#allcapsbingo2023

[rookthorne]

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞

An unplanned emergency while out with Bucky for the day left you between a posturing alpha who bared his teeth — a flash of a warning to any bypasser that dared venture too close — and the experience of your first heat with the mafia boss. 

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ♕ Alpha!Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Omega!F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ♕ 2.0k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ♕ Fluff, omegaverse, unspecified age gap ჻჻჻ SMUT: Car sex, public sex, gunplay, clitplay, thigh riding ჻჻჻ KINKS: Praise, degradation, daddy, alpha

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 ♕ Well, let it be known that when I try something new, I never half-ass it. My first ever omegaverse fic, and my first gunplay. ♕ I have to yell and preach to the rooftops just how helpful @smutconnoisseur and Amber were on helping me with the lore and dynamics of this, thank you both so much. ♕ Welcome to Alpha and Bunny.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒔 ♕ Quick Musical Doodles (Slowed) by JK Beats ♕ 7 rings by Ariana Grande

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒂 ♕ @sgt-seabass

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 ♕ @allcapsbingo 𝗚𝟯 — Older Alpha / Younger Omega — Masterlist ♕ @mcukinkbingo 𝗢𝟱 — Age Difference — Masterlist

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

It was a rare occurrence – a day out with your alpha, especially due to his extensively booked itinerary. Nonetheless, you were giddy with excitement as you walked next to him, holding his hand and swinging it in uncontainable glee; black ink contrasted like a shadow over the blank canvas of your own hand, untouched. 

Just how he liked it. 

“Where are you taking me today, honey?” Bucky asked, and the genuine interest in his tone made your heart soar. 

You hummed and skipped a little, and he looked at you, a fond smile teasing the corner of his lips. “I think–I think we’ll go…” Listing off the many shops you had planned on visiting, each one made Bucky’s smile grow wider. 

“You sure know what you want, Bunny, huh?” His tone was teasing, and you nodded. “Good girl.”

The stores passed in a blur – each more expensive than the last, but Bucky encouraged you, swiping his card only after he made sure you had got all of what you wanted. It had taken a long while to get used to the lifestyle, spending so frivolously after working back to back shifts just to make ends meet was a huge adjustment. 

You never thought you would have fallen for an older alpha, but Bucky had been a surprise, as you were to him. 

Bucky only took it in his stride. You were envious of his ability to adapt, but he never led you astray, not since you had found one another. His sense of control and dominance evident in his hardened stare and aged wisdom. 

As you ventured from store to store, holding Bucky’s hand and allowing your wrists to brush against each other, you noticed that passersby kept sending you furtive glances or cleared from your path, and it made you anxious. You thought back to that morning as you got ready – Bucky was at his dresser, putting on his watch and rings, when you felt feverish, a small surge of heat that prickled over your skin. 

Something didn’t feel right – not now, as you walked next to Bucky, and stepped closer to him.

“Bunny?” Bucky asked quietly, his hand releasing yours so he could place it on the small of your back. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

You blinked. “I- Um, nothing. Nothing’s wrong.” Liar, your instincts screamed. Bucky only looked at you through his sunglasses, face void of expression. “Nothing is wrong, I promise.”

“Okay,” Bucky said slowly, and he guided you into the next store, his hand still on your back and presence looming. He was standing much closer as you browsed the shelves, and you glanced over your shoulder to ask him something when his nostrils flared. 

“What do you think of this–?” You held up the necklace that had caught your attention – the diamonds glittering in the bright lights overhead. Sweat started to bead over the back of your neck and you made a point to ask Bucky to stop for ice cream, or something cool after you left this boutique. 

Bucky smiled tensely, his nostrils still flared. “It’s beautiful, baby–just what my ‘mega needs, yeah?” 

The words, innocent and innocuous in their delivery, made you freeze. You blinked owlishly, unable to move as another surge of that feverish heat flooded you. 

He reached over and gently plucked it from your hands. There wasn’t a concerned glint in his eyes, rather, they had dilated and left a slim ring of blue where there would have been an ocean. “Let’s move on, Bunny, c’mon.”

“But–”

“Enough,” Bucky growled, the sound low in his throat. You whimpered and Bucky grabbed your hand, kissing your palm. “You feeling okay, baby?”

It was like he knew, but he was choosing to coax it out of you rather than demand it. The dynamic of an alpha and omega was certainly new to you – you had no idea whether he could sense the feverish prickle over your skin, or the way the boutique had suddenly turned into a sauna. 

“I- I don’t know,” you whispered. Bucky’s nostrils flared again. “Why do you keep scent-”

“We need to go.” The command was sudden and fierce, the growl of it low in your gut and you found yourself stepping closer to his body. His arms wrapped around you, and you realised he seemed to grow bigger, more brooding and volatile in his scent. 

The scent was strongest at his neck and you nuzzled closer, when it hit you. A blinding fever, scorching in its intensity, settled over you like a blanket and you whined. 

“Move.” Bucky pulled you along, leaving the necklace long abandoned as he stalked to the door. A clerk came rushing over and Bucky growled low in his throat, the sound made you tilt your head back to expose your throat, but he grasped the back of your neck and forced your head back down. “Easy, Bunny,” he murmured as the clerk neared. 

“Sir, is everything-” 

“Yes, thank you,” Bucky snapped, his hands still all over you as he forced you out of the store and into the street. Much quieter, he whispered to you softly, “Alpha’s here, Bunny, it’s alright.”

The people scattered away from the two of you and stared as you panted and whined quietly, still clinging to Bucky’s chest while he walked you to a car that’s tires squealed as it pulled up to the curb. “Get in,” Bucky ordered just as the back door swung open automatically. When had he called for it–?

You clumsily slipped onto the back seat, blissfully ignorant of the way Bucky growled and snapped at the remaining spectators while he threw your bags into the trunk, before he followed behind you. The door slammed with the force he exerted. “Back home. Now,” he barked, and the car peeled away – you couldn’t even see who the driver was. 

“Alpha,” you rasped, your hips twitched as you tried to sit still and stop squirming. “What–? I need-”

“Daddy knows, Bunny–breathe for me,” Bucky soothed, and you took a deep breath. “That’s it, good girl; doin’ so good for alpha. There’s a good girl.” You whined breathlessly and watched as Bucky shifted slightly, his back flush with the seat. “C’mere, pup. Come sit in daddy’s lap.”

You scrambled from beside Bucky to sit in his lap, your thighs on the outside of his – pressed slacks and tidiness forgotten as you mindlessly rubbed your clothed heat over them. Instinct was screaming at you to go faster, to beg for something, but you didn’t understand. “What’s happening?” you managed to gasp around a hiccuped sob.

“Oh, baby girl,” Bucky cooed. His right hand went to your hip to coax your rhythm, and his left rested over the back of your neck, almost cupping it. “You’re goin’ into heat, sweetheart. You’ve not had one with me yet, remember? Think for me, go on.”

Sifting through memories whilst amongst the desperation for something you didn’t understand wasn’t something you could do, and you whimpered, pawing and grabbing at his shoulders before forcing your head close to his neck; gulping at the air like a starved woman for his scent of woodsmoke, whiskey, and leather. 

Bucky’s hand tightened on the back of your neck and you exhaled, the pressure seeming to alleviate all control you had over your limbs. “Answer me, Bunny–think for me. Think for daddy, I know it’s hard.”

“Dun’ know, alpha,” you whispered, fisting his shirt in your hands. “It hurts, please-”

“What hurts, honey?” Bucky asked, the hand on your hip squeezing. “Tell alpha, baby.”

You gulped and rubbed your clothed cunt over his slacks faster and harder, desperate for friction. To your shock, his thighs felt wet and you pulled back to glance down, only to find the seat and thighs of his slacks soaked with- “That’s all you, Bunny. You that wet for daddy, huh? That pussy aching to be filled?”

“Oh, fuck,” you breathed, and you moved your hips faster. “Alpha, please, I don’t know-”

“That’s alright, pup.” Bucky pulled you closer by the back of your neck, his lips dancing over the skin of your neck before he breathed heavily into your ear. “Get off on daddy’s thighs like a whore, then you can think–so fuckin’ desperate and it’s gorgeous, pet.”

Fire burned through your veins and you sobbed, chasing a high you’d never felt before. It was true, this was your first heat with an alpha, and while you had experienced a heat on your own, it was incomparable to the pleasure and pain of what was happening now. 

“So fuckin’ pretty, ‘mega, using me. Go faster, you can take it, honey,” Bucky purred, both hands on your hips now. His grip was tight and unrelenting in its pace as he helped you grind over his lap. “I want you to make a mess, pup.”

Your hands slipped from his shoulders to his chest, and your fingers brushed over the straps of his concealed shoulder holsters – a thrum of danger joined the throbbing in your cunt at the implication of those handguns used otherwise. “Daddy…” 

“You want me to fuck you with my gun, Bunny? That it?” Bucky prompted, a wolfish smirk showing his canines. “Force it into your pretty pussy like it’s my cock–make you take it?”

“Please!” Your hips moved faster as your climax began to crest, the pleasure blinding. 

“Oh, I will, pet. Daddy will make you take more than you can handle, that pretty pussy will be begging for more,” he promised, and you whimpered. “Now, alpha needs you to cum. Do you think you can do that, pup? Make daddy proud?”

Words failed you and you nodded fervently, desperate for the release. Suddenly, Bucky’s right hand left your hip and pulled out one of his twin handguns. “I think you can make alpha proud, Bunny.” 

The muzzle of the gun travelled from your collarbone down your chest, between your breasts. “This turns you on, doesn't it? Daddy usin’ his guns on you.” He clicked his tongue when you moaned. “You like the danger, pretty whore." He forced it through the waistband of your panties and the cold metal of the sights brushed against your slick lips. 

“Daddy, daddy, please–wanna cum,” you moaned, the last syllable ending with a whine. 

“I will make you cum, Bunny, don’t you worry ‘bout that. And you know what’ll happen when we get home?” The words startled you; you forgot you were in a moving vehicle, Bucky’s gun between your legs. “You’re gonna present for your alpha, and I’m gonna fuck and knot you. Would you like that?”

“Yesyesyes,” you chanted, shuddering. “‘M close!”

“So pretty, so sweet,” he mused, his hand squeezing the back of your neck with a hum. The grip sent you lax and you slumped a little in his hold. “This is only a taste for what I’m gonna do to you, shlyukha.” The gun pressed hard into your clit, and you shivered. “Cum for me, Bunny. Soak daddy.” 

Your back arched and you howled to the roof of the car, shaking violently through the waves of release that pulled you under. Through the dull roar of blood in your ears, you could hear Bucky’s soothing praises. 

“There’s a good lil’ ‘mega for me, good fuckin’ girl,” he whispered, tucking your face into his neck where his scent was even stronger than before. “So good for me, takin’ it so well, baby.”

Whining pitifully, you squirmed closer, your chest flush with his as you heaved for breath. “Alpha, alpha,” you murmured.

“I know, pup. I know, you did so good f’me,” he praised, his hand tight on your neck again. “When we get home, alpha’ll take care a’you, alright? Love on you–got everythin’ ready for this moment, sweetheart.”

You nodded weakly and squirmed in his lap again, wanting to become one with your alpha. “Wan’ more,” you tried, but Bucky hushed you. 

“You’ll get more, pup,” he promised as the car took a sharp turn. “We’re almost there, then daddy’ll give you his knot, yeah? You want that?”

“Mhm,” you hummed. “Wan’ that, alpha.” The heat haze settled heavily over you – it was like you had too much to drink and all of your thoughts were muddled and slow, centred on one thing, and one thing only: getting your alpha’s knot. “Alpha- Daddy, did I do good?” you slurred, burrowing closer.

“You were such a good girl for me, such a good pet,” Bucky whispered, and he kissed your sweaty temple. 

The affection made you purr quietly, and Bucky growled lowly in response, the deep rumble a soothing balm to the ache that had started between your thighs again. Not long now, you managed to think as you scented the air, the heavy scent of slick and sweat made your mouth water. 

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

[holylulusworld]

Windfall

Summary: You are the last unmarried lady. A spinster.

Pairing: Royal!Stucky x Royal!Reader

Warnings: 30+ reader, modern royal au, old fashioned society when it comes to the age of unmarried women (kinda), polyamorous, throuple marriages are allowed in this world, mentions of rejection, the reader is a loner, bitchy ladies, established mlm relationship,

Square filled for @allcapsbingo: B5: Loneliness

Words: 940+

The ladies sneer when you pass them by. You don’t spare them a glance, aware that they do not like you.

People always fear what they do not understand. Like a woman who wants more in life than being her husband's arm candy.

“I don’t know why she holds her head high like that. She’s the last unmarried daughter. Even her younger sibling and almost every cousin are engaged to a gentleman. The last one will be married soon and the poor soul not getting the chance to marry one of the younger ones will settle for the windfall.”

The other women giggle at Lady Dorothy’s words. “You’re right. No one wants the old spinster. A man wants a young woman, a beautiful innocent blossom. Not a withering rose.”

You don’t take their words to heart. They are not wrong. All the gentlemen roaming your parents' house only came for your sister or the cousins your father took in after their parents passed away.

“Lady Y/N,” you sigh when Lady Sharon makes her way toward you. At least she’s kind enough to talk to you in public. “There you are!”

“My dear,” Lord Loki, Sharon’s husband greets you. He bows and presses a chaste kiss to your hand. He’s one of the few men seeing you as more than an old spinster. Loki appreciates your wit. “How have you been?”

“Fine, Lord Loki,” you reply. Unlike the other ladies in the room, you look him straight in the eyes. You’re not the kind of woman cowering in front of a man only because he has a cock between his legs. “I hope you are well too.”

“Very well,” he smiles at his wife. “My brother finally got engaged.”

“Again,” Sharon adds. “He’s a little fickle when it comes to courting for a woman. He should grow up and settle for one lady.”

“I understand him well,” you nod thoughtfully. “It isn’t easy to find the person you want to spend the rest of your life with. You should choose with your heart and mind.”

You barely escaped the nagging ladies and their gossip. Now you are hiding at the library to read another book. Loki and Sharon wouldn’t mind. They invited you to use their library when you are around and read as many books as you want to.

Nose burying in another book you don’t recognize someone sneaking inside the library.

“Stevie, you look so good today.” Your eyes flit up when you hear voices behind one of the shelves. “I can’t wait to put my hands on you.”

“Buck, we can’t. Not here.”

Frowning you listen closely. There is commotion behind the shelf, and you are sure, the men are up to no good.

You close the book and get up to find out what’s going on. If someone tries to steal Loki’s books, you will stop them at all costs.

Silently sneaking toward the shelf, you practice your speech in your mind. You’re not shy, but two men can be intimidating. Especially when they try to commit a crime.

You round the shelf, stopping in your tracks as you face the men. Your breath hitches in your throat because the men do not try to steal Loki’s books. No. They are kissing each other passionately.

You recognize the men. James Buchanan Barnes and Steven Grant Rogers. You heard rumors about them being in a relationship but never talked to them before.

You swallow thickly. What can you do? Say something? Tell them to not do such a thing at Loki’s library.

The only thing you can do is turn back around and walk toward the armchair to read your book. If you leave the library now, they will know you saw them. If you say something, they will get mad.

So, you sit back down, open your book, and start reading. You can still hear them kiss and moan but try to blend the noises they make out. It’s inappropriate to listen to their lovemaking. Not to mention sinful and forbidden.

You close your eyes and bite your lower lip. Their moans go straight to your lower half, the sacred garden you only touch at night, hidden in your bedroom.

“Aw, Bucky. Look at that pretty angel touching herself for us. Do you think we should help her out?”

Your eyes snap open as you feel eyes on you. You didn’t realize that the book slipped from your fingers and that you bunched up your skirt to slip your hand into your panties.

“I-no. I didn’t,” you lick your dry lips. “I wouldn’t… no. This is a misunderstanding.” You furiously shake your head.

The men watch your move your fingers, smirking as you cannot stop yourself from touching your clit.

“Doll, you are rubbing your sweet pearl for us, huh?” Bucky’s eyes are glued to your spread legs. “Tell me, did you like watching Stevie and me?”

You nod.

“Did it make your petals all wet?” Steve husks. “Did you touch yourself because you wanted us to touch you?”

You nod again.

“Stevie,” Bucky whispers lowly. “Do you know who she is? The angel no one dared to marry. It’s said that she’s a fiery little thing. Untamable and mouthy.”

“I’m not!” You grunt. “How dare you say such a thing!”

“Fiery and naughty, my beloved,” Steve cups his lover’s face to kiss him deeply. He moans into Bucky’s mouth, making you gasp loudly. “I guess she needs two strong pairs of hands to tame her.”

“Indeed,” Bucky smirks. “I bet her father will be so happy when she gets married to not one but two Lords making her an honest woman…”

Tags in reblog.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Jilted" - part 2

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Tags: boyfriend's dad au, left at the altar, father-in-law, hurt/comfort, forbidden attraction, silver fox Steve, age gap, size kink, strength kink, Dom/sub elements, daddy kink, fingering, oral sex, grinding, sex, dirty talk, cheating

Summary: You may be a jilted bride, but you don't feel like one for long when Steve soothes the hurt in unexpected ways.

Part 2 - "Taken to Bed by a Man" (Wait! I haven't read part 1 yet!)

Only hours ago, you were walking to the altar to marry a boy, and now you’re being taken to bed by a man—that very boy’s father. The reality of it becomes very clear as Steve walks into his bedroom with you in his arms and sets you down. Your toes dig into the room’s soft carpet.

“Turn around,” he whispers.

You obey, shivering as he steps in close behind. You can hear his breathing, can practically feel his desire for you. Somehow, he seems more tangible than he ever has before. More real, more solid, and you’re painfully aware of how close he is. “S-steve,” you breathe. “I—”

“You are so beautiful,” he murmurs, cutting you off. “I’m sorry I never told you. A woman like you should hear it every day.”

You want to say something, tell him that this is wrong, you can’t do this. He’s … he’s Pat’s father, decades older than you. He’s Captain America, for Christssakes. You shouldn’t want him the way you do. And now he’s got you doubting everything, every interaction you’ve ever had with him, every lingering glance, every brief touch, every polite word. From that very first time Pat brought you home to meet his father, the famed “man out of time.”

Steve doesn’t age normally, that much is obvious. You know about the serum, know that he was in his late twenties when they defrosted him back in the ‘nineties. And thirty years later, he doesn’t look as old as he should. His body and face are still those of a forty year old, betrayed only by the edges of his eyes, by the grey creeping into his hair and beard. He’s a total daddy, a thought that you’ve been shamefully repressing for the past two years. You’ve been so embarrassed by it, thought you were being such a creep, thinking about Pat’s father that way. Has Steve really been looking at you too all this time? You open your mouth to say something, offer some protest or reason why you can’t—

“Ask me to take your dress off.”

Your whole body clenches at how deep his voice is, how close he’s speaking to your ear. You tremble, able to feel the heat of his body behind you. “Steve, I …”

“Ask me,” he whispers, fingers skimming over your neck and shoulders. “Come on, Honey. Ask me. I promise I’ll only make you do it once.”

God. You manage to choke out an overwhelmed, “Please,” and thankfully it seems to be enough for him. His fingers find the laces of your dress and begin to delicately undo them. He goes slowly, almost like he’s relishing the act of removing your wedding gown. He peels off the dress that his son was meant to remove from your body that night, the fabric falling to the floor in a quiet ‘whoosh’, and his hands landing on your waist.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, sounding amazed. You whimper and try to move away, skittish, but he stops you, pulling you back firmly against his body with a tut. “You’re okay,” he soothes, arms wrapping around you to hold you close and calm you down. “Shhh. I got you.”

“S-steve,” you breathe, overwhelmed by how wrong this is, how turned on you are when he touches you. “We can’t, I shouldn’t.”

“Why shouldn’t you?” his hot breath fans out against your ear, then he starts kissing your neck and his hands slide covetously over your body. “Wanted you for so long, Sweetheart. Wanted to give you what you were aching for.” You whimper and try to pull away, but his hand slides over your tummy and pulls you back. “It’s okay. I’ve known. You think I didn’t know? Think I didn’t see you looking at me?”

“I – I didn’t …”

“Shh. There’s a girl. Let me touch you.” He’s so effortlessly strong and it feels so good to be held still by him. He rubs your belly and his other hand slides up your ribcage. “So beautiful.” He cups your breast, fingers dipping under the cup of your bra. “God, Honey. Look at you.”

You look down and exhale shakily, your cunt pulsing at the sight of his huge hand against your skin and the delicate lace of your bridal underwear. “Steve,” you breathe, shaking from nerves and arousal. “I want …”

“What do you want?” he whispers, lips trailing over your neck. He places a kiss on your pulse point, feels how fast your heart is beating. “Want me to take control?” he offers softly, almost kindly, like he can sense how overwhelmed you are. “I can do that, Sweetheart. Make it easy for you, make all the decisions. Is that what you want, hm? Want me to lay you out on this bed and do all the work?”

It’s pathetic, how fast you whine and nod, wanting that so badly. “Yes,” you say, grabbing at his hands where they’re feeling you up. “Please, Steve. Yes.”

He chuckles, low and with just a touch of condescension, the sound going straight to your core. You squeeze your thighs together to try and get some relief, but it doesn’t do any good. “Come on, then,” Steve says, moving you with capable hands. He guides you over and pushes on your shoulders until he’s got you sitting on the edge of the bed. You’re left staring at him, standing there in front of you in his tux, looking obscenely handsome, confident, and—oh …

His cock isn’t even fully hard yet, and it’s still a healthy bulge at the front of his slacks. You feel your cheeks heat as you can’t help but stare at it. It is right there, after all. You flush all the harder when he notices you looking and chuckles at you. One of those enormous hands brushes up against the front of his pants, and you nearly moan at the sight of him touching himself.

“Don’t worry, Sweetheart,” he purrs. “You’ll get it. But first …” he sinks down to kneel in front of you, reaching for the straps of your bra. You tense when he starts to pull them off your shoulders, moving to reach behind yourself and unhook the bra, but he hushes you and stills your hands. “Shh, no. Let me do it, Honey. I want to do it.” He gets your bra off and tosses it aside, groaning as he kneels in front of you and looks his fill. “God, you got no idea,” he murmurs, sounding distracted by what he’s seeing. “No idea how long I’ve been wanting this.” His hands make an abortive move, as if he doesn’t know where or how to touch you first. “Shit, lookit you.”

“How long?” you ask on impulse, surprising even yourself. His eyes shoot up to your face, and you swallow heavily under his stare. “H-how long, have you wanted to?” you breathe.

He smiles, then his eyes trail back down and he sighs happily. He reaches out and just sort of … pets the tips of your breasts, brow pinching with want as he watches your nipples harden into firm peaks. “Jesus.” He shakes his head, like he can’t believe he’s getting to touch you. “Oh, Doll ... Since I met you.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” he says distractedly, big hands cupping your tits, making them look small and delicate against his rough palms. You’ve never noticed how masculine his hands are …

“S-since—”

“Since the first time you came in my house looking like you do, yes,” he growls, giving your breasts a squeeze. “Shit.”

His soft cursing makes you flush, feeling warm and exposed and needy and seen. “Steve,” you say, voice warbling with audible worry. You wait until his blue eyes come up to meet yours—God, are his eyes ever blue. You swallow heavily.

“What is it, Sweetheart?”

You chew your lip. “If we do this …” you fret, thinking about the wedding, about Patrick, about how fucked up this is going to make your life.

Steve’s hands smooth over your thighs. “Do you really want him back?” he asks you—knowingly. He meets your gaze without doubt, shaking his head the barest bit. “No going back,” he murmurs. You whimper, and he hushes you. “I know, Honey, I know it’s scary. But you can trust me.”

Delicately, he reaches for the clips of your garters and begins undoing them, one at a time. You’re stuck watching, helpless, as he looks you in the eye and gently eases your stockings down your legs. They’re the real deal: silk, seamed, non-elastic, and a strange feeling rolls through you as you watch Steve’s fingers move over them deftly and you realize that he likely knows what he’s doing because these were the sort that girls wore back in his day.

“Don’t worry, Angel.” He kisses the inside of a knee. “This isn’t just for tonight. I have every intention of keeping you.” His eyes flash upwards again, and you feel heat course through you at his face being right there between your legs … And at his words. He sees your face pinch with doubt and he nods. “Yeah. I told you you’re mine, now. I don’t say things like that unless I mean ‘em.”

“But …” you falter, not sure what you’re even planning to say. But I’m supposed to be engaged to your son. But I’m supposed to be married to him. But people will know, people will—

He slides his hands over your hips and starts edging your panties down, maintaining that all-consuming eye contact as he does it. “But what?” he purrs. “You worried about what people will say?”

You shake your head in denial, but the truth is that you are. Buzzfeed and CNN had been at that cathedral, goddamnit, and there’ll be articles tomorrow about what happened. What on earth will the headlines say when word gets out that you’ve traded in Captain America’s son for the Captain himself?

“You worry too much,” Steve says, easing your panties down your legs and guiding you to let them slip from your feet. He lifts your calf and kisses the inside of your ankle, smirking. “I’m Captain America, Everybody loves me. And I’m allowed to have nice things.” His gaze slides down to the vee of your legs, and you watch as his eyes rapidly darken to something greedy and ravenous. He makes a gruff sound in his throat, utterly possessive, and the next thing you know he’s shoving your knees further apart and forcing his way in, arms hooking underneath your thighs and wrapping around to hold onto you.

You squeak as his broad shoulders push your legs apart and you tip backwards. You catch yourself on your hands and prop yourself back up in time to watch the inaugural press of his mouth against your sex. And oh, it feels almost as good as it looks. You inhale sharply and your hips jump up of their own volition. He’s only pressed a chaste kiss against you, right up high on your mound, but the sight of Steve Rogers’ face between your legs, his head of silver-blond hair and his dark lashes resting against his cheeks as he noses against your most intimate place … it’s enough to have you clenching hard on nothing, slicking up so much that you can feel it getting messy and wet.

You whimper in arousal and impulsively reach with one of your hands to try and hold his head. “Jesus, Steve,” you whisper, turned on beyond belief. It only gets worse when he looks up at you again. You exhale shakily, belly heaving at the way his eyes scald you in their intensity.

“Tell me,” he rasps. “Tell me what you want me to do with my mouth.”

Jesus fucking Christ, that’s not fair. You whine and pant down at him. “Nnn, Steve …” You can’t. You can’t.

“Come on, Sweetheart,” he coaxes, voice like sin. “I know what I promised. And I meant it. I’ll take control. I’ll make it easy for you, and so goddamn good you won’t remember your name.” He turns his face and kisses the crease of your thigh, so close to where you want it. “But I want to hear you say it, first. Please. Just do that for me, Babydoll, and then I’ll make you feel so good.”

You swallow thickly, turned on beyond belief and knowing that if you want him, you’re going to have to put your big girl panties on and do this one thing for him. So, despite the fact that most of your brain cells have liquified and run out through your ears at this point—and despite the fact that you are not one for dirty talking in the bedroom—you look him right in the eyes and croak out a breathless, “Kiss my pussy, Steve. Put your mouth on me and lick it, suck—ogn …” You cut off in a moan when he seals his mouth right over your clit and sucks hard. “Oh my god.”

“Mmhm,” he groans. He sucks your folds into his mouth and flattens his tongue, rubbing it firmly against your clit and working methodically at it until it’s puffy and swollen. “Mmm. Mmph.” His sounds of enjoyment only make it filthier, and you can’t hold back your own choked off little moans and gasps at the eager way his arms grab onto you and haul you in for more, the way he purposefully grinds his face against you and uses his nose to give you more pressure from above your clit.

You wind up sobbing and tossing your head back as you feel yourself gush, and for a long moment you don’t even realize how much you're humping his face, rubbing yourself off against him, trying to get more of that sucking mouth and that lashing, sinful tongue. “Oh, shit. Holy shit …”

You should be mortified by your own desperation, by the sounds you’re making. Maybe you would be, but for the way that Steve responds to it. He growls and jerks you in harder against him, grinding his face into your cunt, sucking and slurping and then hurriedly freeing up one hand to push his fingers into you.

You cry out sharply as he tries to start with two but quickly halts when he can tell that it’s too much. He softens and slows down, kissing your clit in gentle apology, slipping one finger inside your drenched pussy instead. “There we go,” he hums in response to the pleasured sigh you give and looks up at you while he works his finger gently. “That feel good, Sugar?”

You’re gonna die from the fucking pet names, and that is perfectly okay. You nod dumbly down at him, eyes glued to his gaze once again as he fingers you. “Y-yeah,” you say shakily. “Steve …”

He kisses the hood of your clit and drags his lips over it. “Has it been awhile?” he asks, with all the tender concern of a lover who wants to please.

It makes your belly swirl just as hard as his mouth on you had, and you whimper and nod, working your hips down a little against his finger. “I h-haven’t,” you stutter, “Nn … not, oh, not in a while.” You don’t elaborate, and you sure as shit aren't going to admit it now, but the truth is you’ve been avoiding sex with Patrick the closer the big day got; telling yourself that it was to make the wedding night more special, when in reality you suspect it was something else entirely. You whimper and shake your head shyly, and Steve seems to understand that you don’t want to talk about it.

“Shh,” he soothes, kissing your thigh again as he keeps working his hand against you so gently. “That’s okay. We’ll take it slow. We’re not in any rush, ain’t that right?”

You can only whimper and nod, and he coos and smiles at you and how you’ve gone nonverbal already. “Yeah,” he purrs, smiling. “Don’t even worry about it, Babygirl. Daddy’s gonna treat this pussy right. Gonna make you feel so nice, get you real good and relaxed, teach you things you didn’t even know you could do.”

You cry out at how excruciatingly intimate those words are, at the way he kisses your hyper-sensitized clit and changes the angle of his hand, finger dragging up against your walls slower and more purposefully and firm. Your eyes clamp shut and you toss your head back with a pitiful keen. “St-eve, oh, please, please …”

“Mmhm.” He keeps going, still gentle but picking up on what you like, figuring out what makes you get louder and squirm harder. He fucks you on his hand and nurses at your clit in a constant, pulsing rhythm—steady, steady—reading your body’s cues and committing himself to the task, breaking away every once and awhile just to murmur little things against your cunt:

“That’s it, Sweetheart, just like that. Such a good girl. Keep going baby, yes. Let it come, let it happen for me.”

When you get close he stops talking, sealing his mouth to your pleasure and humming his praise straight into your skin instead. And it’s so good, building and building, and he’s doing it just right, holy fuck …

You fall to your back on the bed, Steve following right after you as it makes your pelvis tilt up, never breaking contact, never faltering as your hands scrabble and claw at his hair and your cries get louder and sharper. He holds you down as you start to thrash, desperate for the edge you can feel so close, so close …

Your legs wind up around his head and your heels dig wildly into his back, and still he doesn’t falter, grunting and slurping against you, giving you what you need so good that you sob.

“Oh please, please, Steve! I’m gonna cum, I’m–I’m gonna … ohhh …”

He groans right along with you as it happens, keeping that same exquisite pressure and pace in such an ungodly competent way that you just about scream from how grateful you are. He’s perfect. You sob as the pleasure crests and wanes so sharply, leaving you trembling and gasping breathless little “thank you’s” at him over and over again as he eases off and climbs up your body.

“Shh, sh sh. There we go. Aww, I know, Angel, I know. It’s okay. Did that just feel so good?”

He coos a rhetorical litany of gentle praise at you as he climbs up and rearranges your body fully on the bed, telling you how beautiful you are, how good, how much he wants you. His hands are everywhere, attentive and comforting, petting your legs and smoothing over your belly and chest as he gazes down at you adoringly. It’s romantic, intimate, and like nothing you ever had with Patrick.

You sigh happily and whisper Steve’s name instead, which only seems to please him more. He sidles up alongside you and slots one thick thigh between your legs. That’s when you realize that he’s still completely clothed and you make a tiny noise of protest. Though there is something deliciously dirty about him clothed and you bare, the fabric of his tux over the firm muscle of his thigh pressing up against your soaked core, you still want to feel him. “Steve,” you breathe, pulling at his shirt impatiently. “You too, please.”

He chuckles and nods, hushing your protests as he continues to luxuriate in smoothing his hands over your body. “Hang on, Sweetheart. I will, I will. Let me do this. I’ve always wanted to. Always. Don’t make me rush.”

“Steve,” you sigh.

“Shhh. Good girl. Just let me have this first.” He continues on, heedless of his own body and fully intent on yours, keeping you on that cloud of hazy, post-orgasmic pleasure.

It’s as he’s hovering over you like that, pressing you into the sheets and kissing tender affection all over your face—worshiping you, for lack of a better word—that you realize:

He’s treating you like a groom treats his bride.

Masterlist

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This has been a fill for:

@steverogersbingo

Card: #sb3088 - stark-contrast

Square D2: "I've always wanted to do that"

@allcapsbingo

Card: sarahyellow AC1105

Square: FREE SPACE (wedding night)

@marvel-smash-bingo

Card: sarah-writes-stucky

Square N4: daddy kink

[darsynia]

Hand(s) Off | Ch1: Agony

(Steve Rogers/f!Reader sex pollen-esque multichapter)

STORY MASTERLIST | STEVE MASTERLIST | NEXT

Summary: Bucky Barnes is the most important person in your life. When he confesses to you that he lives at the Avengers tower, and the 'Steve' you've been hearing about for months is actually Steve Rogers, you think that nothing can top that revelation-- and then you find yourself trapped in Captain America's bedroom getting a second-hand dose of NYC's favorite new aphrodisiac, Mistress.

Length | Warnings: 3,271 | None this chapter; story will contain explicit sex descriptions and situations, MINORS DNI

Note: I want to make clear that I'm treating the issues of consent with sensitivity. This is not even a dubious consent story in my eyes; the choices these characters make are kind, as clear-eyed as possible under the circumstances, and respectful-- in fact, that's what causes problems for Steve and Dee in the long run. I do want to be clear though: there will be sexual stuff in this story. I'm not teasing you. It won't be clinical or tortured :)

Fill: Adoptable 'Pheremones' from @allcapsbingo

Tags (please request!): @starryeyes2000 @munstysmind @ronearoundblindly @chickensarentcheap @themaradaniels @tiny-anne @deepbatched @nekoannie-chan

Excerpt:

“You grew up with Captain America?” you ask, impressed. Bucky Barnes can really keep a secret.

“Not at all. I grew up with Steve. Skinny, brave Steve. Never backed down from a fight, and now he doesn’t have to. C’mon,” he says, nodding toward the Avengers tower that’s visible in the distance.

There’s something in the back of your mind that’s important, something-- “Oh my God, Bucky!” you gasp, almost stumbling in your shock. “I dragged you to that trivia night, and you did so badly on the Avengers questions! You let me answer the all Captain America ones myself! I totally went on and on about how wonderful and handsome Steve Rogers is. I talked about his ass-- and he’s your best friend?”

“You squeak any higher you’re going to start catching the attention of every purse dog in the city,” Bucky teases gruffly. You shoot a look over, noticing that he’s trying not to grin.

“You jerk!” you say, nudging his right arm with your left elbow. “Were you feeling me out?”

Bucky starts cough-laughing. “You’re going to have to define that one for me.”

Chapter One: Agony

He’s falling and you can’t do anything about it.

Bucky’s shirt catches on a stub of a branch on the way down. You, the child whose balloon he was retrieving, and the kid’s mother all rush over when he lands in a heap.

“Oh my god, are you--” the mom starts to say.

“Here you go, kid. Hold tight, I’m not going after it again,” Bucky interrupts, hauling himself to his feet. 

“Wow! That looks like it didn’t hurt at all!” the kid says.

“It hurts. Everything hurts. I’m just trying to impress her.” He nods in your direction.

Even though it makes you crack up (because he’s absolutely not), this seems to do the trick. The mom takes a minute to tie a more secure knot in the balloon string before smiling nervously at the two of you and leading her son away.

“I’m sorry,” you wince, taking a picture of the hand-sized rip at Bucky’s armpit that reveals the metal of his arm underneath. You’ve never seen the whole thing, but you’ve felt the arm through his sleeve a couple of times.

“Why are you sorry? You told me not to do it.”

“I’m sorry to have been right?”

“Yeah, okay,” he says grimly, scowling at the phone you handed him and reaching around to feel the edges of the tear. “It shows the join, doesn’t it?”

You’ve been trying not to look, because, yeah, it does. The skin edging the metal graft looks burned and painful, definitely not appropriate for your museum plans. Bucky takes in your uncomfortable nod and his jaw clenches.

“We don’t have to go,” you offer.

“We’re going. I just have to…” He trails off, twisting the shirt around to get a better look. The two of you had decided to take the long way through the park. There’s about an hour before the interactive exhibit opens, but it’s the last day. He wouldn’t even tell you how he got the tickets.

“Okay, what if we swing by a corner store so I can grab a sewing kit--”

Bucky interrupts in a firm voice. “No need to waste the money. I’ll head back home to change; we can get a taxi from there. It’s a bit of a walk.” He shrugs the shirt back into position and starts back the way you’d come.

You have to jog to catch up. “That works.” There are a million things you want to say, but it’s Bucky who speaks first, after fifteen minutes of silence. The two of you reach a crosswalk, and he stops you with his left arm, which in your opinion is a choice.

“Spit it out.”

“You were keeping things separate. You shouldn’t change your mind unless you want to,” you say quietly. He’d said he wanted to keep this friendship to himself for a while, with no connection to the past, and no expectation for the future. You’d found that unexpectedly refreshing at the time, and you still do.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Bucky says. “It’s time. I probably would have sat on it for another month anyway.”

It’s been a six month journey from friendly to friends to close friends for the two of you, and it’s only been two months since he’d opened up about his agonizing past. You don’t know everything yet, and that’s okay. You might never know. As long as Bucky knows he can trust you, that’s what matters.

The light changes, and he guides you across, his body language more relaxed now. Still, you want to make things as easy for him as possible.

“I can wait in the lobby--”

“Shit. That won’t help,” Bucky says, coming to a complete stop in the middle of the sidewalk. “Did you ever look me up?”

“No! You asked me not to.”

He looks at you like you’re some sort of rare creature for a minute, and a slow, appreciative smile grows on his face. You get it-- when he’d told you his actual birthdate, that he’d gone missing in the 40’s, you’d been tempted. But… when someone with a medically engineered metal arm asks you not to poke around in his past, you don’t. Not if you care about him.

“There was a good reason for that, I’m assuming?”

Bucky’s chuckle is deep and amused. “Yeah. I ah, live with the Avengers. Steve’s last name is Rogers. Steve Rogers.”

You’ve heard all about his best friend Steve, enough to feel affection for the man without ever having met him-- but this is not what you were expecting. At all.

“You grew up with Captain America?” you ask, impressed. Bucky Barnes can really keep a secret.

“Not at all. I grew up with Steve. Skinny, brave Steve. Never backed down from a fight, and now he doesn’t have to. C’mon,” he says, nodding toward the Avengers tower that’s visible in the distance.

There’s something in the back of your mind that’s important, something-- “Oh my God, Bucky!” you gasp, almost stumbling in your shock. “I dragged you to that trivia night, and you did so badly on the Avengers questions! You let me answer the all Captain America ones myself! I totally went on and on about how wonderful and handsome Steve Rogers is. I talked about his ass-- and he’s your best friend?”

“You squeak any higher you’re going to start catching the attention of every purse dog in the city,” Bucky teases gruffly. You shoot a look over, noticing that he’s trying not to grin.

“You jerk!” you say, nudging his right arm with your left elbow. “Were you feeling me out?”

Bucky starts cough-laughing. “You’re going to have to define that one for me.”

“--stop by, that’s all I ask. Redwing would love it,” Sam grins as he opens the door to Tony’s lab.

“I’ll try, but did you have to say it like that?” Steve groans before heading into Dr. Banner’s workspace right next door. A new street drug named Mistress has been causing concern, and with SHIELD still in transition, the government has called on the scientific wing of the Avengers to help figure out how to combat the substance. 

Mistress is an aphrodisiac, a potent one. Banner’s preliminary tests show that it’s likely not of Earth origin, which has slowed down their testing considerably due to safety concerns. That’s where Steve comes in; Bruce thinks his fast metabolism could be the key to figuring the stuff out without putting too many others at risk. That and his lack of a romantic partner. 

Apparently the drug enhances a person’s desire to have sex to a strong need, strong enough that there’s no data on what happens if they don’t. The stuff reportedly burns through people, causing dangerous fevers that have officials fearful that someone’s going to get dosed and killed, not to mention the consent issues.

“Hey, Steve,” Banner says. “I don’t know if you’ve met Doctor Lyonne?”

“I haven’t. First or last name?” Steve asks the attractive female doctor.

“Oh, nice one. ‘Lyonne’ is my married name, though. Sorry to possibly disappoint,” she says easily.

Banner smiles at Steve’s wave-off gesture and says, “I’ll leave you two experts to the interpersonal stuff.” He ignores them in favor of a large glass jar with a bunch of warning labels stuck to it. The liquid inside is clear, and all signs point to it being the drug in question. “All right,” Bruce finally says, stepping away and scratching out about four things on his clipboard. “The plan is to expose you in measured doses and observe the results. It’s pretty volatile-- works if ingested, soaks into the skin, and we think it’s capable of being aerosolized under certain conditions. Drinking it will be the most controlled method, so Dr. Lyonne is setting up dosing cups for me. She’s got a class to teach in about forty minutes, so--”

“That’s his delicate way of saying I’ll be out of your hair and unable to observe anything you’ll be going through over the course of the tests,” Lyonne interrupts.

The door that joins the two labs swings open before Steve can respond, and Tony leans his head in. He’s wearing one of his Iron Man suits. “Before you ramp up Icy Hot here, can I show you my new toy?”

“This is a segue to a sex toy joke, Steve. Retreat, retreat!” Sam calls out from behind Tony.

“I’m wounded!” Tony says, muttering, “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that first.” He walks in and grins, holding up his left arm. “Check it out. Nav is still a little spotty, but--”

Steve watches as a shape lifts up from Tony’s bicep area on the suit, similar to Redwing but oval and smaller. 

“Tony, I’d be happy to look at it pretty much any other time, but--”

“You have the whole rest of the day blocked out, Bruce, just give me this!”

The friendship between Stark and Banner always makes Steve nervous. They are the closest aligned in terms of work ethic and smarts, but farthest apart in temperament-- and that’s before the Hulk is brought into play. Steve inches closer to the large glass jug of Mistress as Tony gesticulates wildly, sending the drone careening around the room.

It starts beeping.

“Shit!” Tony shouts. “Uh… apparently something I did set the self-destruct?”

“Why does your drone have a self destruct, Tony?” 

Bruce sounds incredulous and angry, and Steve doesn’t have his shield. As though Tony had set up the whole situation for maximum drama, the thing is headed straight for the jug. Steve lunges to protect it as Bruce maneuvers himself to take the explosion for the team. Someone screams for JARVIS to lock down the building.

Steve lifts the drug container high, meaning to leap out of the way with it, but there’s nowhere to go. The drone’s explosive impact brings forth the Hulk-- which sends Steve and the jug flying backwards into the lab equipment.

Things turn a bit surreal when you enter the tower. Bucky takes you to a secret side entrance (to avoid the press, he says) but when he gets into the elevator, he seems confused when he can’t talk to it. You’re just about to make a Star Trek joke when he explains there’s usually an artificial intelligence that runs the building, but it’s not responding.

You’re used to pretty much anything apartment-related being out of order, so you’re not fazed. Once inside his apartment, you point out that there’s a sticky note on the opposite side of the door, and Bucky grabs it, his brows furrowing as he reads.

“Shit,” he grins, holding up the note. “Stay here? You’re not authorized for this area.”

“Better hurry!” The tickets for the exhibit are for 1:30, and it’s already 12:50. With a nod, he jogs back into the hallway toward the elevator, and just like that you’re alone in Bucky’s apartment.

It is immediately apparent that he doesn’t live here alone. Underneath a coat rack with multiple jackets is a shoe tray with at least five pairs of shoes in two different sizes. The living room is cozy and lived-in; you see the familiar sight of a bottle of Bucky’s favorite beer sitting on an end-table-- right beside a coaster.

You’re about to reach for it when an alarm sounds, accompanied by an urgent voice.

=Tier One protection activated. Retreat to an interior room and wait for further instructions. Attention: Tier One protection activated. Retreat to an interior room and wait for further instructions.=

You freeze in fear for a few seconds, but when the instruction repeats a few seconds later, you hear a grinding noise in the wall. It’s frightening enough that you dart into the hallway and inside the first open door. The reason for the sound becomes terrifyingly clear a few seconds later as a metal panel encased in the doorframe slides down, too quickly for you to slip out underneath it.

The room turns pitch black in the space between one frightened breath and the next.

After taking a minute to listen for danger, you make your way by feel to the far wall, looking for the light switch. On the way, you trip over something that turns out to be a pair of men’s slippers. You’re glad to let your eyes adjust to the light as you put them back, but when you straighten up, you immediately feel like you’re trespassing somewhere you do not belong.

The room is neat as hell, the kind of tidiness that must come from enjoying a clean space rather than a sense of obligation. However, you soon reassess: this is lived in, less frighteningly neat than well-designed. Everything has its place. It’s different from the easy chaos that Bucky has shown on the few times he’s slept over after movie marathons, so you’re pretty sure this isn’t his room. That, and the white cat plushie you gave him that he swears lives on his dresser? Isn’t there.

Instead, the tray with grooming materials in front of a small mirror are the only objects on the dresser top. There’s a low bookshelf next to an easy chair whose footrest has a worn-in divot. The nightstand is equally neat and functional, with a slightly askew sketchbook hinting that the room’s occupant is an artist.

Unfortunately, these observations are making you more nervous, not less. An intrusive thought that the alarm could be about a fire and there’s literally no way out sends you into a frenzy of banging on the inexorable metal slab. 

“Hello?? HELLO!? Please let me out, please, please let me out!” you scream, slamming your fists against the damned barrier until your hands hurt. You’re crying and frantic and yelling, and suddenly there’s someone else on the other side of the door also yelling, and in the next few minutes everything happens at once. 

You can’t see anything through your tears and fear; all you know is the feel and sound of strong hands and a soothing voice that isn’t Bucky but it should be. That thought sends you into more frightened tears, because he’ll be worried, he’ll be upset, and it might send him into a spiral like the one from a few months ago when he finally explained about his past.

Then, awfully, the grinding sound is back and the warm hands are gone.

You hear several shouted, imperative commands before the man falls silent. He’d set you down in a huddle on the bed wrapped in a blanket, and you kind of… drift back into awareness surrounded by the strong scent of coconut, with a not-unpleasant buzz of awareness deep in your gut.

You pull the blanket closer before you recognize it. You’d been working on it during the first few movie nights you and Bucky had shared, and he’d bought it as a gift for his best friend. That’s what brings you fully back to yourself: you’d handmade the thing that’s warming you up. You’ll be able to tell Bucky that. It’ll help, when the time comes.

Taking in a long, deep breath, you look around, expecting, since you’re no longer alone, to see anything but a metal panel completely covering the door. You’re wrong. There’s damage to the frame, as though someone had pried the previous slab out of the way-- but there’s once again a solid-looking metal barrier between you and freedom.

“Are you okay?” It’s Captain Am-- Rogers. Steve. Bucky’s Steve.

The unreality of your situation is fully hitting you now.

“That’s what you’re going with? Not ‘who are you?’ or ‘funny story about the door…’”

Rogers says, “I did. You were too upset to answer.” He’s tense, clearly uncomfortable, and his clothes are soaked. You wonder if that’s the source of the strange fruity smell. 

“Dee. I’m Dee.” It’s short for Chickadee, your stage-name-turned-favorite-nickname. You think you see recognition in his eyes. “Bucky needed to change his shirt. I didn’t mean-- you have to believe me, I never would have come in here, but he said he would just be a minute, and then a voice told me to hide and…” You’re babbling, but you feel like you’re out of your mind. Of all the people in the world, you’d probably pick Captain America as the one person you’d want to know that you’re eating your vegetables and being polite to your elders, that you wouldn’t invade someone’s private space. “Did something happen to the building?” you ask in a small voice.

“No, this--” Rogers winces. “Bucky asked for extra security or he wouldn’t move in. To slow him down.”

“The Soldier,” you whisper, closing your eyes tightly.

He makes a noise of understanding, then a louder, angry sound. “Everything has gone the exact worst-- I’m sorry,” he grits out. “I’m sorry.”

The depth to his voice prompts a heated curl of attraction that warms you from the inside out. It’s unexpected and strange, given the fear and confusion that’s ruled your reactions in the past minutes.

“I think I should be asking if you are okay.”

Rogers is looking at the floor now, his hands fisted in his pockets. “I was exposed to a… chemical. Tried to do everything right: activated security protocols, set the apartment Dark so I didn’t say or do anything I’d regret before the brain fog set in.”

“What happens when the brain fog sets in?” you whisper, sensing that the answer is what has this man’s body stiff as a board, in contrast with his broken and worried tone.

“How close are you with Buck?” Rogers lifts his head and the intensity in his eyes shoots you with an arrow of concern.

You lift your chin. “Truthfully? I consider him my best friend, why?”

“There’s nothing… more?”

There have been times, multiple times, when you’ve thought about it. But Bucky Barnes is a multifaceted man, and you don’t want to sully his progress towards becoming whole again by making things complicated.

“No,” you say, feeling heat in your chest from the look of understanding in his eyes. Your pause was unintentionally illustrative. “Why?”

“It’s important that I be honest with you: the building is on lockdown, its governing AI is too busy monitoring the Hulk to get us out of this room, and the chemical I was exposed to is Mistress.” He sounds like a soldier reciting battle parameters.

The name sounds familiar, but you can’t place it. Suddenly, you feel too vulnerable on the bed, his bed, so you slide over to the edge in preparation for getting up. The action bares your legs to mid-thigh, and Rogers immediately turns his back on you and hits the wall with the flat of his hand. 

That’s when you remember where you’d heard that name. Mistress. The aphrodisiac is the reason many women have flocked to your cousin’s restaurant to hang out, instead of at bars. Many establishments are offering complimentary test kits so their customers can ensure there’s no residue in their food and drinks. It’s become fashionable to carry around your own cups, just in case. Some bars are actually trying to skip requiring women to pay a cover charge, desperate to return to the status quo. Drinks containing coconut aren’t even served anymore, thanks to the scent association.

“Shit, I’m sorry!” you blurt out, rushing over to the easy chair and covering yourself with the blanket. Jesus, the whole room reeks of coconut. He’s practically steeped in the stuff. “What can I do?”

Steve Rogers’ voice is husky, but pained. “Don’t let today be your first impression of me.”

Next chapter...

[duckybarnes1917]

18+ Only

Summary: Bucky hates you. Until he doesn't.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, mommy kink, sub Bucky, dom reader, oral sex (m and f), teasing, begging not cum, orgasm denial, p in v, unprotected sex, leather cuffs, color system

AN: My Valentine's Day fic this year also serves as my entry for @the-slumberparty week one I Spy challenge! I used the diamond necklace and leather cuffs. Also, this fic fills the enemies to lovers space (G3) on my @allcapsbingo bingo card!

Bucky had always hated you. Ever since you walked into the compound, showing off and flaunting all your assets. You were a good fighter; you didn't need to shove it in everyone's faces all the time. Every time he walked past the gym and saw you sitting on Sam's chest, pinning him down again, an ugly emotion coursed through Bucky. Your triumphant smile made him want to rip you off of Sam and show you a taste of your own medicine. But he always kept walking, doing his best to ignore you. 

He didn't think it was possible to hate you even more. But once again, you proved him wrong in that department. You were late. Very late. Bucky paced around the loft he had been living in undercover. He was dressed in a tailored black suit, his hair slicked back, perfectly in place. The mission called for him to pose as an art collector–with deep pockets and dark habits. He had been alone here for a month, slowly gaining the trust of the key players, and tonight was the night he was finally going to get the critical piece of information he needed. But there had been a hiccup. His mark, Zakaria Tate, had invited him to dinner. Not just any dinner, a Valentine's dinner. Date required. Bucky had begged Sam to send Yelena; her no-nonsense attitude would have made this super easy, but he declined. Bucky would have preferred that Sam himself joined him tonight over you. But Sam simply laughed and told him to suck it up. You were the only choice. 

Bucky rechecked his watch just as you burst through his front door, again proving him wrong. Because he hated you even more in the crimson dress that hung to you like it was your skin. 

"Don’t say it, Barnes. I know.” You pushed past him, heading toward the kitchen and pouring yourself a glass of wine. 

“You’re late,” Bucky said through grit teeth. He stalked over to you and ripped the glass from your hand. 

You rolled your eyes, taking a long pull from the wine bottle instead. “It’s not my fault. This ridiculous lingerie took way too much work to get into.” 

Bucky tensed, his eyes immediately moving from your face to scan your body. “Wh–why would you–”

You shrugged, picking up the gift box you had walked in with. “It helps sell the part. If we were really dating. And you were really taking me out for Valentine’s. And you were really giving me that gift over there.” You paused to point at the jewelry box Bucky had waiting by the front door. “Then I would really fuck you stupid at the end of the night.” 

You smiled at him as you walked past, stroking his arm lightly with your hand. 

Bucky swallowed thickly, turning to watch the sway of your ass. He hated how easily you made him feel like this. Like he would drop to his knees and do whatever you asked of him just for a taste. 

** 

To Bucky’s surprise, the dinner was going well. Zakaria loved you. That wasn’t surprising; everyone loved you except for him. But the character he was playing did–he needed to act the part. He swallowed his stubbornness and inched closer to you, wrapping his arm around your waist. You smiled at him before placing a kiss on his cheek. 

“Oh, there he is, my loving boyfriend. Thought you forgot you’re supposed to want to touch me.” 

“Sorry, I’m not that good of an actor,” Bucky muttered. 

You ignored him and turned back to the conversation at the table. Despite his snarky comeback, Bucky couldn’t help the shiver that went through him in response to your touch. Your voice low in his ear was something he could get used to. 

Fuck. 

No. 

But his body was already reacting, squeezing your hip to pull you closer. You nuzzled into his side and placed your hand on his big thigh. 

Bucky took a deep inhale; he could do this. He knew what you were doing and would not let you ruffle him. 

But as soon as he relaxed, your thumb began slowly stroking his thigh. It was innocent–if he didn’t know you better. He gave you a sharp warning, but you wouldn’t look at him. Such a simple movement should not have had him turning to breathing exercises to keep himself from begging you to touch him more. 

As if you could read his thoughts, your hand glided down to his knee and back, and again and again. It was becoming more challenging for Bucky to focus on what anyone at the table was saying and even harder to keep his eyes from stealing glances down your dress. He couldn’t help it, he had the perfect view, and he wanted to know what color your lingerie was–in the dark lighting, it looked red, and his cock swelled. 

Shit. 

“Baby–” you giggled when Bucky finally looked up from your tits. “Zakaria wants to see what you got me.” 

“Oh–of course.” Bucky shook the lust off and handed you the jewelry box. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.” 

God, his voice sounded like he had swallowed knives. 

Get it together. 

Genuine surprise flashed across your face as you picked up the glittering diamond necklace. Everyone at the table gasped in awe. That was the reaction Bucky had hoped for. 

“Go on, put it on her.” Zakaria urged. 

Bucky blushed as you turned your back to him and swept your hair out of the way. His hand was shaking as he drew the necklace around your neck; his fingers left a trail of goosebumps on your skin. Once he got it clasped, you turned to him and stuck your chest out. “How does it look?” 

Bucky’s mouth watered as he looked at the diamonds glittering against your skin. The necklace dipped into your cleavage, and Bucky could see your nipples pebbled through the thin fabric of your dress. He hated how hard you made his cock. Hated that you would never do anything about it. Hated that he was always destined to imagine you fucking him while he stroked his cock alone. 

Zakaria laughed, “I think our friend may be ready to leave our company.” 

Fuck, was he being that transparent? 

“Not before dessert,” you said, smiling mischievously. 

Bucky wasn’t prepared for your lips to collide with his. You did it so fast; he wasn’t sure what had happened. By the time his brain caught up and he registered the soft warmth of your lips, you were already pulling back to whisper in his ear. 

“If I liked you, Barnes–” you sighed longingly, the heat of your breath tickling his ear. 

Bucky stared at you wide-eyed and begged silently for you to finish your thought. He needed it–for later. 

The entire time you ate your dessert, Bucky could only think about what you had left unsaid. What would you do if you liked him? What did you want to do to him? 

You threw back the last of your drink and suddenly flopped into Bucky’s lap–pretending to be the love-drunk girlfriend you were playing. You giggled, and Bucky helped you sit up; you used his leverage to scoot yourself into his lap. Bucky froze as your eyes snapped to his when your ass felt his sizeable bulge. 

“Oh, you fucking wish,” you whispered against his lips, that glint that Bucky hated so much in your eyes. 

Your smile looked predatory, and as hard as Bucky tried to find the hate inside himself that would allow him to push you off or at least come back with a witty response, all he could do was swallow down a whimper. 

Your smile grew, and you pushed your chest against him while your fingers ran through his hair. “Is this–” you circled your hips to emphasize what you were referencing, “why you hate me so much? You just wanna fuck me?”

“Stop,” Bucky begged quietly; his grip on your waist tightened, but you kept squirming. 

“Be a good boy, and I’ll go easy on you the rest of the night.” 

Bucky couldn’t help himself, his hips pushed up against you, and he cursed under his breath. Your eyes darkened, and Bucky knew he had indeed given himself away now. Usually, a comment like that would have gotten you a death glare and probably an ugly name thrown your way. But it had all been a mask, all of it. Because he wanted this. Too much. 

Suddenly you stood up. “We’re leaving. Thank you so much, Zakaria. It was lovely.” 

You hauled Bucky to his feet, and the protest Zakaria had started to give died on her tongue when she saw the obvious reason for his quick exit. 

“Have fun, you two; don’t be strangers.” 

Bucky didn’t even care that he had got nothing out of this dinner other than a raging hard-on. He couldn’t think past how your hips moved as you marched out of the restaurant. You didn’t stop once you were outside, and Bucky worried that he had completely fucked this up and made a jackass of himself. 

“Wait! Where are you going?!” Bucky jogged to catch up to you. 

“Back to the loft. Can’t talk here.” 

Bucky kept his mouth shut and followed you. Maybe you had noticed something he didn’t–since you were actually working the mission instead of acting like a horny teenager. As he followed you, he replayed the night, searching for something he missed, but all he could remember was you. He didn’t even realize you were back in the loft until you slammed the door shut and pushed him up against it. 

“What the fuck, Barnes?” 

“Wh–what?” Bucky tried not to rut his hips against you but failed when your grip on his wrists tightened. 

“This whole time? I thought you hated me–”

“I do,” Bucky groaned. “Hate that I can’t have you.” 

Your brows furrowed. “So you just decided to be a dick?” 

“Had to,” Bucky said breathlessly. “If I didn’t pretend that you make me so unbearably horny, I would have begged you to fuck me every goddamn mission.” 

Bucky’s face fell into a pout when you let him go and took a few steps back. You were gonna leave. Probably laugh in his face first and then leave him like this, hard and desperate. 

“So do it. Beg.” You stuck out your hip and crossed your arms to emphasize your breasts. 

Bucky stood stunned for a moment, still not sure if you were being serious. 

You sighed, irritated, and started to move toward the exit. Bucky immediately dropped to his knees. He wasn’t going to let you go that easily. 

“Please.” 

Bucky licked his lips nervously, not really sure what else to say. Your brow rose, unimpressed and expecting more. 

“I’m sorry, please; I want you so bad.” 

“What do you want from me, baby boy?” 

Bucky finally looked up at you, and the view made him groan. This is how he wanted to be all the time, on his knees, looking up at you. He needed to answer you before you got mad, but he didn't know what to ask for first; he wanted everything. 

“Want you to fuck me,” Bucky hated how needy he sounded, but he couldn’t help it. 

You smiled and stepped forward, tipping his head back. “I’ll think about it.” 

Panic was evident on Bucky’s face, he knew it, but all you did was laugh before lifting your leg and placing it over his shoulder. 

“See if you can earn it.” 

Oh god. 

With a trembling hand, Bucky slid your short dress up your thighs slowly, mentally preparing himself for the sight of your coveted cunt. Nothing could have prepared him, and as soon as he saw your crotchless red panties, he whimpered and gripped your thigh harder. 

“Can I use my mouth?” He asked, eyes wide with hope. 

“Of course, you can, baby.” 

“Thank you, mommy,” Bucky stuck his head under your dress before he could see the shock and pleasure on your face. 

The sting in his scalp spurred him on as your grip tightened and you pressed him closer to your heat. His tongue moved urgently, and every time you made a pleasured noise, he moaned against your clit. 

“I’m close, baby, don’t stop,” your breathy sigh spurred Bucky to slide his hands up your thighs and grip your hips. He pulled you even closer, sliding his warm tongue into you over and over. 

“Fuck yes, baby boy, fuck me, fuck me.” Your hips moved frantically, using his nose to stimulate your clit. 

Bucky could have cried; this was fucking bliss. He quickly unbuttoned his pants and pulled the zipper down, desperate to stroke himself in time with his tongue. 

“I didn’t say you could touch your cock,” you said breathlessly, and Bucky whimpered. He was desperate for some kind of relief, but he was afraid to disobey you. Instead, he moved his hand out of his pants and gripped your ass hard, fucking you even deeper with his tongue. He didn’t stop until you came so hard he had to hold you up so you wouldn’t fall. 

Bucky tried to remain patient while you lowered your leg and patted his head condescendingly. He was still afraid you would leave at any moment. 

“That was good, baby.” 

Bucky blushed, looking up at you hopefully. His hands were clenched at his sides to keep from touching himself. 

“Go to the bedroom and take all your clothes off.”

Bucky scrambled to his feet, ignoring your chuckle as he raced to the bedroom, peeling his clothes off. 

Thankfully, you didn’t make him wait long; you walked into the room and only paused momentarily to check him out. 

“Help me out of this dress, baby.” 

Bucky slid the zipper of your dress down quickly, almost breaking it. The silk puddled at your feet, and Bucky growled, low and deep, at the sight of you before him. You moved away too soon for his liking, directing him to lie on the bed. 

“You never opened my gift.” 

Bucky held his breath as you crawled over him. You sat on his chest and opened the gift for him. Bucky’s eyes went wide as he looked at the black leather cuffs inside. 

“Originally, I bought them as a joke. But…”

“Yes. Please.” Bucky held his wrists out to you excitedly. 

“You know the colors?” 

When Bucky nodded, you kissed his wrists before placing the cuffs on him. 

“This is gonna be fun,” you smiled wickedly at him before sitting back so you could unhook your bra. You removed it slowly, enjoying Bucky’s gaze and how he worried his lip every time you almost removed it completely. 

“Mommy, please!” He finally whined, and you threw the bra to the floor. 

Bucky reached his cuffed hands out, but you moved out of his reach. “Should have thought about that before you said yes, baby boy.” 

You grabbed his joined wrists and lifted them over his head, putting your breasts in reach of his hungry mouth. 

It was hard, but Bucky resisted, thrusting his hips in the air as he groaned. “Please, can I?” 

God, his lips practically brushed against your nipple as he spoke. 

“Can you what?” You teased. 

Bucky squirmed, frustrated, and unable to think with all his blood now in his swollen, ignored cock. “Tits. Want–” Bucky groaned as you lowered yourself even more. “Wanna suck your tits,” he rushed out in one breath. 

“Go ahead, baby.” 

Bucky’s tongue flicked over your nipple quickly before he sucked it into his mouth. His hips pistoned into the air as he sucked. He moved to the next one, giving it the same treatment. 

“Is there something else you need from me, baby?” 

Bucky whined, your breast still in his mouth and his eyes watery. 

You sat up and ran your finger over his pouting lips. “What else do you need, baby? Use your words.”

“Need–” Bucky’s breath caught as he looked at you, naked except for the diamond necklace around your neck and nuzzled between your breasts. “Need you to touch me.” 

“Come on, you can do better than that.” 

Bucky frowned, a confused look on his face. 

“I know you’ve got filthy, dirty thoughts in that big cyborg brain of yours. Come on.” 

“Oh god, I–” Bucky closed his eyes, trying to find some confidence. “I need you to touch my cock. Put it in your tight pussy and come all over me. Need you to make me come, mommy, wanna come inside you, fuck.” 

“That’s better, baby.” You kissed his chest, slowly dragging your lips down until you reached his throbbing cock. 

You didn’t show it, but you were just as wound up as he was. It would be so satisfying to slide him inside you now. Fuck him fast and frantic until you both came way too quickly. Maybe next time. For now, you needed to make him work for it. And maybe pay him back for being such a dick to you. You let your saliva dribble over the crown of his cock and stroked him lightly to spread it. He was already so wound up that simple action had him thrusting off the bed. 

You couldn’t resist pushing him further, sucking on his tip while your hand moved faster, and you rolled his balls gently. 

“Oh fuck! Yes! God, don’t stop!” 

You didn’t, only removing your mouth long enough to ask him if he wanted to come. A resounding yes made you chuckle. Poor boy. 

“Do you wanna come, or do you wanna stick your fat cock in my little pussy?” 

You didn’t give him time to think as your mouth wrapped around his tip again, and his mind went blank. 

“Bucky, I asked you a question.”

“Both?” He tried but knew it was pointless. 

“Choose, or I’ll choose for you.” 

Bucky hesitated, your mouth felt so fucking good, and he had imagined coming down your throat so many times. He was already so close it would only take a few more strokes, and he’d be there. 

He groaned, sagging against the bed. “Want your pussy.” 

But you didn’t stop; you took him deeper in your mouth and sucked hard. 

“Want your pussy!” Bucky gasped as suddenly he was in your throat, and you were swallowing around him. 

Was this a test? He didn’t think he was going to pass. His balls were heavy with need, and your tongue was coaxing him to the brink faster and faster. 

“Please, mommy! I’m gonna come! Please stop,” Bucky gasped, hands clenched tightly as he fought the oncoming orgasm. “Oh,” he drew the word out long and needy. “Please, I’ll come; stop, please.” He was so close now he could almost taste the pleasure. 

That was when you stopped, pulling your mouth off of him slowly and giving his crown one more good lick. 

“You did so good, baby boy.” You straddled him, running your wet pussy over his dick before pushing his tip inside. “Let’s see how long you last inside me.” 

Bucky’s mind went blank as you slid down his length. You looked so perfect, perched on his cock with nothing but diamonds on your sexy body. He couldn’t breathe. 

Your ass met his thick thighs, and Bucky groaned. “So–good,” he sounded drunk. 

“Don’t come.” 

That was the only warning he got before your hands found his thighs, and you began fucking yourself on his throbbing cock. 

“You’re so big, baby. I’m gonna come so hard.” You threw your head back, working your hips even faster. 

Bucky tasted blood in his mouth; he was biting his tongue, trying his best to keep from filling you up. 

Your hand drifted down your body, and Bucky had to close his eyes when you started rubbing your clit. 

“Mommy, I–I’m gonna come, please.” 

“You’re not allowed.” 

“But–” Bucky groaned as you moved your hands to his chest and fucked him faster. 

“This is what you asked for, baby boy. You wanted to be balls deep inside me. Wanted me to fuck you.” 

Bucky couldn’t argue. So he squeezed his eyes shut and tried his best to hold back. Even as you came, moaning his name and squeezing his cock like a vice, he didn’t come. 

A tear ran down his cheek as you came down from your high. 

“Look at me, pretty boy.” You leaned forward and wiped the tear from his cheek. “You were so good for me.” 

Bucky sniffled as your lips brushed against his. “I’m sorry I was a jerk.” 

“Oh, Bucky,” you cupped his cheek and looked him in the eye. “I always liked you too. Only you. I’m sorry I was a pain in the ass.” 

You kissed him then, slow and deep. Bucky felt bad, but he broke out of the cuffs and gently moved you to lay on your back. He held your face as he kissed you back, stroking your tongue with his and holding you close. His cock throbbed angrily inside you, but you hadn’t given him permission to move. 

Your hand moved from his hair to his ass, grabbing it tightly. “Fuck me, Bucky.” 

Bucky’s hips punched forward. “I–I can’t. I’ll come.” 

He looked so disappointed. 

“I believe in you. Fuck me.” You spread your legs wide for him, and he dropped his forehead to rest on yours. 

“I hate you.” But you both knew now that he didn’t mean it. 

He kept you close while he moved his hips slowly, building up speed and keeping his thrusts as deep as he could. 

“Don’t stop,” you groaned when he started to slow down. 

“Gonna come,” he mumbled against your lips. 

“Haven’t earned it,” you huffed back. “Fuck me. Hard.” 

Gathering the little self-control Bucky had left, he lifted himself onto his knees and grabbed your hips, pistoning into you as hard as he could manage. 

He shouldn’t have, but his hand reached out to squeeze one of your bouncing breasts. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! Please, gotta stop.” 

You ignored him, arching your back and pushing your chest out. Bucky growled, quickly descending on your breasts with his mouth. Sucking one while he squeezed the other. His hips moved frantically, losing his rhythm. 

“Please, mommy, can I stop?” His voice was muffled against your chest. 

Your response was to wrap your legs around his waist tightly. He groaned, trying to think about something other than how wet and warm you were around him. You didn’t make it easy. 

“Fuck my little pussy, yeah, fuck, fuck, baby, mommy’s coming.” 

Your walls spasmed around him, and Bucky’s hot tears fell onto your chest as he held on for dear life, silently begging to stop before he spilled his seed inside you.

“Come, baby,” you said through deep breaths as your high faded. 

Bucky barely managed to ask where before he was pounding into you. When you said, “inside, come in my pussy.” Bucky’s hands moved to your ass, gripping it tight as he fucked into your warm, tight cunt frantically as if he was afraid you’d change your mind. 

“Thank you, thank you, mommy, pussy feels so good,” he whined, grinding deeper as his orgasm overtook him. He froze for a moment, gasping and groaning against your neck as he came harder than he ever had before. But soon, he was slowly fucking his come deeper into you, whispering praises against the column of your throat. 

Your hand ran through his hair, and he nuzzled deeper. 

“If I had known the serum kept you hard after orgasm, I would have let you come sooner.” 

“Fuck you,” Bucky groaned, punching his hips forward to make you gasp. 

“You liked it,” you giggled. 

“Fucking loved it, never wanna leave your pussy.” 

“Keep fucking me like that and calling me your mommy, and I’ll let you fuck me as much as you want.”

“Happy fucking Valentine’s Day to me,” Bucky whispered incredulously before moving you up the bed to start round two.

[nolanfa]

Illustration for sara_holmes 's fic I'll keep you safe here with me (read it it's very good) Here on AO3

fill for @winterhawkbingo's prompt "target practice" fill for @allcapsbingo's prompt "Clint Barton" fill for @anyfandomgoesbingo's prompt "first day" fill for @marvelartparty's bingo's "complete a WIP"

Title: barn - Pairing : Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton - SFW - Medium: digital art - Description: Clint shooting his bow while Bucky watches.

[duchessonfire]

New Hands on Deck - Stucky, Explicit, AU: restaurant, Chef Steve, Waiter Bucky

Some people might call Bucky a shameless flirt.

They would say that just because Bucky knows Chef Steve is attracted to him doesn’t mean he should lap it up and squeeze it for everything he’s got.

And maybe they would be right. Maybe spending two hours at the gym and running late for work every day just so that his uniform will hug every single one of his muscles is in bad taste. Maybe preening at the way Steve clearly favors him over everyone else in the restaurant is tacky.

Too bad Bucky doesn’t give a shit.

~~~

Veteran Bucky Barnes slowly adapts to his new life as a civilian in NYC when he gets a job working at one of the finest luxury dining establishment in Brooklyn. The restaurant staff quickly becomes an extended family to him, but his relationship with the handsome and heavily-tattooed Head Chef Steve Rogers is more complicated...

For the @allcapsbingo March adoptable: AU - Chefs

A huge thank you to @sparkagrace for betareading and helping me brainstorm this story :)

Read chapter 1/7 on AO3:

[nekoannie-chan]

Signals

Title: Signals.

Ship: Steve Rogers X Reader.

Word count: 436 words.

Rating: Teen.

Square: I1 Oblivious to lovers.

Summary: You love Steve and Steve loves you, none of you know each other feelings.

Warnings/Tags: Miscommunication, happy ending, fluff.

A/N: This is my entry to @allcapsbingo AC1078.

You can read it on Wattpad and Ao3 too.

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics to be posted on other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other's people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

Add yourself to my taglist here.

My other media where I publish:  Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter. 

If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @sinceimetyou  @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @navybrat817 @angrythingstarlight @shield-agent78 @charmed-asylum @pandaxnienke @real-fbi @smokeandnailz​ @white-wolf1940​ @tenaciousperfectionunknown​ @xoxonotme​ @bluemusickid​ @leyannrae​  @harrysthiccthighss​ @marvelatthisone​ @caplanbuckybarnes​ @sapphire-rogers​ @lizzieolseniskinda​ @notyourtypicalrose​  @hallecarey1​ @nana1000night​ @talia-rumlow​ @writingshae​  @daemonslittlebitch @chaoticcollectivenightmare​  @endlesstwanted​ @chemtrails-club​  @marigoldreamer​ @whiskeytangofoxtrot555​ @here4thefanfics​  @theestorm​ @patzammit​  @alexxavicry @azulatodoryuga

You offered Steve the biggest slice of the cake; you had saved it, especially for him. In fact, you had to give a few hand slaps to the others to prevent them from taking it.

He smiled at you when you gave it to him, although it could be a bit desperate that Steve didn't understand your hints regarding your feelings for him since, since you didn't dare to tell him, you showed them to him with small acts.

"Well, my advice is that you tell him, come on, Y/N, Steve is..."

"He is?" "If you know something, Natasha, you better tell me what you know, so I know whether I'm still trying or not."

"Just tell him how you feel; he's not the smartest person that way either, and I'm sure he hasn't figured anything out."

You arrived at your office; however, when you opened the door, you were confused to see the flowers on your desk. You hadn't put them there, so who had sent them?

You approached them and looked for the card; there was supposed to be one there, but there was nothing. You even looked under the desk; maybe it had fallen underneath; there was no trace of the card.

What struck you most was that they were your favorite flowers.

When Steve saw you, he smiled; it looked like you liked his gift, although he was disappointed that you didn't say anything about it.

You saw Steve eating the cookies you had baked for him, but he didn't say anything. You were starting to get tired of the situation, so you decided it was time to tell him that Natasha was right.

You wanted to solve the situation once and for all—to know if he loved you back or if it was better to forget about him.

You approached him and started to talk, but he didn't seem to understand anything, so you thought it was the right time.

"You know, Steve, I've had enough, so I'll just say it: I like you; I'm in love with you," you confessed; he looked at you as if he didn't understand; you sighed; maybe that was the answer. "Well, now that I've said it, I'll go."

You headed towards the exit, but he stopped you, putting one of his hands on your shoulder. "The flowers, I sent them to you, but I forgot to ask for a card," then he made you turn around and kissed you.

After all, neither of you realized that you were in love, but you were glad you had taken the first step.

[badartmada]

Title: Happy Birthday Steve! 🎊

Square: AC1057 || N3 - Free Space & MRP-068 || N3 - Free Space

Summary: Celebrating the birthday boy

For: Steve!!! but also for @allcapsbingo & @marvelrarepairbingo

[controlofwhatido]

fic: happy accidents (steve/bucky)

Title: Happy Accidents Author: controlofwhatido Artist: @auntiesuze Rating: Explicit Archive Warning(s): No Archive Warnings Apply Tags: Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Steve Rogers, Omega Bucky Barnes, Mpreg Summary: Bucky sleeps with one superhero one time and now he’s pregnant. Fuck. Good going, James B. Barnes. One unmated omega father, coming right up. Top that off with his metal arm and he’s really going to be an outcast.

Notes: Written for the 2022/23 @stuckybangs​!  Art is embedded in Chapter 5.

FIC IS COMPLETE: READ ON AO3  

(@stuckybingo​ O3: Writing format: Present Tense, N5: Kink: Heat/Rut, G5: Arnie Roth,  | @allcapsbingo​: I1: Captain America Steve Rogers, O1: Pining, B1: Courting, O2: Rebecca Barnes Proctor | @mcukinkbingo​ N5: Coming Untouched )

[cobrafantasies]

You Make Me Feel Alive 

SamBucky | Rated M | 4,262 words | Complete | AO3

Written to fulfill square I2: Vibranium for All Caps Bingo 2023, Round One, from @allcapsbingo!

Summary: When Bucky is gifted his new arm in Wakanda, he thinks it’s malfunctioning when Sam arrives. Eventually, he discovers his arm is trying to tell the whole world he’s got his first crush in seventy years.

Excerpt:

Bucky glides his vibranium hand across the surface of the water. It’s cool and wet. He can’t get enough of how when the water is cold enough, it’ll send a shiver through his skin. Telling his whole body what he’s touching on his left side. So he touches the water, then waits, letting the metal warm under the sun. Then he dunks his hand under the water again. Feels the shiver.

He hears footsteps approaching behind him. It could be a number of people but it’s not a Wakandan because the sound of heavy boots digging into the sand sounds as the person walks. Regardless, Bucky’s in no rush to turn around. He’s sitting on the sand, his hand in the water, still appreciating the cool sensation under his fingertips.

“Hey.”

The voice is familiar and Bucky recognizes it as fast as his heart skips a beat. His gaze snaps around, he hauls his hand out of the water and feels it drip onto his thigh as he drinks in the sight of Sam Wilson.

Bucky’s on his feet in the next second. His heart feels like a kick drum in his chest because why is Sam visiting him? He’s never visited before.

“Hi,” Bucky says.

Sam smiles and it’s enough to make Bucky’s almost lungs give out. That’s when the first whirl echoes from under the plates of his arm. Bucky ignores it, the prosthetic has made minor sounds from time to time.

“You in the middle of something?” Sam’s smile turns to a smirk and he points to the body of water.

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[rookthorne]

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰

It was your first classic car meet and you were excited for what lay ahead. Meeting others within the scene and maybe the possibility of making friends was your goal, but what awaited you was much, much more intense — for better, or for worse.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✯ Mechanic!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ✯ 3.2k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ✯ Fluff, violence, possessive Bucky (that's the understatement of the century) ჻჻჻ SMUT: Unprotected, public, car sex, gagging and restraints, oral fixation, multiple orgasms, cum play, Dom!Bucky ჻჻჻ KINKS: Praise, degradation, breeding, sir, exhibitionism

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ✯ This was written for a certain someone, and that certain someone knows who they are, and they know exactly what they did to me to inspire it — so, chaos kittens, enjoy some of the most depraved smut I have ever written.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 ✯ Keep It Down by Migrant Motel

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ✯ @allcapsbingo 𝗢𝟯 — Oral Fixation (September Monthly Mission) — Masterlist

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“Are you sure–?”

Bucky grinned in the driver’s seat, downshifting the Mustang a gear as he took the turn into the expansive parking lot. “Baby, I am positive–tonight’s gonna be fun, and not only that,” he assured, taking his hand off the shifter to squeeze your thigh. “I’ve got the sexiest woman on my arm, and like hell am I not gonna show off what’s mine.”

“Such a sap,” you whispered, and he laughed. “But what if–”

“No buts. Just relax.” The Mustang purred as Bucky pulled into the rows and rows of cars lined in increments – each one shining under the bright spotlights. You watched with keen interest as Bucky drove past what seemed like hundreds of classic muscle cars. “Ah. There we are.”

The steering wheel spun with grace and suddenly, you were parked facing another Mustang, and another, and another… “Whoa,” you gasped, looking down the row you were parked in. “There’s so many.”

“What did you expect, sweetheart?” Bucky chuckled as he wound up his window. “It’s a meet–who knows what and who we’re gonna see tonight.”

You sighed, and prepared to step foot out of the car. Sure, you had wanted to fit in, and you had no doubts that Bucky had lost his mind over your choice of outfit – he had spent half an hour on his knees worshipping you before you had to force him to his feet so you wouldn’t be late, but still, nerves were an accompanying thing you wished you could go without. 

Bucky opened the passenger door and held out his hand. “M’lady.”

“Such a charmer,” you teased, and he smirked. 

“Always.”

The door shut with a loud thunk, affording you the opportunity to look Bucky over while he locked the door. He had chosen to wear your favourite Henley, pairing it with a black leather jacket and dark jeans that hugged his thighs perfectly. Heavy combat boots made his footsteps heavy, and the sound of metal clinking was the sign that he’d worn his favourite belt, too. “You like what you see, Honey?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Close your mouth or you’ll regret openin’ it, baby,” Bucky purred as he gripped your chin, forcing your jaw closed. When did it open? “Not here and not now, kitten.”

Graciously, a shout of his name down the row of classics distracted Bucky long enough for you to bite your lip and squeeze your thighs – real subtle, you inwardly laughed. 

A familiar face, blonde and far too handsome for his own good, appeared. “Hey, Honey Bee,” Steve said happily. You grinned back and then looked behind him to see Ari. 

“Hey, darlin’,” he greeted, and you rushed forward to give him a hug while Steve and Bucky stood and talked. “You ready for tonight?”

“No,” you replied honestly. “Excited though, Buck promised I’d be okay, so.”

Ari grinned at you. “Trust me, Honey, no one is gonna get between you and ‘im tonight. Look at him.” Covertly, you stole a glance at Bucky, only he was already staring at you with a fierce glint in his eye. “I suspect you chose this outfit just to fuck with my boss, huh?”

“Guilty as charged,” you whispered. Ari shook his head and laughed. 

“Alright,” Bucky said abruptly, and his arms encircled your waist while his chin rested in the juncture of your neck and shoulder. “If you fellas don’t mind, I gotta show my girl the ropes of a meet.” 

Both Ari and Steve saluted their farewells and they strode off to god-knows-where, their heads high and motivations sinful, no doubt. 

You grabbed Bucky’s hand and stepped away from his embrace. “Wanna show me the ropes, sir?”

“Behave, you lil’ minx,” Bucky scolded, eyes narrowed. “But, yes, let’s go.”

Bucky held your hand the whole time while he guided you up and down rows of cars, only letting go to guide you by the small of your back, but he never left your side. His presence was a blessing, if you were honest with yourself – a new environment full of men measuring their dicks just as much as they bragged about the power under their hoods was intimidating. 

Men stopped Bucky and asked how his business in restorations had been going since they last saw him, and while they spared you glances and pleasant greetings, few lingered and stared for longer than you’d liked. Bucky picked up on the tense line of your shoulders every time and cut the conversation short, guiding you away with his hand just above your ass. 

“They’re creepy,” you groaned. 

Bucky snarled. “I know, sweetheart. I thought they’d respect the- No, they’re men. What am I fuckin’ thinking?”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed and the sound made Bucky smirk. “You’re one in a million, babe,” you managed between fits of giggles. 

“Why, thank you, doll. You know how to make a fella feel special.” The dignified snort of laughter that left you made Bucky cough and sputter a laugh, too. 

The sky grew darker, streaks of indigo and navy across the stars as the moon rose higher, and the meet was in full swing. Cars revved and roared around you, men and women passed with nods and lingering stares; each more heated than the last. The attention gave you an inkling of something, similar to the feeling of striding alongside a king – you supposed that was the reality. 

After learning about Chevelles and Plymouths, Bucky took you down a row of other Mustangs, intermingled with the occasional Shelby. There were a few familiar faces interspersed, and you felt pride in the ability to willingly say hello to them – all of which were regulars at Bucky’s garage. 

“And how are you doing, miss?” One regular asked, and Bucky’s hand moved from the small of your back to your hip, innocently pulling you closer. You smiled at the action and replied to the friendly regular, keeping polite conversation about his own Mustang – a sixty-nine Mach One. “It’s good to see more of you at the garage,” he went on, and Bucky raised a brow in challenge. “Seeing Barnes in order is a pleasant surprise.”

“Shut it, Porter,” Bucky laughed. Porter – of which you assumed was his last name – laughed too and shook Bucky’s hand. “See you next week, yeah? You’re booked in with Bessie.” Bucky pointed at the black Mustang behind him. 

“Do all guys name their cars?” you asked, confused. 

Porter laughed and Bucky blinked once, twice, “Yeah, they do, Honey. Why?”

You stared at him, discerning his sudden sheepish expression. “Why haven’t you named yours–?”

“No reason.” Bucky turned to Porter and clapped him on the shoulder. “See you next week.” You parted his company with a wave, and then you watched Bucky’s profile as he guided you both away, until he looked at you from the corner of his eye. “What?”

“Why are you being suspicious?”

The abruptness of your question made him chuckle heartily, and he grabbed your hand. You squeezed it back. “Jus’–I haven’t named my babies because… Well, I was think-” 

A loud wolf whistle from a ways back made you jump in surprise, and Bucky froze mid stride. “Who was that to?” you wondered aloud, looking for a lone woman in case she’d needed help. “I can’t see anyone–”

“No, Honey-” Another whistle sounded, this time closer. The tune made you feel queasy and the hair on your nape stood on end. “For fucks sake,” Bucky cursed. “Keep moving.” The usual drawl and accent in his voice disappeared as he spoke, and you gulped – that meant he was pissed. 

“Where are you going, sweetheart?” A voice called. The implication made you freeze, and Bucky growled. “We just wanna see-”

“Shut the fuck up, punk,” Bucky snapped, rounding on the approaching pack of catcallers. “Take your shit out of here before I kick your ass to the curb.”

“Oh, god,” you breathed, and you pulled on Bucky’s hand, desperate to pull him back and away from them. “Bucky-”

“No,” Bucky growled, his voice dangerously low. His hands moved you behind him and you could hear the concussive silence over the boom of the speakers – even the people around you had paused whatever they were doing in their curiosity. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Huh? You think going around and hitting on anything with legs would get your dick wet?”

The man at the front of the pack bristled and advanced. “Don’t you fuckin’ talk to me like that-”

“Or what?” Bucky challenged, stepping closer to the pack of sheep. “What are you gonna do?” His broad back hid you from their view and you watched mesmerised as Bucky stepped even closer to the catcaller, invading his space. “You think you and your piece of shit friends scare me?”

“We’ll fuck you up-” The crack of skin on bone made you gasp loudly; your hands flew to your mouth in shock as you watched the man stumble and topple over. Blood spurted from his now very broken nose, covering his mouth and chin. “Fuck!”

There was suddenly a crowd of men around you – Bucky and the group in the centre as the bystanders tried to split them apart. “Get the fuck off me,” Bucky warned as one of the strangers neared, hand outstretched to touch his shoulder.

“Bucky, please, let’s just go,” you pleaded. Bucky shook his head and tensed his bloodied hand. 

It was a surreal experience – the visual of Bucky looming over a man that dared to reduce you to just an object, something to keep his dick warm and wet and a hole to fuck. 

“You fuckin’ think I’d let you look at what’s mine, you fuckin’ bastard? You think I’d let you touch her–Jesus Christ, you’re as fuckin’ stupid as you look!” The crowd was slowly dispersing as Bucky stared down at the cowering catcaller, but you were rooted to the spot, a mix of fear, awe, and downright arousal keeping you in place. 

Bucky knelt down on one knee, his face almost level with the bloodied mess he’d created. The low, gravelly tone of his voice shot a bolt of arousal straight to your cunt, and you quietly whimpered. “If you dare to look at another woman like you did my girl… I swear to god, punk, what I do to you will make your worst nightmare look like child’s play. I will hunt you down and feed you your own dick if I fuckin’ have to. Do you understand me?”

The reply was muffled by a torrent of blood from the catcaller’s nose, though Bucky seemed to be satisfied because he stood tall over his quarry, grinning like a predator that had locked onto its prey. “Get your sorry ass out of here, fucker.”

Bucky turned to you, eyes fierce and bright in his anger, and he kissed you full on the lips, his bloodied hand holding your throat. A squeak tore from your throat and Bucky rumbled against your lips, his grip tightening. “You’re mine, Honey. And I am gonna fuckin’ kill any man that thinks he can take you from me.”

“Oh.”

A groan of pain and scuffled footsteps from the catcaller as he stood went ignored as you stared into Bucky’s eyes – doe-eyed and unable to move. Fire was coursing through every nerve to land in your throbbing cunt, and you couldn’t take it anymore. “Bucky…”

His hand grabbed yours and he pulled in the direction of his Mustang. It was so late into the night that most people had cleared out and headed back home, the once packed parking lot now close to empty and abandoned. 

“That bastard thinkin’ he can take what’s mine,” Bucky grunted, and you began to pant with adrenaline, his grip had only tightened and when his Mustang came into view, you could have sworn something had possessed him – not that you were complaining. “Fuckin’ arrogant fuck–no, you are mine, and I am takin’ what’s mine.”

“Bucky, wait- I can-” You tried, but Bucky wasn’t listening. He marched you to the bonnet of his Mustang and you squealed in surprise when he forced your body over it, the cold metal biting through the outfit you’d chosen. 

“No, I won’t fuckin’ wait,” Bucky said lowly, his lips on your ear. You could feel his whole body over yours, as well as the tent in his jeans. “I need to show everyone that you’re mine–not anyone else’s.”  No one can fill your pretty pussy like I can, and no one can fuck you like I can–where you’re droolin’ and screamin’ for more.”

“Fuck,” you moaned, and your legs parted on instinct. “Need-”

“Tha’s it, doll–let those instincts take over, you’re gonna be a good girl for me, and you’re gonna take it all.” The sound of leather rubbing over denim brought you back from the imagery his words were casting in your mind’s eye, and you felt the smooth, cold surface brush your cheek. “Open up for me–there’s a good girl. You jus’ need somethin’ in that pretty mouth a’yours, huh?”

Humming an ascent, you took the leather into your mouth as Bucky cooed, the tent in his jeans rubbing tantalisingly over your ass. The leather tasted earthy and sultry, tones you couldn’t even describe in your lustful haze. 

“Good girl,” he praised. “You’re gonna bite down on that for me–I know you’re a screamer, but I don’t want anyone to hear those pretty noises you make, yeah? They’re just for your sir.” 

You nodded as Bucky chuckled, a dark sound that sent a thrill up your spine. “When we get home,” he drawled slowly and the threat in his tone made you squirm. “I am gonna fill that pretty mouth of yours, and I’m gonna fuck it like it’s your pussy. And, guess what, kitten?”

“Mm,” you mumbled around the leather. 

“You’re gonna fuckin’ take it, ‘cos I know you can,” he purred. The words sent a wave of slick to soak your panties, and you moaned low in your throat. 

His fingers danced over the clothes covering your crotch, and he whistled lowly. “Seein’ me be a possessive bastard made you this wet, baby? This all for me?”

“Mhm, yes,” you ground out past the leather, the words muffled on each syllable. “For you, sir.”

“Tha’s right, sweetheart. This pussy is mine, and I think she’s a greedy bitch that can’t get enough.” You shuddered violently at the words, and your cunt clenched around nothing. “And, you know what that means, Honey?”

A singular shake of your head snapped the chain that had held Bucky back, and he lost the last inkling of control. You gasped loudly when you heard the sound of fabric tearing, and the night air kissed your ass and thighs. It was an effort to stay grounded as Bucky shoved three fingers into your entrance to stretch it. 

“It means, sweetheart, that your pussy is gonna take me over and over, and she’s gonna beg for more–for me to fill her up, and even then…” Bucky trailed off. He curled his fingers, and you moaned loudly around the belt. “I won’t fuckin’ stop.” 

The initial breach of his length burned and stung, the ache making you whimper until he forced himself to the hilt and stilled. “Sir,” you whined and you rocked on the heels of your feet. “Fuck me–take me, please.”

“Beg correctly, whore,” Bucky spat, and the words caused a cascade of sensations to settle in your pulsing cunt. “You know how I like it.”

You sobbed and bore down on his cock like a vice, and his breath hitched. “‘M yours, ‘m yours, sir!”

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he soothed. You felt his hand move to the back of your neck, and his other hand forced your arms back and up, immobilising you. “You take this cock like you were made to, and you thank me for it, bitch.” 

Bucky thrust forward with such force you were moved up the bonnet of the Mustang, your skin sticking to the now slick metal as he fucked you with abandon. Pleasure curled up your spine and your toes curled – the anticipation and downright feral state of Bucky had left you no time to call upon endurance, and your release loomed closer and closer, each pass of his cock over your walls bringing it to fruition. 

“Your cunt is so fuckin’ good, baby,” Bucky groaned, letting go of your arms so his front could press flush against your back. “Fuckin’ perfect for me–made jus’ for me to fuck and fill, to breed, huh?”

You screamed around the belt and nodded, tears filling your eyes at the onslaught. “Close! Please, please don’ stop, sir!”

“Already,” Bucky grumbled, and he followed the statement with such a harsh thrust your mouth opened wide in a silent scream – the leather falling from your mouth to land on the bonnet with a wet slap. “Whose cock makes you feel this good, doll? Say it!”

“Yours, sir! Sir’s cock!” you sobbed. “Uh, uh, fuck!”

“Can feel you squeezin’ me, Honey,” Bucky cooed, the mocking tone only stoking the fire of your climax. “You gonna cum for me? That what you want?”

“Oh, fucking- Fuck, yes! Wanna cum, sir, please,” you begged. The sudden feel of Bucky’s hand skirting over your hip made your eyes widen, and you gulped and choked as he circled your clit in tight, fast circles. 

The slick sound of his cock pumping in and out of you at a hard, deep pace, paired with the sound of his pants for air behind you only forced you closer to the edge. 

“This pussy is mine, isn’t it?” Bucky barked, his thrusts growing sloppy. “Fuckin’ tell me it’s mine—be a good girl and tell me.”

You moaned and groped over the bonnet for purchase, and Bucky slammed his hand down on top of yours, pinning it in place. “Bucky, Bucky–oh fuck, it’s yours!” 

The climax that had sped into grasping distance had finally started to crest and you whimpered loudly, a cry for release. “Soak my cock, baby, it’s yours. Fuckin’ cum for me, kitten–give it to me.”

Sweet, sweet release swept you away, and you sobbed through the intense waves that pulled you under. Your feet left the ground with each pump of Bucky’s cock while he fucked you through your climax, and the coattails of another one started to crest. “Gonna cum again, sir!”

“Tell them who you fuckin’ belong to, doll,” Bucky groaned, his hips faltering in their rhythm. “Call for me, baby–call me!”

Your second climax tore you from your body and you faintly registered the warmth blooming in your pussy while Bucky moaned, his hips rabbiting and pumping you full of his release so it fell in rivulets down your inner thighs. “Fuckin’ hell,” he panted, and you giggled weakly. “Baby–baby, you alright?”

“Yeah,” you panted. “Fucked me so good, sir.”

Bucky snorted and rested his forehead between your shoulders. 

Slowly, you came back down from your high, and just when you felt able to move, Bucky pulled out with a groan. You could feel his fingers force his cum back in your cunt, and the action alone made you moan quietly. “So fuckin’ pretty for me, baby,” Bucky breathed. 

He helped you stand and steadied you against his chest, when he kissed you on the forehead and smiled like a lovestruck fool. “Let’s go home, sweetheart, I made a promise and I know for fuckin’ sure there are other ways I can show everyone that you’re mine.”

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑  ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

[abitnotgoodiebag]

title: person of the year

rating: g

square: the only power I have is that I believe we can do better

for @allcapsbingo

art only under the cut

[cable-knit-sweater]

If it feels right (then it must be)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word count: 2.1k

Rating: E

Tags: Dom/sub, Dom Bucky Barnes, sub Steve Rogers, cockwarming, face fucking, dirty talk, facials, daddy kink, come play, memory recovery, flashbacks

Summary:

He’d stared up at him. “What did you call me?” Bucky asked, a little nonsensically. “What did I… Buck?” Steve had a lopsided smile on his face as he made his way into the room. “I call you lotsa things,” he said, but whereas usually, he’d say something like that with an amused voice and a shit eating grin, Bucky could just hear worry shine through. “No, I meant,” Bucky shook his head, trying to find a way to explain, to ease Steve's worries, “before, what did you call me before.” “I really don’t-” “Before,” he said, trying to infuse his words with as much meaning as he could. “Before, when we were together, when we'd-” He could see understanding slowly dawn on Steve, his frown easing. “Oh.” A light blush started to cover his cheeks. “You remembered?” he asked, voice soft, eyes hopeful.

In which Bucky remembers what Steve used to call him, and Steve starts calling him it again.

Read on AO3

Written for @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer || Week 2: June 8th - June 14th || “What should I call you?” || [Daddy | Alpha | Sir] and @allcapsbingo card AC1005 || Square: G2 - Facial

[darsynia]

Hands Off | Ch 3: Alchemy

(Steve Rogers/f!Reader sex pollen-esque multichapter)

gif by @fandomsunited (not sure why that didn't persist in my final edit but I posted this late last night sorry about that)

STORY MASTERLIST | STEVE MASTERLIST | PREV | NEXT

Summary: Steve’s loved hearing about you from Bucky. He doesn’t want anything to derail the progress his best friend has made toward being a whole person again, which is why he’s going to use every ounce of his slowly-deteriorating willpower to resist touching you, tasting you, taking you. After all, he’s just met you, and his own integrity, not to mention Bucky’s trust, is important to him.

Neither of you are prepared for the catch.

Length | Warnings: 2,772 | Sex

Fill: Adoptable ‘Pheremones’ from @allcapsbingo

Tags (please request!): @starryeyes2000 @munstysmind @ronearoundblindly @chickensarentcheap @themaradaniels @tiny-anne @deepbatched @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @wolfstar-marvelsfan @icequeen1371 @chibijusstuff @nekoannie-chan

Alchemy

Electricity. The second your leg touches Steve’s hand, you feel a jolt of searing need that flashes across every inch of your exposed skin. The tiny amount of self-discipline you’d been clinging to has completely evaporated.

You’d already been reaching for him when Steve had started sliding his heated hand up your leg, leaving eddies of anticipation in its wake. The way you beg out his name sounds overeager even to your own ears.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, the words rough and reluctant.

“Absolutely not.” You curl your fingers around his wrist and pull his fisted hand up to kiss his knuckles. Even your lips feel swollen and sensitive, something that’s enhanced when Steve’s hand flexes after your kiss to press his thumb against them.

Both of you make noises in the dark at that.

“I shouldn’t listen to you,” Steve whispers hoarsely, snatching his hand away.

You feel desperate and empty. “It feels like I’ll die if you don’t touch me,” you plead. “I thought you were a hero, Steve Rogers!”

There’s a loud sound behind your head that can only be Steve slamming his hand flat on the headboard, and then his lips are sucking a groaning kiss onto your shoulder as one hand drags away your loosened bra. His frantic need touches up a sharp stab of fear that’s oddly erotic, but it’s the way his knee presses up between your legs to spread them that undoes you. You grab a handful of his shirt to anchor yourself right as he tears your flimsy lace panties off.

“I can’t see y-- I need you to--” he blurts out haltingly, hand gripping your hip so hard it’s definitely going to bruise. You want it to.

“What is it?”

Steve quests for you in the dark, forearm grazing your nipple deliciously on his way to taking your hand and placing it on his bicep. “I need to hear or feel that you’re with me, or I’ll never--”

As soon as he says the word ‘feel,’ you reach for him, pulling at his tank top, stroking his hip with your leg, tugging, begging, pleading.

“I hear you, I’m here, I--” he mutters, meaning you’d been saying those things out loud, but then you find each other, and he lances into you. The pure pleasure and relief is enough to take your breath away. “Oh,” Steve breathes into your hair, holding still. 

You feel both pierced and enclosed, surrounded by this man you’ve heard and cared about by proxy over the past few months. The sensual heat of his body against and inside is filling you more than you were prepared for, as though the intimacy itself has healing properties.

Then, Steve moves his hips.

“Oh my God don’t you ever fucking stop!” you gasp out, moving to meet him when he rocks back in.

“I don’t think I can,” he says brokenly. The way he sucks in a breath as your rhythm matches his sends sparks of pleasure from every place you’re touching. “This is--”

“Ruinous?” you ask, deliberately angling your hips and tightening your inner walls around him. It’s rewarding as fuck, literally, because Steve Rogers grunts out his approval and speeds up, slamming into you with glorious fervor. All you can do is hold on and enjoy the ride, the fleeting thought passing through that you really wish you could see his face. 

There’s reward in the clench and release of his muscles under your hands, in the noises he’s making, but then he shifts his weight and cups your face with one hand, his thumb caressing its way over to press on your lips again. You’d loved that the first time, but you aren’t ready for Steve to lean his head a breath away from his own thumb, almost kissing it, his other hand holding your hip possessively.

The tenderness of his gesture during such a frenzy rips away the secret armor around your heart before you realize it’s happening-- because this is the very last barrier he has, the only part of himself he’s holding back.

Kisses are for lovers, and he’s being a hero.

After a thought like that, everywhere you can think to put your hands feels like trespassing, even though he’s fucking you into the mattress. There’s no comfort you can give this man, but you can show him that you’re an eager participant, that you’re not merely enduring this, but enjoying it, actively. You roll your hips with every thrust, stroking your hand along his bicep instead of his face like you want to. 

It’s obvious that it feels as good to him as it does for you, because Steve’s response is to huff a heated, grateful moan against his own thumb, his other fingers curling in pleasure on your face. You hum in appreciation, forgetting the way the sound will resonate on his thumb and his lips.

Steve licks his lips, and the brush of his tongue is napalm-sweet, destructive and delicious. You throw your head back and clench yourself around him as you arch up, hands sinking into his hair despite your determination not to. His response is to groan low and deep, sinking his face into the pillow beside you. You catch your breath when he runs his free hand along your leg, his hips stuttering with his lost concentration.

That’s heady enough, and you can feel a catastrophic orgasm on the horizon-- but then he keeps moving his hand, stroking and searching until he’s pulling your hand from his hair and slamming it down beside your head. Then Steve sucks in a breath, clasps your hands together and comes.

He comes, like it was a surprise, like the act of holding your hand was enough out of all the filthy, sensual, glorious things you’ve been doing together. Like Mistress wasn’t enough, like the room smelling like the musk of arousal wasn’t enough, but a palm to palm connection with you sent him over the edge. 

Every second of his agony is almost as intense for you as it clearly is for him. The weight of what’s just happened floods your eyes with tears that you know Steve wouldn’t understand if he could see them. That’s reinforced when, after going limp on top of you for a few seconds, he moves to rest on the mattress beside you. The fingers he’d been brutalizing your hip with smoothe a caress over to your stomach… but he doesn’t let go of your other hand.

Lifting Thor’s hammer couldn’t have made you feel more worthy.

After a moment, the hand on your stomach starts to slide down, thank God.

“Do you want--” Steve asks, and there’s enough Mistress in your system that your body answers for you. His deep chuckle sounds relieved rather than mocking to your overstimulated ears, but mostly you just chase his twisting fingers with your hips as you whisper barely-respectable encouragement.

It doesn’t take long for the tide of onrushing pleasure to start cresting for you, and you devolve into gasps and sighs that grow more desperate the closer you get to coming. Steve’s been making little encouragement noises that have barely registered for you because, whether he realizes it or not, he’s also been squeezing your joined hands in rhythm with his other hand’s movement. 

There’s something hot as hell about that, for some reason, but trying not to squeeze with him has drawn out your pleasure in wonderful and frustrating ways. You’re scared you’ll remind him that you’re holding hands, and he’ll stop-- but then Steve does something with his hand, something that only works if you’re strong and your hand is large, and you arch up, babble something incoherent, and squeeze the hell out of his hand.

“Ahhh!” Steve says, hand shifting so he can press his thumb in a warm sweep against the very center of your palm-- and that’s it, you’re destroyed for anyone else, forever. As you writhe in the throes of the best orgasm you’ve ever experienced, the thought that no other man’s going to play with your clit and your palm at the same time occurs to you, but there’s nothing you can do about that now.

You black out.

When you wake up, you recognize the clinical setting of a hospital room, and the huge, terrified breath you suck in alerts multiple people to the fact that you’re awake.

“You’re okay, Dee, you’re fine, you made it,” Bucky says from somewhere in the room. The light is too bright, his voice is too loud, and you let out a sound of distress that sounds so much like a sex noise you swear out loud. “There she is!” your asshole best friend crows. Only then does he look over at you enough to realize what’s going on. “Light too bright?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, noting that there’s an actual IV in your arm, when you go to cover your ears. “Everything’s too much. Light, sound…”

Blessedly, someone flips a switch, and most of the lights in the room go out.

“I’ll mark that down,” a woman’s voice says softly. She’s wearing a white coat and an ID badge, but the badge is turned toward her chest, and the coat is covering what look like regular clothes, not scrubs.

“Whose insurance is this under?” you ask, suddenly uneasy. You’ve been uninsured for a while, ever since stepping away from your day job to work ‘full time’ as a vocalist. In reality, you’ve swapped to doing charity work in exchange for a small apartment above their office, with fewer hours, but the result is the same.

“You don’t have to worry about that, Miss--”

“Stark’s mistake, Stark’s funds,” Bucky interrupts. His voice is loud enough that it takes your muddled brain a little while to understand what he means. Your expression must look pained, because when he speaks again, it’s much quieter. “Can we have a few minutes?”

“That depends,” the doctor/nurse/indiscriminate medical professional says, sliding her glasses down her nose to address her next question to you. “Do you feel any residual effects of your exposure?”

Sure you do. You’re shaken to your core, literally and figuratively. Your concept of heroes has been drastically changed. 

You’ll never feel satisfied with sex ever again.

But that’s not what this woman is asking.

“No, I--I pretty much feel like myself.”

“Took you a minute,” Bucky mutters.

“Answering a medical question right away just makes doctors dubious,” you sniff.

“Quite right,” the woman says, sliding her glasses back up. “Three minutes.”

She’s already walking out the door when Bucky chases after her, hissing, “I won’t be done talking shit in three minutes!” You’re grateful he’d done that instead of yelling, because everything is intense right now.

“You’re never done talking shit,” you point out, holding up your arm. “So, I needed an IV? Please tell me it wasn’t for fluids.”

Bucky starts coughing. “Shit, I thought I’d have to wait a month before I could make jokes!”

“Oh, you do. I don’t.” You grin at him.

“Got it,” he says, clearly suppressing a smile. The expression shifts, and Bucky says, “You're in the tower infirmary. Steve says he’ll clear out if you want to visit the apartment. I told him you’d probably never set foot in there again.” He looks over at the window, obviously uncomfortable, so he doesn’t catch your stricken expression. Steve had done everything possible to treat you with respect. You don’t want him to think you’d be that… flippant about everything, at least, not with him.

“He knows you didn’t talk to me first before you said that, right?” You wonder if Steve needed an IV at all or if his healing factor meant he was fine by the time the two of you were rescued.

You also wonder how long he held your hand, after you passed out-- but shove the thought away.

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind. How did I end up here?”

Bucky walks over and seems intensely interested in the IV bag, avoiding your eyes.

“You didn’t break in, did you? Steve says there was some kind of toxic gas that would get released if we broke the door barrier dow--”

“I did not break into my apartment, no,” he says over the rest of your sentence.

“Okay, you are not subtle, which tells me you want me to know that you broke in somewhere,” you say, your scattered mind bumping into some conclusions you can’t quite bring into focus. The only one you can get a grasp on makes you frown and reach for him. “You felt helpless, didn’t you?”

Bucky squeezes your hand for a second, and you tighten your grip when he goes to pull free. The signals he’s sending are clear, but now is not the time. You yank at his hand to make him look at you, and tune the dial back to levity.

“Hey, at least one thing went right, right? You’re in a new shirt!”

“You don’t have to do that,” he says, tensing up.

“Woah, there. Do what?” you ask. Bucky’s pulling at his hand again, and you look down in time to see that there’s some blood on it, before he uses his superior strength to get free, the thing he’d avoided doing before. “Gig’s up, Buck. What did you do?”

His lips twist to the side like he’s five years old and you’ve caught him stealing cookies. “I reassigned some priorities.”

“How does that put blood on your hand? Is it yours?”

An alarm starts going off in the room. It’s too loud, oppressively so, enough that all you can focus on is blocking it out.

Two awful minutes later, the sound stops, and you emerge from your pillow refuge to see that Bucky’s nowhere to be found. The white-coated woman from before is now tapping away at the machine next to your IV pole.

“Your blood pressure rose very quickly,” she says, frowning.

“Okay, you know what? Your blood pressure would rise too if you’d had that conversation, so how about you tell me when I can get out of here, and in return, I won’t rip this IV out and make that decision for both of us?”

You very much need to go home and start the process of forgetting what it feels like to hold hands with Steve Rogers, because that’s the part that’s fucking you up. It feels dangerous.

Disapproval is wafting off of this nurse/caretaker/doctor person, but she nods, pulling an envelope from the pocket of her coat to hand you. “I can remove the IV now, but as for release, give me a half hour? Yours was one in a long line of disturbances today.”

You spend the whole IV removal affronted by the characterization of what happened to you as a ‘disturbance,’ until you realize that was her goal. It had kept you quiet and still as you seethed.

You stew on that while you open the envelope, but the letter inside makes you forget all of that.

Hey, Chickadee. Tony Stark here.  Good news! There is zero surveillance footage of your presence in the tower today. I snatched snagged a few images you might be interested to see, though. Please don’t sell them for money. Your phone data should be copied over to the new model I took the liberty of picking out for you by the time they let you leave. I know this makes me a dick jerk, but I take the safety of my teammates very seriously, and you’ve done wonders for that, so it’s the least I can do.  For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about my part in what happened today. I fucked screwed messed up, and I’m writing this on some serious pain meds. I owe you some favors, is what I’m saying, and the phone is only the first of them. I’m fine, by the way. Just fine. Stark

You’re pretty sure he wrote this himself with zero oversight, and though you probably should be offended by the insensitivity, the letter is pretty ballsy and hilarious, which is on brand, really. Bucky had implied that Steve’s accident with Mistress was Stark’s fault, and if that’s true, you have some questions, but right now you’re so shaken by the effect that you don’t have time to contemplate the cause. Inside the envelope is a second envelope, and inside that is two pictures.

One is a picture of Tony Stark with a black eye.

The other is a picture of Steve Rogers with a black eye.

Next chapter...

[sparkagrace]

Avengers... Assemblé

Avengers... Assemblé | @sparkagrace

fills: @stuckybingo B3: team cap | @allcapsbingo B5: au: ballet tags: moodboard, steve x bucky, team cap, ballet au, brief mentions of racism and abusive practices word count: 460 words credit: @cable-knit-sweater for the title! ily bb 💘

Welcome to Team Cap Ballet Studio, a contemporary ballet school in the heart of Brooklyn run by married couple, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. They're joined by Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson, Wanda Maximoff, Clint Barton and Scott Lang.

Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes

Once primos in their own respective ballet companies, the two dancers fell in love but grew frustrated by the lack of inclusion and diversity in the industry. They tried in vain to push for performances where they could have Swan Lake with two male leads or Giselle with two female leads instead of the traditional stories. As they neared retirement, and now married, the two began serious discussions about creating their own studio where they could push the boundaries of their art and find a space for other like-minded dancers to join. 

Natasha Romanoff

Natasha was the rose of the Red Room, but they were notorious for creating an unhealthy environment for their dancers, most of whom were extremely young and vulnerable. Unable to keep dancing for a company who did not respect their dancers, Natasha blew the whistle and was blacklisted by the stalwarts of the industry almost immediately. Thankfully, Bucky got in touch with her and offered her a teaching position at Team Cap. Not only is Natasha a creative director, but she also ensures that the dancers have a safe and open environment.

Sam Wilson

Sam Wilson is one of the best dancers of his generation. His elegance and technique is impeccable, as well as being one of the nicest and most personable athletes in the business. Unfortunately, the industry is too traditional and conservative to give him the leading roles that he deserves. Time and time again he's been passed over for lesser dancers, and it's not hard to understand why. Jaded and disillusioned by his treatment, he almost hangs up his ballet shoes only for Steve to reach out and ask him to be Team Cap's primo.

Wanda Maximoff

A young prodigy, Wanda’s grace on the stage is unrivaled. Trained in the Red Room, she was made to dance over and over again until she was perfect. Thankfully, Natasha took her under her wing and brought her over to Team Cap, where she’s thriving in an environment that looks after her. As a result, she’s been positioned as one of the best prima ballerinas and wanted by every company. However, her loyalties lie with the studio that saved her.

Clint Barton and Scott Lang

Clint and Scott found out the hard way that the industry looks down on those who don't conform to their standards. Despite being great dancers - agile and strong - they haven't been given the chance they deserve because of criminal records from youthful indiscretions. It didn't matter how much they had worked to put their pasts behind them, they felt shunned by the business all the same. That was until Steve and Bucky brought them into the fold. Now they teach ballet and dance to kids in similar positions to help give them tools and show them that there's always a way out and proof that their past doesn't dictate their futures.