#(well. wandas um. Kind of cool. using that word liberally)

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Waxing Gone Wrong

AU Bucky Barnes x Reader Fic

Master List  |  Bucky Barnes Master List  |  Series Master List

Another in the pornstar!Bucky series. This is a mostly true story, something which happened to a friend of mine. I nearly wet myself when she told it to me, so I hope you all get the same enjoyment out of it as I did. As I have always said, anything you tell me can, and likely will be used in a fic at some point in the future.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader |  Word Count: 2161 Warnings: The painful truth about what some women go through when waxing. Language.

You didn't know what had ever possessed you to think you could get away with trying something of this magnitude. It had been a ridiculous thought, a horrible idea, and asking for trouble all wrapped up in one.

But the other girls did it, and Wanda and Natasha had sworn up and down it really wasn't that hard. Just spread on the wax, rub on the linen strip, pull the skin taught, and tear. Easy peasy, right?

Wrong.

And not a little wrong, but dead freaking wrong.

Now you were stuck, panicking, in pain, and at your wits end.

It had started out innocently enough. Bucky's birthday was coming, and you'd decided, after a casual yet somehow still embarrassing conversation with Wanda and Nat, one the bests gifts you could give your husband was a hair free nether region for his all-access pass. You'd never done it before, and while you kept everything tidied up down there, this was something you knew he'd enjoy. Nothing worse than hair in your mouth when you were going down on someone, something you'd never had to worry about as Bucky was usually quite waxed.

And hey, if the boys could do it, how hard could it be?

However, there was no way, not one iota in hell, were you going to subject yourself to the mortification to come with going to have your bits waxed, deciding instead to do it yourself.

That was your first mistake.

As Bucky was away for a few days, due to return on the big day, you'd decided it was the perfect time to give it the old college try.

The instructions seemed simple enough. Place tub in microwave, warm in short bursts, stirring after each burst of heat until wax was a smooth, honey-like consistency. Apply a liberal amount of wax to area to be epilated, apply linen strip rubbing firmly in the direction of hair growth, pull skin taut and remove the wax strip.

It all sounded so easy... in theory.

Needing to be close to the microwave as you were uncertain how quickly the tub of wax cooled, you'd hauled an old canvas camping stool, one with a low back, into the kitchen. Not knowing how messy it would be, you didn't want to get wax on your good kitchen chairs.

Wrapped in only a robe, alone in the house with the doors locked and window drapes pulled, you’d still blushed crimson even though you knew no one would ever see you.

Once everything was ready, the wax honey-ish, the strips of linen laid out with drill sergeant-like precision, sticks to apply the wax at the ready, and a garbage can for easy disposal of the dastardly unwanted hair, you'd dropped your robe on the kitchen island, and settled into the camp chair.

There was just one problem. How did you see to get wax on the naughty bits without slopping it everywhere?

After a little deliberating, and a touch of repositioning, you'd arrived at a very unladylike final state. Slouched and leaning back precariously on your old camp stool, you were doing a perverted form of Pilates ‘V’ sit with legs spread wide and both heels propped up, one on the kitchen counter the other on the island.

God save you, if anyone had seen you like that, you'd have died right then and there.

A rosy tomato red flush covering your body, you checked the wax, loaded the first stick, and gingerly applied it to your lady bits, leaving a wide swath right along your labia.

“Hot, hot, hot!”

Perhaps you'd gotten it too warm.

Hissing as the heat disappeared into a not necessarily unpleasant warmth, you reached for the linen strip, managed to clench your abs a second time, and got it applied to the sticky wax.

Rubbing firmly, you contorted back into a pretzel, sweat already collecting on your brow, pulled your skin tight, and ripped the strip off.

“Mother fucker!” you screamed, agony searing through you once innocent, happy, pain-free bits, now vowing revenge on you and cursing the first of your children to be bald so they would never know such pain.

Once you managed to stop howling, and the white had receded from your slowly clearing vision, you brought the accursed wax strip up, ready to claim victory on the forest of hairs you'd just plucked from your still throbbing center, only to see… nothing.

“What the hell?”

Not only was the strip void of hair, it was also void of wax.

That couldn't possibly be right! You'd followed the steps. Warm. Apply. Rub. Pull! It wasn't rocket science for heaven sake!

Pulling yourself upright, you glared down at your furry bush in fury. The wax which had been lovely and warm was now tacky but mostly solid.

Well… shit!

Glaring at the box on the counter, you swiftly reread the instructions. Maybe you'd used too much wax? Perhaps if you applied a slightly thinner coat. Besides, you needed to get both hair and wax off somehow. You couldn't have a half waxed beaver for Bucky's birthday.

Applying a slightly less thick coat of wax to the opposite side, you repeated step three, rubbing with a touch more vigour, making sure it was really stuck down this time. By the time you were done, you felt like you'd done a thousand sit-ups with how hard you been clenching your abs. Panting, nearly gasping for breath, deciding this for sure counted as your exercise for the day, you braced yourself, and ripped off the second strip with as much strength as you could muster.

This time the screaming amounted to high pitched, inventive swearing in which you and your vagina vowed to find and castrate whomever it was who thought waxing down there would be a good idea.

Once your vision returned to normal, you lifted your hand, filled with triumph for surely you'd succeeded. Nothing which hurt that much could be anything less.

The blank and empty linen strip mocked you with your failure.

“Son of a bitch!”

Angry, and not thinking clearly, wondering how the hell you were going to get the wax off, you dropped your feet to the floor where the sudden suck and seal had you realizing you'd just waxed your lips together.

A pitiful whimper left your lips when you contemplated giving up and call Bucky. He waxed, he'd know how to get the stuff off, but no. No, you were a big girl, and besides, the shit would never let you live it down.

Screwing up your courage and stomping on the growing panic - what happens if you have to pee and it's all sealed over? - you made a second painful discovery when you tried to stand and found yourself glued to the canvas stool.

The moan welling up in your throat came out a defeated whimper. Peeling yourself carefully from the seat, you grabbed your robe, the box the wax came in, and your phone, and headed for the bathroom.

Each pussyfooting step was a new level of hell as wax pulled against hair, turning your stride into a weird sliding shuffle. By the time you reached the bathroom, you'd decided castration was too good for the idiot who'd invented the torture device known as a Brazilian and had decided flaying them open or making them use their own godforsaken product was the best punishment for their crimes.

Running the tub as warm as you could stand, you slowly climbed in, hoping against hope it would melt the wax and allow you to escape this fiasco of an attempt to do something outside the box.

When you sank to the bottom of the tub though, the warming effect of the water had a completely opposite effect. The wax melted just enough to have you vacuum sealing your pussy to the porcelain.

Bursting into hysterical laughter, it was either that or tears, you groped for your phone and called Wanda. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and you sure as shit weren't calling Bucky about this now. This was going with you to the grave.

When the phone continued to ring, you hung up and called Nat only to have the same problem. Neither woman was answering. In a move born of panic, you dialled a third.

“Hey, dollface-”

“I waxed myself together! What do I do?”

Silence, then Steve murmured, “You want to elaborate on that for me, doll face?”

The tears finally tipped over. “I wanted to surprise Bucky for his birthday, and Wanda and Nat said it wasn't that hard, so I tried to self-wax my… um… you know, and I followed the instructions, but then the wax didn't come off, and oh my god does that hurt, so I tried it again but it still didn't work, and when I put my legs down… everything sealed together, and now I'm stuck to the bathtub!” you wailed, crying in earnest.

“Hey, hey, hey! C’mon, darlin'. It's not that bad.”

“Yes,” you hiccupped, “it is!”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Steve crooned, trying to calm you down, “we can fix this.”

“We can?” you sniffled, wiping your eyes.

“Sure we can.”

Ten minutes later after the most embarrassing conversation you'd ever had, you found out the packet of lotion inside the box was wax remover. Steve walked you through the least painful way of getting the wax off, and you'd sworn him to absolute, utter secrecy for the remainder of his natural life, or you promised to kick Captain Assmerica’s butt.

You were reasonably certain once he hung up, he'd go laugh hysterically for three or four days.

It was just as you were going to make a cup of tea to calm your nerves that the doorbell rang.

Swinging it open, you flushed instantly crimson. “Steve? What-”

“Get your coat, (Y/N).” Leaning against the door frame, he smirked a shit eating grin.

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

Frowning, trying not to die of embarrassment and kind of wishing a crater would open to swallow you up, you got your coat and purse, stuffed your feet in some shoes, and followed him to his car.

“Hey,” he said softly, lifting your chin so you could see his kind blue eyes. “Shit happens, doll face. I'm glad you called me, trusted me with something like this. It means a lot.”

Blushing for a whole new reason you nodded. “I did try Wanda and Nat first.”

“Ouch!” he gasped, grabbing for his chest. “Way to knock a guy down a peg! Two! Two pegs!”

Laughing at his antics, you hugged him around the waist. “Thanks, Steve. I know I can count on you.”

He placed a kiss on the top of your head as he hugged back. “Any time, doll. For anything. Now, c’mon. Get in the car.”

Once you were both inside and underway, you continued to stare at the side of his face. “Well?”

“Well what?” he smirked.

“Well, where are we going, Steven?”

“Ooh, that's an annoyed schoolmarm voice if I've ever heard one.”

Smacking his arm, you glared at him. “Why won't you tell me?”

“Surprise,” he quipped, weaving through traffic.

With a roll of eyes, you turned to pout. “Big bully.”

“I thought you liked surprises?”

“Have you met me?” you asked.

“Yeah, a couple of times.”

You smacked him again.

“Ow! Hey! No fisticuffs with the driver!”

Snorting out a laugh you shook your head. “I swear there's times I think you and Buck were born in the wrong era.”

Steve only grinned and shrugged as he pulled into a strip mall and parked. “Out.”

Getting from the vehicle, you eyed him suspiciously. “Steven.”

“There's that schoolmarm again.”

“Steven Grant Rogers!” you barked as he collected your elbow and half walked half dragged you toward the spa.

“Hey! You want to surprise Bucky or not?”

Teeth clicking shut, you went back to pouting. “Yes.”

“Then you have the professionals do it for you.” Leaning closer, he murmured against your ear, “I'd never let an amateur stand in for my scenes at work.”

“Pervert,” you grumbled, ignoring his laughing eyes.

“They had space, it's all taken care of, and I'll wait for you right here.” He pointed at the comfy looking chairs just inside the door.

“Fine!” huffing, you followed the woman smiling at you. “And, Steve?”

“Yeah, doll face?”

“Thanks.”

“Is that a big enough thanks to say I went in on his gift?”

“Get your own gift, you cheapskate!”

His laughter followed you down the hall.

-The End-