sex yet. There have been too many make out sessions and dry humping sessions to count, countless sexting messages, pictures meant to make each other horny, but no sex yet. It never went farther then that, no matter how many times it ended with your hand down your underwear and coming with his name on your lips.

Bucky always made sure you know that he didn't mind you being a virgin, that he will be happy to take things at your pace, "We'll take it slow." He'd always tell you and kiss you to reassure you.

His hands inched closer to your pussy, his fingers brushing over the edges of your panties. Bucky smiled at you when you shivered under his touch before leaning forward and pressing his lips against yours again. You rolled your hips when the heat between them demanded friction.

"I'm gonna take these off you now okay?" He rasped against your lips, his prickly stubble tickling you as he kissed your cheek in reassurance, "If you want to stop, you know you can tell me anytime right?"

You nodded but moments later took your shirt off, confirming your choice to him. Bucky's eyes scanned over your body with hunger, adding to how flustered you were.

Given that his hands were occupied with taking off your underwear he lavished your breasts with his lips instead. He wanted to make sure you knew how beautiful you were to him, no matter what your level of experience.

"I'm so lucky." Bucky whispered before he flipped your over on your back, hovering over your body, "It'll be easier to take these off." He obviously didn't want to stop kissing you while he did it, he didn't want you to move away too far from his hands and lips. You bite back a whimper as his tongue passes across your nipple on his way down, "I want to make you feel good tonight." He murmured as he ventured lower and lower down your body, pausing only for the occasional kiss.

"Yes. Kiss me everywhere." Your body arched into his, hands pulling at his hair, pushing him down, your hips bucking against his body.

Bucky laughed against your flushed skin, "That is my mission, yes."

You groaned as he paused to observe your reaction to his teasing.

"Bucky." You whined, "I want you to..." He kissed your thigh, the cold fingers of his hand pressing against your heated core, "I need you to take me, be my first, my only."

"Your first and only. It will be my honor." It wasn't a guarantee that what you had would last forever but you can't imagine yourself with anyone but him. Bucky eased your panties down your legs, not looking at you yet, busy with taking his shirt, pants and boxers off first. He wanted to see you at the same time as you saw him. "Fingers?" He asked as he held his hard cock in one hand and smoothed across your stomach with the other.

"No, just, just fuck me, please Bucky." You couldn't wait anymore and didn't care how whiney your demands sounded.

Bucky walked to his nightstand and grabbed a handful of condoms and a bottle of lube. The condom was ripped out of it package and rolled onto his hard cock while he walked back to you. He tossed the rest at the foot of the bed and poured a generous amount of lube onto his fingers. "I know you're wet but... just in case." With two fingers he pushed the warm substance inside of you, "Already so tight."

You looked down to see him lining up with your entrance after taking his fingers out. This felt so different than the toys you used, yes the width was about the same but the pulsing, the grunts, the way he looked at you while he bottomed out made it all so much more enjoyable. It didn't hurt, not too badly but Bucky still gave you time to adjust to him. You threw your head back when he began moving slowly in and out, "Fuck." Bucky leaned down to kiss you once again, his hands rubbing up and down on your hips until you started to match his thrusting motion.

"You feeling okay babygirl?" He asked. You responded with a quick nod and a kiss, then threw your arms over his shoulders and raised bent your legs against his hips. "I'm gonna make you feel even better." Bucky sounded just a tiny bit smug as his metal hand traveled between your legs and found your clit. An even louder moan left your lips, back arching into him, air catching in your chest as he fucked you slow and deep.

With the feeling of his throbbing cock fucking you, his lips everywhere on your neck and shoulders and his cold finger rubbing your clit you knew you wouldn't last long. He probably could but...

"It's okay. Come for me." He whispered into your ear, his pace increasing, his grip tightening.

"Bucky. I'm so close." You moaned against his shoulder, "Please."

"Together then." It occurred to him that you might be self-conscious about coming too soon, "I feel good too. You're making me feel so good, your cunt feels so tight, so warm, I want to feel it come around my dick."

He kept murmuring into your ear until your body tensed with your orgasm, pussy clamping down on his cock. You cursed him silently or wearing the condom but you understood why. Still even as you clawed at his back and felt it tense you wished you could feel that gooey, white cum in your pussy.

Bucky kissed your neck while your bodies relaxed against each other, "I love you pretty girl. Good girl." He cooed against your cheek before moving back to your lips.

"I love you too Bucky." You whispered against his lips as your eyes grew heavy. A sigh left your lips when you felt him pull out, "Bucky." You whined from the lack of warmth but it was back quickly along with Bucky's lips on yours. Bucky let you get comfortable next to him, your head on his chest, your legs tangled together as you slowly drifted off to sleep.

[larajadeschmidt13]

🥹🥹🥹😭😭

SEBASTIAN STAN as FRANK Endings, Beginnings (2019) | dir. Drake Doremus

[larajadeschmidt13]

[larajadeschmidt13]

all to myself

CEO!BUCKY BARNES X READER

summary: after bucky finds out why you've been acting up ever since his company's party, he teaches you a lesson and remind you that you're the only one for him

warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut, f!reader, soft!mean!bucky, slight bratty!reader, jealousy on reader's side, possessiveness, teasing, begging, oral (f receiving), fingering, basically fighting then making up

wc: 1.9k

“Don’t leave when I’m talking to you.”

Bucky’s words should have sent shivers down your spine—should have made you stop dead in your tracks. But you were so angry that you just dismissed him and walked away.

He called out your name, in warning this time, and you chose to ignore him once again.

It only took him three steps to catch up to you. He grabbed one of your wrists and spun you around in seconds. 

“Did you not hear what I said? Don’t leave when I’m talking to you,” he fumed. 

“You’re not the boss of me,” you countered, trying to pull your arm from his grasp. But he was too strong.

“What’s up with you? You’ve been acting like this all night.”

Your boyfriend’s company had just hit the next milestone and of course, it was only appropriate to celebrate. But ever since the two of you left the party, you’ve been giving him the silent treatment.

You made sure you were always steps ahead of him when walking out the building. You ignored the farewells and even went as far as slamming the door to his three-million dollar Bugatti that he loves so much without even a second thought. You refused to look at him the whole ride home and when he tried to talk to you, you completely ignored him, focusing on the street lamps instead.

Once the two of you got back to his place, he started confronting you on your poor behaviour and all that other bullshit. As if he wasn’t the one to cause it. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. If you’re done, I’m going to go to bed. Goodnight,” you said bitterly, finally yanking your arm away. 

“Why are you being so fucking difficult?”

You scoffed. “Oh, I’m sorry for being difficult,” you said, voice laced with sarcasm. “Maybe you should go be with those ladies you were talking to the whole night. Maybe they aren’t so fucking difficult.”

He furrowed his eyebrows at you. “Is that what this is all about? You’re jealous I was talking to other girls?”

You bit down hard on your lip. “You were flirting with them!” 

“I was not flirting with them.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, because letting them touch and throw themselves at you is not flirting.”

Because while Bucky was enjoying himself, you were left to socialize with his stuck-up business partners and had to down your cocktails all by yourself. You got ignored by your own fucking boyfriend. To make matters worse, the two of you haven’t seen each other for a whole week because he was on a business trip. You even wore his favourite dress and did your hair and makeup all pretty for him but he didn’t even pay any attention to you. 

So excuse you for being emotional, but you think your anger is justifiable.

He sighed. “You’re overthinking it.”

“Whatever,” you muttered, “I’m going to bed.” 

“We’re not done here,” he demanded. 

“Mmm, I think we are.” 

He pulled you back, this time with so much force that you’re practically pressed up against his chest. 

“You were embarrassing me in front of all my friends, you know that?” 

You scoffed. “If that’s your only concern maybe we shouldn’t do this anymore,” you spat.

His eyes darken, “Say that again.”

You swallowed your breath and could feel yourself heating up at his words. And you didn’t know where all this bravery was coming from because a minute later, you said, “Break up with me then. Go find one of those girls from tonight and fuck them instead. I’m sure they won’t embarrass you.”

He tightened his grip when you tried to writhe out of his hold. 

“Stop fighting me,” he said. 

God—you were even more angry now. Because he’s so sexy when he’s boring his deep eyes into yours in that authoritative and dominating way of his. It was unfair. 

“You’re not leaving,” he continued, “you’re not stepping a foot outside this room unless I say so.”

That intense warmth building between your legs was getting worse and worse by the minute.

“What are you going to do to stop me?” you mocked, knowing it would irritate him to endless lengths. You lifted your hand towards your neck, where the diamond studded necklace Bucky gave you when he officially asked you to become his was delicately located.

His jaw ticked and you ripped the necklace off. 

Before you had a chance to think about what you’ve done, he grabbed you and smashed his lips against yours, knocking all the air out of your lungs.

You whimpered at the force but slowly, you melted into him as his hands made its way to cup your face.

He moaned into your mouth and for a second you forgot why you were angry in the first place.

Fuck Bucky Barnes and his plush lips.

“You’re such a brat, you know that?” He growled into your ear before pushing you against the wall and caging you in between him. Your knees almost buckled at the huskiness of his voice.

He trailed his hand down to your thighs before dipping it into your dress, hiking it up slightly. He smirked. “Look at you,” he taunted, “so wet.”

Your breath hitched as his finger made its way to your panties, rubbing gentle circles on the now damp fabric. He hooked his finger along its band and ripped the lace off—like how he ripped all your other ones. 

“B–Bucky!” you gasped as he cupped your mound, finger brushing your clit and teasing you at your entrance.

His lips latched onto your neck, sucking and biting the sensitive skin.

You leaned into him. “Bucky,” you whined while rocking against his hand.

“So needy,” he teased. 

“Bucky,” you desperately begged, “—please.”

“Please what, baby? Use your words.”

“Want… need to feel you,” you murmured.

“Mmm, I don’t think you deserve it,” he said. 

“Fuck—” you gasped as he pressed his palm harder against your sensitive sex. “Please, Bucky,” you begged, “I didn’t mean to be bratty. Just wanted all your attention, that's all.”

He hummed. “My girl that desperate for me?”

You nodded. “Y–yes,” you stammered. “Want you all to myself.”

At that, he plunged two of his fingers into your wet core. You gasped at the fullness—at how good it felt.

“Look at you,” he whispered, pumping his fingers in and out. “A mess for me. What happened to all that defiance? Hm?”

You couldn’t even say any snarky remarks back. The only noise coming out of your mouth were your pathetic whimpers and desperate pleas as Bucky fucked you knuckles deep.

“You want to come, sweetheart?” 

You nodded, gripping onto his shoulders. “I want to hear you say sorry.”

“I’m sor—ah!” you gasped when he curled his finger at that spot he knows so well. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for acting like that tonight.”

“And?”

“And for slamming the door to your car.”

“No, not that. I don’t care about the car.” 

His hand clasped around your neck, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“I’m sorry for ripping your necklace off. I’m so sorry,” you cried. You leaned into him, just below his ears. “I’m yours, Bucky. Only yours.” 

“Good girl,” he rasped. 

And at that, you come crashing down, an eutrophic wave washing over you. 

He held you as you collected yourself. “I’m sorry for embarrassing you tonight,” you murmured into his shoulder. “It’s just I really did miss you. I even wore that dress you liked so much. Put on your favourite shade of lipstick.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he said, stroking your hair. “You looked beautiful tonight.”

You burrowed yourself deeper into him. “Thought you got bored of me or something,” you mumbled more to yourself than him, but he managed to pick it up and he took it to heart.

“Don’t ever say that again,” he said angrily. He pulled you away and held your face. “I will never get bored of you. You’re the only one I want, you got it?” 

You pouted as if you didn’t quite believe him and if there was one thing Bucky couldn’t handle, it was those sad doe-eyes of yours underneath your pretty lashes. 

His mouth latched onto yours once again, deepening the kiss within seconds. He led you to the couch, never once breaking the kiss. 

You fell onto the black leather as he hovered above you. “What do you want me to do to prove it to you? You want me to kneel? Because I’ll go on my fucking knees for you,” he said, before lowering himself in front of you. And that was enough for you to come undone for the second time tonight.

He grabbed your legs, carefully stroking it before littering kisses all over your calves and thighs. You took a deep breath when he rolled up your dress again, exposing your stomach and cunt. Then he was in between your legs in seconds.

“Wait—” you panted. “Bucky,” you said, tugging onto his hair. “The windows.” 

The blinds to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of his New York City penthouse were still open.

“Fuck the windows. Let the world see. That’s what you wanted right? Me on my knees for you,” he said, licking a stripe up your folds. “Let everyone know you’re the only person I would go on my knees for.”

You clenched at his words which caused Bucky to chuckle, his hot breaths hitting your already overheated core. 

The flickering of his tongue combined with the sucking was too much. He was going down on you like a starved man and you pulled on his hair harder when his tongue hit that spot that made you see stars.

“Stop moving,” he grunted, gripping your legs even tighter. “You taste so damn sweet.”

You were trembling by now and he brought one of his hands to your chest to stabilize your body—grabbing and kneading the flesh while he was at it.

Everytime his nose rubbed at your clit, you could feel your orgasm come closer and closer. And when you finally release, Bucky made sure to clean you up with his tongue, not letting a single drop of you go to waste. When he came up, the scruff on his jaw was wet with your arousal. 

“Fuck,” you breathed out, trying to come down from both your high and at the sight of him.

“I love you,” he murmured. 

At that moment, you realized one thing. The entirety of New York might want a piece of him—the handsome self-made CEO whose eyes were enough to bring both women and men to their knees—but the only person he’ll ever go on his knees for was you. You’re the one he comes home to. He was yours. Completely, wholly, yours.

Before you got a chance to repeat those words back to him, he picked you up and threw you over his shoulders.

“Ah!” you squealed, “Bucky! What are you doing!”

He gave you a smack on the ass before carrying you towards the bedroom. “We’re not done here,” he said. “I’ll give you all the attention you want, baby. We have all night.”

[larajadeschmidt13]

Always Be Her Dad » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Mom/Girlfriend!Reader with daughter Riley

Summary: Bucky treats his girlfriend’s (the reader) daughter like his child.

Warnings: Fluff, language, nothing but cuteness, hugs and kisses, cuddling, nicknames for daughter (princess, sweetie), pet names for reader (doll)

Written on my phone so sorry if there’s any mistakes or typos.

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators.

DIVIDER IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to @firefly-graphics

You woke up to the feeling of someone climbing onto the bed and shaking you awake. You opened your eyes to see your 4 year old daughter Riley. You smiled and sat up. You pulled her onto your lap and gave her hugs and kisses.

“Good morning, my beautiful baby girl!” You say with a smile.

“Good morning, mommy!” Riley says loudly.

“Shh.” You put a finger against your lips. “We don’t want to wake up Bucky. He came home late last night. Let’s go downstairs so we don’t wake him up.” You whispered.

“No wake up Bucky.” She whispers back.

You got out of bed quietly and picked up Riley, carrying her downstairs to the kitchen.

“What do you want for breakfast?” You asked her.

“Cinnamon Rolls!” Riley says excitedly.

“Ok. Why don’t you go watch TV.” You say, putting her on the floor.

“Ok, mommy!” She says, running to the living room.

You smiled at her cuteness and made breakfast. A little bit later, you were finished making breakfast and called Riley into the kitchen.

“Riley, breakfast is ready!” You say.

“I go wake up Bucky for breakfast!” Riley says, going upstairs.

“Riley, no!” You say, following her.

By the time you got upstairs, Riley was in yours and Bucky’s bedroom, jumping up and down on the bed.

“It’s wakey time, Bucky!” Riley says.

Bucky wakes up and grabs Riley, giving her hugs and kisses making her giggle uncontrollably.

“Riley, let Bucky sleep.” You say.

“It’s ok, doll.” Bucky says.

You sat down on the bed next to Bucky and gave him a good morning kiss.

“Mommy made cinnamon rolls!” Riley says.

“Ooh, sounds good!” Bucky says.

“Let’s go, daddy!” She says, tugging on his metal arm.

You and Bucky went silent with shocked looks on your faces. This is the first time Riley has called Bucky daddy.

“Did you call me daddy?” Bucky asks, making sure he heard her right.

“Yes! You’re my daddy, right?” She asks.

“Umm… kinda, princess.” He says.

“Kinda?” She asks confused, tilting her head to the side.

“Riley, Bucky isn’t your real dad. You know this, sweetie.” You say softly, moving her hair from her face.

“Oh.” She says sadly, looking down.

Her bottom lip quivered as a couple tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Don’t cry, princess.” Bucky says, holding her close to him.

Bucky is the only father figure Riley knows. Riley’s biological dad left when he found out that you were pregnant and wanted nothing to do with her. Ever since you and Bucky started dating, he’s treated and loves her like his own child.

“Does that mean you don’t love me anymore?” She asks, looking up at him with teary eyes.

“Of course I love you, princess.” Bucky wipes her tears away. “Just because I’m not your real daddy, doesn’t mean that I don’t love you. I love you like you’re my own.” He says softly.

“S-So I can call you daddy?” Riley sniffles.

“Of course you can, princess.” He smiles.

Riley leaned forward, hugging him as tightly as she could. Bucky smiles, kissing the top of her head.

“I love you, daddy.” Riley says against Bucky’s chest.

“I love you too, princess.” He says with a smile.

“Can we eat cinnamon rolls now?” She asks.

“Yes! Let’s go!” He says excitedly.

Bucky got out of bed with Riley in his arms. You smiled and followed closely behind them to the kitchen. No matter what, Bucky will always be your baby girl’s dad.

-Bucky’s Doll