theanothersherlockian

[theanothersherlockian]

HOT HOT THESE TWO ARE MY FAVSSSSSS

boys like you

Frankie Morales x Benny Miller | wc ~1.3k | explicit, mdni | ao3

summary: a movie night gets steamy, Stallone means making out, basically no plot

warnings: mlm, homophobes might feel a slight tingle in their panties, established relationship, dry humping, finger sucking, cumshot, oral, petnames (baby, pretty boy), a dash of dirty talk and praise, Spanish (guapo=handsome, mírame=look at me)

a/n: my follower milestone drabble for @qunariagenda, thank you so much for asking for some FishBen!! I chose the movie nights prompt (but the guys are pretty good with their hands, so I'm giving myself a half point for that). I hope you like it! and special thanks, as always, to @guiltyasdave for the beta and hype 💛

songspiration: boys like you - tanerélle (i LOVE her, check her out)

With Benny it has always been about his hands and fingers. Plucking the strings of his guitar, at night when they were deployed in some sandy hole or wet ditch. Punching some opponent straight in the face during a fight. Holding a gun. Pulling a trigger. Fighting for his life with his hands trying to crush a windpipe of someone who's been declared as their enemy. Cutting up herbs and meat for a legendary BBQ. Pulling women onto the dancefloor and feeling them up with a boyish grin that lets him get away with almost anything. Pulling Frankie in for a kiss, fingers splayed on his nape.

Like right now.

Both of them haven’t paid much attention to the movie they wanted to watch. Something with Sylvester Stallone, which always means making out. Because they know all of Stallone’s movies, like the back of their–

“–hand,” Benny mutters, not even completely breaking away from the kiss. “Give me your hand.”

Something about this big guy and his low voice make Frankie cave, always. Especially when Benny sounds so sweet, needy, already sucking Frankie’s bottom lip between his teeth and tugging on it. Like he can’t get enough. Maybe he really can’t get enough.

Frankie holds out his hand, the one he reluctantly pulled away from Benny’s hair, and a dazed smile spreads on his face when Benny rubs his cheek into his palm.

The smile turns into a bitten lip when Benny starts guiding their intertwined hands down, along his neck and the rumpled tshirt, slow, so damn slow over his stomach, flexing his muscles because he knows it makes Frankie twitch in his shorts, and then down the front his sweats. 

Rubbing. Pressing, making Frankie’s fingers wrap around the thick outline of his hard cock.

“You feel this? Feel how hard I am for you?”

Benny tightens his grip around himself and Frankie's hand, tentatively palming himself, groaning when he gets back on top of Frankie. Slotting so perfectly between the thighs of the older man and trapping his hand between their bodies, between their straining cocks.

“Say it, Morales,” Benny murmurs, his voice honeyed and scraping before he gently nips on Frankie’s earlobe.

“Dios, I feel it.”

He gasps, the air knocked out of his lungs when Benny cages him in between his arms and starts grinding against him, against his hand, against his own hard-on. Frankie can’t move his hand, all he can do is feel how Benny rolls his hips back and forth, pushing the whole length of his clothed cock over Frankie’s palm and further until he feels Frankie’s finger curl over his balls.

Benny grunts with his face hidden in the crook of the other man's neck, then pulls his hips back and slowly pushes forward again. The same pace Frankie likes to set to feel Benny writhe and plead. Faster, oh god, baby, please, just a lil’ faster. He never goes faster. Nice and slow ‘till the end.

Frankie knows that there will be no faster for him tonight. It’s just this. Torturously slow. High friction. Back. And forth. Back again. Until one of them starts cussing and begging. 

He gives in. Pinned down under Benny’s body he surrenders. Next time it will be his turn again. 

“Guapo,” Frankie moans softly, answering Benny’s movements with his own, canting to feel more. “So pretty for me.”

Benny chuckles, breathlessly, burrowing his flushing cheeks deeper into Frankie’s shoulder. Perhaps there’s a stutter in the ebb and flood, his back and forth. 

Back and forth.

“Mírame.” An order, a loving one. Frankie’s free hand tugs on Benny’s hair until their eyes meet. Blue framed with strawberry blonde, flecks of gold littered over his skin, all over his body; Frankie knows this, familiar with every freckle his love has.

“Pretty boy,” he says, tongue and lids heavy, weighted down by the heat and longing between them.

Benny’s hips stutter again, every praise making him lose his rhythm. Flustered that Frankie can still make him blush like he makes the girls blush.

“Stop it,” he mutters but soon is silenced by Frankie thumbing his bottom lip. Hips snap forward, eyes widen, Frankie’s thumb pushes between Benny’s lips.

The muffled moan resembles the one that fills their four walls whenever Benny is nestled between Frankie’s legs to make them both forget about their day. Lips puckered, tongue lapping, hollowed cheeks. The same praise.

“So good for me. Just like that, baby…”

Frankie sets the pace now, pushing his finger deeper into Benny’s hot mouth and pulling back out. Benny’s movements mirror Frankie's, the back and forth, faster now because he can’t tell his needs apart. His mouth is needy, his cock is, too. Both messy, both leaking.

Frankie knows the look on Benny’s face, he’s gone, chasing release, grinding himself against the heel of Frankie’s palm, moaning around his finger, drunk on the man beneath him.

“Gonna come for me?” Frankie purrs, just as close but not ready yet. “Gonna let me feel how desperate you are, hm?”

Benny whines, spit sticking to his beard when Frankie replaces his thumb with his index and middle finger instead. Nodding his head and ignoring the tingle in the back of his throat when he sucks the fingers deeper into his mouth.

“Already making a mess for me…” Frankie tuts, relishing in Benny’s rutting growing sloppy. It’s not even back and forth anymore, just desperately canting into Frankie’s hand, now that he found the exact spot that will send him over the edge.

“That's it. That's my pretty boy. Show me, I wanna see you.”

He hooks his thumb behind the waistband of Benny’s sweats and with the next movement they are getting tugged down enough for him to understand. Frankie’s fingers slip from his mouth when Benny sits back on his heels, pushing his sweats and boxers down just enough.

It doesn't take much for Benny. Just a few hasty and hard strokes and the sight of Frankie licking his lips and pulling his shirt up to bare his stomach, and he is spilling all over his fist and Frankie’s exposed skin. 

His whole body jerks when he pulls his hand away, a shaky laugh escaping him when he hears Frankie mutter a gorgeous.

“You always get me with those damn praises,” Benny huffs softly and unceremoniously pulls down the other man’s shorts. 

Frankie's cock springs free, leaking, sensitive from the grinding and humping, his balls, heavy and full, already tight and tucked high. With that boyish smirk of his, Benny slots between Frankie’s thighs again.

The flat of his tongue moves up, from Frankie’s balls over his cock and through the sticky happy trail, relishing the moans and the hand in his hair and the taste of his cum mixing with Frankie’s. Benny grins, like a cat that got cream, and licks up his own spent before he finally, fucking finally, wraps his lips around Frankie’s sensitive tip.

The fingers in his hair tighten when Benny starts bobbing his head and hollows his cheeks again. And before Frankie can start uttering out his praise, Benny reaches up and offers his still sticky fingers to him.

Two, then three fingers get sucked into Frankie’s mouth with a low moan. Hips snapping in the same rhythm as the fingers get pushed between his lips. A steady back and forth.

It has always been about Benny's hands and fingers. Plucking on Frankie’s heartstrings or the drawstrings of his shorts, curling around his cock, carding through his hair at night.

Or holding hands while he makes Frankie come in his mouth. Cupping the man’s jaw with licked clean fingers. Caressing his cheek when he pushes himself up so they can share a kiss and their flavors.

“That was nice,” Benny whispers, sucking the last bit of salty taste from Frankie’s lips.

“Yeah, it was.” Frankie smirks, wiping the corner of Benny’s mouth with his fingertip. “Should we start the movie over?”

every time someone likes queer content a homophob gets horny in public. help them out, support queer artists!

also: let me know how I did with my first ever attempt at FishBen, preferably with words, thanks! 🫶✌️

follower milestone drabble masterlist here

general masterlist here

dividers: @saradika-graphics

[theanothersherlockian]

catfish for dinner, anyone? make sure to lick your fingers clean!

chef!frankie courtesy of @jolacheese and their trope search 💜 i knew what i had to do 🙂‍↕️

[theanothersherlockian]

"empowering women by sending katy perry to space for 2 minutes" shut the fuck up. samantha cristoforetti was the first female commander of the international space station and she became an astronaut because of star trek. and there is a real chance she is a kirk/spock shipper

[theanothersherlockian]

Ellie has always been happy-go-lucky. See, well, many points in the game/show. Her time in the mall with Riley. Joking with Joel on their journey. Bonding with Sam. The museum with Joel. Ellie is happy by default, and it's always been protrayed as a miracle in the world she grew up in. It's present again thanks to the emotional catharsis of Ellie and Dina sharing their secrets and finally coming together (so to speak).

The difference between the show and the game is, they're trying to show Ellie a future where she can be happy. Be with Dina, raise a kid, be a dad (;_;)... She has an out right now. She could turn back and have it all... But she chose to go straight into a war-- this is where we'll see her intensity come back.

[theanothersherlockian]

[theanothersherlockian]

🎵Can't wait to meet you, so join the an-🎶

(Original video)

(I feel like Sam would be the kind of guy to film tiktoks at work if he had a smartphone)

[theanothersherlockian]

thinking about how joel sits and carves wooden animals to decorate his house with. how he probably carved ellie her horse and continued to carve her creatures even when she was avoiding him. how he’ll never finish his owl.

[theanothersherlockian]

dads trash talk at the egg festival

[theanothersherlockian]

Next up on the Stardew comic agenda: Shane gets bullied into compliance.

← previous |

Comic Masterlist

[theanothersherlockian]

Uncle Joel

The Last Of Us 2x01 "Future Days"

[theanothersherlockian]

So I am sitting here playing solitaire on the Linkin Park website, and the computer LOST THE FOUR OF CLUBS! It literally is missing a card!

There is nowhere it could be hiding! The four of clubs is just not there!

[theanothersherlockian]

Almost Caught

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: You sneak out with Bucky for a secret date and almost get caught.

Word Count: 723

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, lying to friends (for romance reasons!)

A/N: this is kind of a sequel to "you said what?" — it’s the same vibe, same chaotic energy, but it can totally be read on its own! just think of it as part of the same soft universe 💕 hope you enjoy this <3

You never thought your most romantic date would start with crawling out of a window and jumping two stories down into Bucky’s arms—right behind the dumpsters.

“I can’t believe this is how we have to go out,” you whisper, pulling your hoodie tighter.

Bucky grins at you, eyes sparkling. “Come on. You love the danger. Sneaking out like spies.”

You roll your eyes— but he’s right. You do kind of love it. Especially when he leans in and kisses you, right there in the alley, his hand cupping your jaw like you’re the best thing he’s ever held.

The two of you walk a few blocks, laughing quietly, until you reach the rooftop of an old bakery. It’s not fancy, but it’s cozy. Your spot. The stars are out tonight, the sky clear and dark, and it feels like something out of a dream.

Bucky opens a bag he brought with him. “Ta-da.”

You peek inside. Burgers. Fries. Milkshakes. From that place you both secretly love, Cheesy Billy’s Burgers, but refuse to tell the team about, because Tony called it culinary war crime once.

You sit side by side, your legs swinging over the edge of the roof. You eat, you talk, and you laugh so hard you almost choke on your soda. Bucky watches you with that soft look of his, like you’re the most important thing in the universe. Like the stars are nice, sure—but not better than you.

“Y’know,” he murmurs, “if we didn’t have to sneak around like teenagers—”

“We’d still come here,” you say, nudging his foot with yours. “This is our spot.”

He smiles and leans closer. “Yeah. Our spot.”

And he kisses you. Soft, slow, perfect. The kind that makes your heart ache in the best way.

Then—

You hear voices below. Familiar ones.

“Wait—this is where they get the good fries?” Sam says. “Why have we never been here?”

You both freeze.

You slowly peek over the edge of the roof. Sam and Peter are standing below, staring at the bakery’s glowing sign.

“Oh my god,” you whisper. “We’re gonna get caught. On our date night. While eating greasy fries.”

Bucky’s already stuffing fries in his mouth. “I’m not giving these up.”

You stare at him. “Are you serious right now?!”

“I have priorities,” he mumbles around a fry.

You both scramble to hide. Bucky throws his hoodie over your head like a blanket and pulls you into the shadows. You’re both giggling, trying to be quiet. Bucky looks like he’s having the time of his life.

Below, Sam looks up for a second, squinting. “…Did you hear something?”

Peter shrugs. “Maybe a raccoon?”

You whisper, “We are the raccoons.”

Somehow, you manage to escape without being seen.

Back at the compound, breathless and laughing in the hallway, Bucky presses you against the wall and kisses you again.

“Next time,” he murmurs, “I’m buying us disguises.”

“…Like wigs?”

He grins. “I was thinking matching mustaches.”

You snort-laugh so hard, someone passing by stares at you suspiciously.

In the next morning , you’re minding your business in the common room, nursing a coffee, when you hear “Yo, Bucky… since when do you eat at Cheesy Billy’s Burgers?”

Your stomach drops.

You turn just in time to see Sam waving a greasy, crumpled receipt like it’s evidence in a murder case.

“Found this in your jacket pocket, man. Thought you hated that place.”

Bucky blinks. Looks at you. Then back at Sam.

“I… don’t remember going there.”

Classic.

Natasha, from the couch “Wasn’t that the night you said you were doing recon?”

Tony walks in with a mug. “Wait, wait—Bucky Barnes ordered a Double Cheesezilla with extra onion rings and a milkshake. Who are you?”

You’re biting your lip so hard trying not to laugh, you might bleed. Bucky looks at you, then back at them, completely straight-faced.

“Maybe it was Steve’s jacket?” Bucky offers. “Old jacket. Probably Steve.”

Steve, walking by “What?”

“Nothing.” Bucky blurts.

Later, in the hallway, you tackle him into a storage closet and whisper, “You kept the receipt?!”

“You said it was the best burger you’d ever had. I panicked and wanted to remember the order.”

Your heart melts. “You’re unbelievable.”

He shrugs, grinning. “You love me.”

You kiss him, just once. “Unfortunately, yes.”

A/N: i wrote a part 3 about them. if you want to check it out here it is <3

[theanothersherlockian]

You Said What?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: You accidentaly call Bucky babe during a mission briefing in front of the whole team.

Word Count: 506

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating

A/N: This is a short story that came to my mind while I was studying, so I had to write it down. Hope you like it :)

Everyone’s crowded around the mission table. It’s too early, someone definitely stole your last coffee, and you're still rubbing sleep out of your eyes when Steve starts explaining the recon plan with way too many acronyms.

Bucky’s next to you, legs slightly touching, flipping a pen between his fingers like he’s not just waiting for a reason to pull your chair closer. He’s staring straight ahead like a good soldier, but you catch him glancing at you from the corner of his eye every time your knee bounces.

You're trying to pay attention. Something about rooftops, safehouses, surveillance drones and you’re barely following when—

“…and Barnes, you’ll be on overwatch with Y/N.”

And you, running on 2 hours of sleep and one granola bar, lean toward Bucky without thinking.

“Did you hear that, babe?”

Silence.

Cold. Dead. Silence.

Everyone looks at you.

Nat squints. Sam raises both eyebrows so high they disappear into his hairline. Peter drops his pen. Steve, bless his heart, blinks like someone just smacked him with a frisbee.

Bucky doesn’t breathe. Your soul detaches from your body, floats toward the ceiling, and screams.

You scramble. “I—I said bro. Like, ‘Did you hear that, bro?’ That’s what I said. Like a…cool, soldier-y nickname. Haha.”

The room is quiet again. No one believes you. Especially not Sam.  “You said babe. You said it casually.”

Bucky doesn’t even look at you. He’s locked in full Winter Soldier mode, eyes fixed on a random spot on the wall like he’s trying to transcend to another timeline.

“I think she said brrr,” Bucky offers, stone-faced. “She’s cold.”

“She’s wearing a hoodie,” Peter mutters.

You laugh way too loud. “It’s the energy in here. Very chilly.”

Bucky leans back in his chair, arms crossed, staring straight ahead like if he makes direct eye contact with anyone he’ll combust.

Steve slowly turns to him. “Barnes?”

“…Yeah?”

“You cold too?”

Bucky shrugs. “Freezing.”

You know he’s going to murder you in the hallway. Probably kiss you breathless after. But first—death.

Steve stares a moment longer. Then—mercifully—moves on. But the damage is done.

Nat doesn’t. “So… bro, huh?”

You glare at her.

Later, when the meeting is already over, you burst in Bucky's room, already talking. “I told you this would happen, I told you I’d forget—”

Bucky slams the door shut and corners you. “You said babe. In front of Rogers.”

You bury your face in your hands. “I wanna crawl inside a ventilation shaft and disappear.”

He chuckles—actually chuckles—and pulls your hands away.

“Wanna know a secret?” he murmurs, leaning in.

“…What?”

“I liked it.”

You blink up at him. “You liked almost being exposed?”

“No,” he says, brushing his nose against yours. “I liked hearing you call me babe.”

Your heart stutters.

“…Say it again.”

You grin. “Babe?”

Then he kisses you like the whole building isn’t even real. Like the only thing in the universe is your mouth and his hands and the way you said it without even realizing.

A/N: i just wrote a lil part 2 about them, it’s not a direct sequel but if you feel like cheking out, here it is. hope you like it, and thanks for reading <3

[theanothersherlockian]

Marked What's Mine

Pairings: husband!bucky barnes × wife!reader

Summary: You can hold your own—always have. But that doesn’t stop your husband from going full Winter Soldier mode when he sees someone laid a hand on you.

Warnings: Language, injuries, soft-but-intense husband!Bucky, protective behavior, possessiveness, comfort, fluff, violence mentioned (not graphic), "who did this to you?", lots of banter.

Word count: 1.3k+

A/n: this fic is from my poll where husband au and who did this to u prompt won. I will do the enemies to lovers in my next fic. Thank you for reading <3.

Divider credits: @saradika

Night- 1:47 AM

You turned the front doorknob with all the delicacy of a trained assassin—which, to be fair, you were.

No sound. Good.

You stepped inside, sliding your shoes off silently and tiptoeing like the floorboards might narc on you. You could practically hear your heartbeat in your ears.

He’d be asleep. He had to be.

You could get to the bathroom, clean up, hide the worst of it. He didn’t have to know. You didn’t want him to worry, to spiral. Not again.

You made it three steps down the hallway.

Then— “Don’t move.”

Shit.

His voice cut through the silence, low and lethal. It came from the living room.

You closed your eyes. "Hi, honey. I'm home."

A light flipped on.

Bucky stood by the couch, arms crossed, half in shadow. The sight of him—barefoot, hoodie loose over his broad chest, hair tousled from waiting up—would’ve been comforting, if not for the look in his eyes.

His gaze traveled from your face to your arms, your ribs, where blood had started to seep through your shirt.

He didn’t say a word.

You tried to play it off. “Before you say anything, it looks worse than it is—”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Who did this to you?”

You exhaled slowly. “Buck—”

“Don’t. Just…” His jaw clenched. “Stay right there.”

“Bucky, it’s fine. I dodn’t even need stitches—”

“You’re bleeding.” His voice trembled with something dangerous. “You’re limping. You snuck into your own damn house like a thief because you knew I’d lose it if I saw you like this. And guess what? You were right.”

He was in front of you in three long strides.

His hands—warm, shaking—came up to cup your face, careful to avoid the bruises.

“You weren’t supposed to see me like this,” you whispered. “You’d only worry.”

“I worry when you’re five minutes late for lunch. You think this is gonna lessen that?”

“I’m not made of glass—”

“You’re made of everything I live for.”

Your breath caught.

He scanned your injuries with haunted eyes. “Who did this?”

“It’s not important.”

“It is to me.”

You sighed. “I didn’t want you to spiral. Last time you saw me with a busted lip, you threatened to drown a guy in the Hudson.”

“I should’ve.”

“Bucky—”

“Tell me his name.”

You met his eyes. “If I do, you’ll find him.”

He didn’t deny it.

“And if I don’t?” you added.

“I’ll find him anyway.”

You groaned. “You are the most dramatic man I’ve ever met.”

He lifted you into his arms like it was nothing—like you didn’t have two working legs—and carried you down the hall.

“I’m intense,” he corrected. “Not dramatic.”

“You literally brooded in the dark waiting for me to get home.”

“You really thought I wouldn’t notice? Like my wife could come home hurt and I wouldn’t feel it in my chest?”

You let out a weak laugh. “God, you’re annoying.”

“You married me, doll. That’s on you.”

Twenty Minutes Later...

You sat on the bathroom counter while Bucky dabbed antiseptic over the cuts along your ribs, his brows furrowed like each mark physically hurt him more than it hurt you.

He hadn’t stopped touching you.

Even now, his thumb rubbed soft circles into your thigh as he worked.

“Doesn’t even sting,” you said.

“That’s not the point,” he muttered, placing another bandage carefully. “You came home bleeding. You flinched when you took your shirt off. You snuck in.”

“I didn’t want to see your sad little kicked puppy face,” you teased.

He glared. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“No, you’re lucky I love you. You’re high maintenance.”

“Says the woman who took on a six-foot mercenary solo and got cracked in the jaw for it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You think I didn’t win?”

He paused. “Wait. You won?”

“Cracked three of his ribs and made him cry.”

He stared.

Then—slowly—he grinned.

“That’s my girl.”

You tried not to bask in it, but you totally basked in it.

Still, he wasn’t done.

As he finished wrapping the final gauze, he stood between your legs and stared at you like you held gravity in your hands.“I breathe for you,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “That’s it. That’s the only reason I get up in the morning.”

Your throat went tight. “Bucky—”

“You come home hurt, and it feels like the world’s off its axis. I can’t think. Can’t function. You’re not fragile, babe. You’re the strongest person I know. But the thought of losing you? I’d lose everything.”

God.

You buried your face in his chest, arms tight around him.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

���Too late. You did. You always do.”

You looked up. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

“You love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

He grinned and kissed your forehead.

Next Day – 2:00 PM

You woke up to an empty bed and a note on the pillow:

Had to step out. Be back soon. Don’t move too much or I’ll find out and carry you around like a baby until you learn your lesson. I love you more than oxygen.

—B <3

You rolled your eyes.

And sighed.

And smiled.

He came back at sunset. Calm. Too calm.

You didn’t even have to ask.

“You found him, didn’t you?”

He dropped his jacket. “Yeah.”

“And?”

“He’s not gonna be walking straight for a while.”

“Bucky…”

“And probably won’t be talking much either.”

You stared at him.

“He’ll live. Probably,” Bucky said with a shrug. “I was nice. For the first ten seconds.”

“Jesus—”

“He laid a hand on you. You really think I wasn’t gonna rearrange his face?”

You huffed, arms crossed, but you were secretly touched. And maybe a little turned on.

“You are so dramatic.”

“No. Dramatic is you sneaking past your literal super soldier husband with blood dripping down your shirt.”

“Fine,” you muttered, walking toward him. “You win.”

He caught you easily, arms pulling you in.

“I always win, doll,” he murmured, kissing your bruised temple. “Especially when it comes to you.”

The Next Morning – 9:07 AM

Sunlight filtered lazily through the curtains, painting golden stripes over the bed where you were curled up like a cat. One leg over the sheet. A little sore. A little achy. But warm.

Bucky stirred beside you, his metal arm slung protectively over your waist.

“You awake?” you mumbled.

“Was watching you breathe,” he rasped, voice still sleep-rough. “You twitch your nose when you’re dreaming.”

“You’re creepy.”

“You married me, sweetheart. This is your fault.”

You snorted, rolling to face him, wincing a little. He was already awake, already watching you with that look. Like you were sacred. Untouchable. His.

“You hurting?” he asked immediately, shifting to sit up. “Need painkillers? Water? I can carry you to the bath—”

“Bucky.”

He blinked.

“I’m okay. It’s just a bruise, not a broken limb. Stop hovering.”

“I’m not hovering.”

“You’re three seconds from spoon-feeding me cereal.”

“…Is that an option?”

You groaned and buried your face in his chest.

“You’re insufferable.”

He chuckled, warm and smug, tucking you tighter under his chin. You stayed like that for a while. Tangled limbs. Warm sheets. His fingers trailing soft patterns on your back like he couldn’t stand not touching you.

“Don’t do that again,” he whispered finally.

You didn’t pretend to not hear it. “Okay.”

“I know you’re strong. I know you can take care of yourself. But if something happens to you—I stop breathing. You get that?”

You swallowed hard. “I get it.”

“I love you so much it makes me a little insane.”

“Only a little?”

“I toned it down for your sake.”

You giggled. “You’re cute when you’re crazy.”

“Good. Because you’re stuck with me.”

You looked up, brushed the hair from his forehead, kissed him slow.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[theanothersherlockian]

Jackass

Summary : Everyone is horrified that Bucky is flirting with a married woman, but then they realise there's a reason why. 

Pairing : Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x florist!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Secret wife trope. Cursing, Injury. Featuring the Thunderbolts*. Bucky kinda gaslights the entire team. Fluff!!!!

Word count : 3k

Note : The next chapter of spoils of war is almost here, but I just need to go over a couple of paragraphs! In the meantime, enjoy!

The Thunderbolts knew a few undeniable truths about Bucky Barnes.

One: He was grumpy.

Two: He was a private person.

Three: He never, ever let anyone see where he lived.

That last one bothered them the most. They’d pieced together the general area; a quiet neighborhood with old brick buildings, modern cafés, and just enough charm to make it feel… vintage. But no one had ever set foot inside his home, no one had even seen him unlock the door to his sanctuary, since he dodged every casual suggestion to hang out at his place with a variation of “I got plans” or another. And, curiously, every time they stopped for coffee in this part of town, Bucky would mysteriously slip into the tiny flower shop beneath a brick apartment building.

That was odd. No one would’ve guessed that Bucky Barnes even liked flowers.

What was even odder was that this infinitely grumpy, emotionally constipated, “I hate people” supersoldier — would be capable of flirting.

With the florist.

With you.

���Are we seeing this right?” Yelena whispered, elbowing Alexei as they peered through the shop window after Bucky made them wait outside. 

They watched as Bucky stood by the counter, leaning in ever so slightly, a charming grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched you wrap a bouquet.

“He’s smiling,” Alexei muttered, horrified.

Inside, Bucky reached for the bouquet you were tying up, his gloved fingers brushing against yours. You playfully smacked his hand away, laughing. He laughed, too, and that was enough to send Yelena spiraling into an existential crisis.

Yelena squinted. “He’s flirting.”

Alexei frowned. “Bucky does not flirt.”

“I know. That’s why I’m freaking out.”

They watched as you handed him the bouquet, and in return, Bucky gave you a wink. And then he turned, walking out like he hadn’t just transformed into a different person.

That was when Yelena, utterly horrified Yelena, caught a flash of gold on your ring finger. She squinted her eyes. It was unmistakable. “Wait a second—”

As soon as he got back to them, Alexei folded his arms. “You were flirting.”

Bucky scoffed. “I was not.”

“She’s married!” Yelena accused, pointing dramatically. “She had a ring! You flirted with a married woman!”

Bucky didn’t even blink. He simply shrugged, tucking the bouquet carefully under his arm. “I didn’t see a ring.”

“She was literally wearing it—”

“I didn’t see a ring,” Bucky insisted, tugging absentmindedly at the chain around his neck— the one that held his dog tags, hidden under his shirt.

Yelena and Alexei exchanged a deeply disturbed look.

Bucky Barnes was flirting with a married florist.

What was the world coming to?

—

Bucky knew he’d fucked up the second he stepped back into Thunderbolts HQ. 

Alexie had just looked confused, while Yelena had been simmering the entire walk back, her arms crossed so tightly over her chest it was a miracle she hadn’t snapped a rib. 

She lasted exactly two seconds before she exploded. “You are jackass, Barnes!”

Bucky barely had time to sigh before she stomped closer.

“What’s so wrong with what I did?” he muttered, placing the bouquet of flowers in an empty vase

Yelena let out an incredulous laugh, pacing in front of him like a caged tiger ready to strike. “What’s wrong?” she echoed, her accent thickening with rage. “You flirted with a married woman! I should punch you in the face on principle!”

From the lounge, John Walker looked up from whatever government-issued nonsense he was pretending to read. His brows immediately furrowed, his eyes twisting into the signature disapproving dad look he’d perfected. “Wait, what?”

Ava, who had been drinking tea in the corner, raised an eyebrow. “This is scandalous,” she murmured, eyes brightening with intrigue.

Alexei, who was now plopped on the couch like some washed-up, Soviet-era king, said, “If a man had flirted with my wife like that, I would have hunt him down and mount his head on wall.” He crossed his arms, nodding to himself in approval. “As is tradition.”

Bucky scowled. “I wasn’t flirting.”

“Oh?” Yelena snorted, “So you were just undressing her with your eyes for fun, then?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “That’s just how I look at people.”

Alexie shook his head. “So you look at us like that?”

Bucky opened his mouth. Then immediately shut it.

Yelena’s hands curled into fists. “Yeah. Thought so.”

John’s arms crossed over his chest in that holier-than-thou stance that he was so famous for. “Look, man, I’m married. And if someone flirted with my wife, we’d have a problem.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You guys are making a big deal out of nothing.”

“Nothing?” Yelena threw up her hands. “She’s married, Bucky!”

“Okay, even if I was flirting,” Bucky turned to her, exasperated— “I didn’t see a ring.”

Yelena’s hands flew to her head, fingers digging into her scalp like she was resisting the urge to rip out her own hair. “You probably chose to look away!”

John sighed like a disappointed youth pastor. “This is unbelievable.”

“No,” Bucky still insisted, “I didn’t see a ring.”

Yelena’s jaw dropped. “It was a thick gold band, Barnes. How could you not see it?”

Ava, who was clearly enjoying the drama more than anyone, sighed. “That is inappropriate behaviour, Barnes.”

Alexei shook his head again, “You should apologise.”

“I’m not apologising,” Bucky scoffed, “Because I did nothing wrong.”

His fingers toyed absentmindedly with the chain that led to his dog tags, and Yelena immediately locked onto the movement. Every person has a tell, a habit they did when they were nervous. And being a super spy, Yelena knew this was his.

She narrowed her eyes. “You are gaslighting us,” she muttered, pacing again like she was mentally weighing the pros and cons of strangling a super soldier.

“I didn’t see a ring,” Bucky repeated, his voice steady.

“You’re lying,” she snapped.

He shrugged, maddeningly casual in all of this chaos. “Guess we’ll never know.”

Ava laughed cynically. “I can’t tell if you’re a complete scumbag or if this is just really fun for you.”

Bucky just popped a beer from the fridge, flicking the cap off with his metal hand. “Why not both?”

He took a long sip of his beer, completely unbothered.

And maybe, he looked a little bit too smug.

—

Three weeks later, Bucky led Yelena and John on a mission to take down a high-scale arms dealer.

And, as always, the mission had gone sideways.

It was too late for any shops to be open, too late for anyone with a shred of common sense to be out on the streets. 

Yelena was bleeding, pressing a torn scrap of fabric against a deep gash on her arm. John had a busted lip and a slight limp. Bucky was sporting a few cuts and bruises himself, but nothing he hadn’t shaken off a thousand times before.

“Guys,” Yelena managed a grunt, shifting her grip on her makeshift bandage, “we need to get ourselves patched up before one of us drops dead.”

“We ran out of antiseptics back at HQ,” John reminded them.

Yelena groaned, throwing her head back in despair. “So what are we supposed to do?” She gritted out, “Just bleed out in the street like sad little orphans?”

John scowled. “That’s a little dramatic.”

Yelena turned and glared at him. “Your face is dramatic.”

Bucky let out a deep breath through his nose, running a hand along his damp hair. He glanced around the street, making sure they weren’t being followed before whispering to himself, “Guess we’re doing this now.”

Yelena tilted her head. “Doing what?”

Instead of answering, Bucky turned on his heel and started walking.

John and Yelena gave each other a wary look.

“I don’t like when he does that,” John said.

“No one does,” Yelena agreed, but they both followed anyway. 

It didn’t take long for them to recognise the route— ​​It was the neighbourhood where the team usually got coffee.

But Bucky wasn’t heading to the café.

They rounded the corner, and suddenly John stopped dead in his tracks.

It was a closed florist—the very one where Bucky had, allegedly, been trying to charm his way into a married woman’s bed.

To John’s absolute horror, Bucky walked right up to the door and knocked.

“Bucky.” He said, voice strangled. “What the hell is this?”

Yelena blinked. “I don’t think we need to seduce a married florist to get medical supplies.”

Bucky sighed, rubbing his temples like he was already regretting this decision. He turned to them, leveling them both with a look. “Alright, listen up,” he said through gritted teeth. "The secret’s out now, so you two gotta keep your mouths shut.”

John’s brows furrowed. “What secret?”

Before Bucky could answer, the door to the flower shop clicked open.

And there you were, standing in the doorway, wrapped in one of Bucky’s hoodies, looking exactly how he’d expected: exasperated but unsurprised. He knew you’d still be up, cataloguing the latest floral shipment for tomorrow’s arrangements.

The second your eyes landed on a bruised and bloodied Bucky, and flanked by two wounded Thunderbolts, no less—you let out a sigh.

“James,” you said knowingly, your voice laced with fond irritation. “What did you do?”

Yelena and John froze in their tracks.

James?

James?

No one called Bucky by his first name. No one. Not unless they had a death wish.

Bucky, unfazed, just stepped inside. “We ran out of antiseptics, honey.”

Yelena and John exchanged a wide-eyed look.

Honey?

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Again?”

Bucky shrugged like this was a perfectly normal Thursday night occurrence.

You muttered under your breath, “I should’ve known this would happen when I married an ex-assassin.”

Oh.

Yelena’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “Married.” she repeated

John blinked rapidly. “This is why we can never go to your place?”

Bucky could only shrug. Of course it was— they would have seen the evidence of how much love in his home was carved out for just you.

John let out a wheeze.

Yelena pointed between you and Bucky, motioning erratically. “Wait. WAIT. So—so she’s your wife? She married you?”

Bucky nodded. “Yup.”

“Like—actually married?”

“Mhm.”

Yelena gasped, clutching her chest like she’d been personally betrayed. In a way, she had. “And no one knows?”

Bucky thought for a second. “Sam does.”

“And Joaquin,” you added, trying to be helpful.

Bucky nodded. “Right. Joaquin.”

“Oh, and Isaiah and Elijah Bradley.”

“Yeah, they were at the wedding.”

“A teenager knew about this,” John’s eye twitched, “—and we didn’t?”

Bucky could only nod again.

Yelena rubbed a hand down her face, “You gaslit us,” she accused, jabbing a finger at Bucky. “You let us believe you were a homewrecker for weeks—when you were married the whole time?!”

You snorted, glancing at Bucky, who had the audacity to look smug. “Yeah, that sounds like my husband.”

Yelena let out a string of very creative Russian curses.

John looked like he was about to have a stroke. 

“All secrets aside,” you said, welcoming the two disoriented Thunderbolts in and locking the door behind you, “It’s good to finally meet you both.”

John still looked like he was buffering. Yelena, on the other hand, was vibrating with adrenaline, looking like she was trying to solve a conspiracy theory in real time.

“This is—this is insane,” she muttered, pointing aggressively at Bucky, then at you, then back at Bucky. “You’re—you’re so normal.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’d like to think so.”

Bucky just hummed. “She’s perfect.”

Yelena actually sputtered like an old car engine.

John made a noise that was somewhere between a groan and a strangled laugh. This was all too much.

But there wasn’t time to let them spiral further. Bucky, gently nudged you toward the others. “Take care of them first, darling. They’ve got worse injuries.”

You frowned, wanting to protest—because, really, Bucky should always be your first priority—but your husband was nothing if not stubborn. You knew better than to argue when he had that look in his eyes— you knew that fighting him on this would only drag things out longer, and right now, time was precious.

You turned your attention to Yelena and John, motioning for them to follow you deeper into the shop. The scent of lavender, roses, and freshly cut stems—clung to the air as you led them toward the back, where your little work table stood tucked in the corner.

Years of practice had made you quick. You moved with quiet efficiency, gathering supplies from neat shelves: you cut and split an aloe vera plant for burns, grabbed bandages, and a mix of balms you’d perfected over your time tending to Bucky. It wasn’t the kind of sterile, military-grade first aid they were used to, but it would have to do for now.

You started tending to Yelena’s arm, gently dabbing the wound with fresh aloe. She hissed through her teeth before narrowing her eyes at you.

“So how long has this been a thing?” she demanded. Bucky, now leaning lazily against the counter with his arms crossed, barely spared her a glance. “A while.”

John scoffed, “A while?”

You bit back a grin as you smoothed a bandage over Yelena’s arm, “Three years.”

Yelena’s jaw dropped.

“Three—” She turned to Bucky so fast it was a miracle she didn’t give herself whiplash. “You’ve been married for three years?!”

John let out a long, defeated groan,This was simply too much to process. “Fuck’s sake.”

Yelena shook her head. “I thought you were a loner who hated people."

Bucky only shrugged, unbothered. 

You chuckled as you pressed the last piece of medical tape into place on Yelena’s arm. “Alright, you’re done.” Then, glancing at John, you motioned for him to sit. “Your turn.”

John sighed but still plopped down. You took his hand gently, turning it over to examine his bruised knuckles before moving to his busted lip.

Meanwhile, they kept peppering you with questions, barely giving you room to breathe.

“How did you meet?”

“How do you put up with Bucky’s brooding?”

“Does he ever actually smile?”

At that last one, you paused, dabbing at John’s lip carefully. “He smiles all the time.”

John let out a scoff. “No, he doesn’t.”

You glanced over at Bucky, knowing he showed that part of him to you and no one else. “Oh, he does.”

And then, finally, it was Bucky’s turn.

You turned to him, your brows knitting together as you studied the little cuts on his cheek, the dried blood near his brows. He looked a little tired, a little worn around the edges. 

Your fingers found his chin, tilting his face toward you as you inspected the damage. Your touch was so featherlight, so incredibly careful. There was no missing the way your thumb brushed over his cheekbone— how incredibly gentle it was.

“You should’ve let me do you first,” you murmured, half-scolding, half-concerned.

Bucky’s lips curved into a small smile, a flicker of mischief lighting his tired blue eyes. “That’s exactly what you said last night, sweetheart.”

John choked.

Yelena groaned, grabbing the nearest pillow from the nearest chair and hurling it at Bucky’s head. “You two are disgusting.”

Bucky caught the pillow effortlessly, giving her a smug grin before setting it aside. When his eyes found yours again, his shit-eating grin turned… lovely. The tension in his brows eased as you dabbed gently at his cut. 

For all the blood, for all the bruises, you handled him like he was glass.

And then, without thinking, you leaned in.

It was meant to be a brief kiss— a quick reassurance, a way of saying I’ve got you. But the moment your lips brushed his, you couldn’t help but linger.

Your fingers curled instinctively against his chin. His hand found your waist without hesitation, as if he needed you closer. As if the world shrank down to just the two of you. 

John and Yelena exchanged a look, the previous horror of their teammate hiding a secret wife momentarily forgotten because this was… weirdly cute.

You giggled as you pulled away, seeing Bucky looking at you like you hung the moon for him. 

“Anywhere else?” you asked, brushing your thumb over his lips.

Bucky hesitated just for a second. Then, a little sheepishly, he said, “Got a cut on my ribs.”

You exhaled, shaking your head. Of course he did. Before he could argue, you reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged.

“Off,” you said simply.

Bucky huffed but didn’t fight you. He lifted his arms, letting you strip the fabric from his skin, and goddamn.

Bucky, half-naked, was unfairly, ridiculously beautiful. Even now, even after all this time, seeing him like this still knocked the breath from your lungs. His body was a roadmap of battles fought and survived, scars carved into the expanse of his chest and ribs that told stories only he could say. 

John made a strangled sound, somewhere between “Jesus Christ” and “I need to leave the room,” but you ignored him completely. Yelena let out a dramatic sigh and whispered “they are one second away from sucking each other’s face off,” to herself.

You tuned them both out, fingers dragging carefully over Bucky’s ribs, searching for the wound. When you found a thin jagged cut just below his ribs— you sighed softer this time and reached for the aloe.

“You need to stop getting hurt, my love,” you said, smoothing the cool gel over his skin.

Bucky’s voice came quieter. “Lucky I have someone to take care of me, then.”

And that’s when Yelena finally noticed it.

The thin chain around Bucky’s neck—one she’d always assumed was just for his dog tags—held something else, too.

A ring.

A simple wedding band that matched yours, worn from years of resting against his skin.

She blinked, realisation hitting her like a freight train. Oh.

That’s why he always played with it.

Every time Bucky was nervous, every time he was uncertain, his fingers would move to that chain—not just to fiddle with his tags, but to remind himself of you.

Maybe he wasn’t a complete jackass after all.

-end.

Note: Hope this doesn't bite me in the ass when the movie comes out.

General Bucky taglist:

@hotlinepanda @snflwr-vol6 @ruexj283 @2honeybees @read-just-cant

 @shanksstrawhat @mystictf @globetrotter28 @thebuckybarnesvault@average-vibe

@winchestert101 @mystictf @globetrotter28 @shanksstrawhat @scariusaquarius

@reckless007 @hextech-bros @daydreamgoddess14 @96jnie @pono-pura-vida

@buckyslove1917 @notsostrangerthing @flow33didontsmoke @qvynrand @blackbirdwitch22

@torntaltos @seventeen-x @ren-ni @iilsenewman @slayerofthevampire

@hiphip-horray @jbbucketlist @melotyy @ethereal-witch24 @samfunko

@lilteef @hi172826 @pklol @average-vibe @shanksstrawhat

@shower-me-with-roses @athenabarnes @scarwidow @thriving-n-jiving @dilfsaresohot

@helloxgoodbi @undf-stuff @sapphirebarnes @hzdhrtss @softhornymess

@samfunko @wh1sp @anonymousreader4d7 @mathcat345 @escapefromrealitylol

@imjusthere1161 @sleepysongbirdsings @fuckybarnes @yn-stories-are-my-life

[theanothersherlockian]

𝙄 𝘿𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙇𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙖 𝘽𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙁𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙 [ 2 ]

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: Friends to Lovers. SMUT: Touch Hungry Bucky, Kiss Hungry Bucky, Bucky just not getting enough of you, fingering, cunnilingus, Oral [M&F], unprotected piv, creampie. Just PURE making love, no kinks. Summary: It's only been a few hours since you've become official and Bucky want to show you just how much you mean to him. A/N: 2 of 2. And I must say. . . JAYSUS. BON APETITIDDIES.

Part One

You were stiff. You were sore. Your arm was asleep. And you felt fucking fantastic.

Maybe in the movies people woke up entwined in each other's arms after a night of spirited lovemaking, but for you, reality was much more awkward. Your head had somehow become wedged behind Bucky’s shoulder, and both his legs were about to slide off the couch altogether. You untangled yourself as best you could, looking down at him as you moved his limbs out of the way.

Bucky was sleeping peacefully, his dark lashes lying flat against the skin beneath his eyes. They fluttered slightly as you pulled free of him, and he stirred.

"Five more minutes," he mumbled, and turned over so he was facing the back of the couch, still caught in mid-slide towards the floor.

You tried not to laugh. God, he was adorable.

You sat up, arching your back to stretch out the sore muscles. Then your breath caught. What time was it? Holy hell, I’m going to be late.

You stood up quickly, and was seized by an ache between your legs so unfamiliar that you nearly sat back down again. Holy crap. It had been way too long. You almost felt like a virgin again. You rose again shakily, noticing that your whole groin felt sore, and so did your hips—probably from throwing your legs up around his waist. God, what a wanton hussy you were, you thought happily.

You went quietly towards the bathroom, checking the clock on the stove as you walked by. It was nearly eight-thirty. Crap. You were supposed to be at work by nine, or nine-thirty at the latest. you'd  have to make the shower a quick one.

You stood under the hot water, letting it pour over your sore muscles. You washed out your hair, lathered up your body and massaged your sore hips as random images from last night invaded your thoughts. Even now you weren't entirely convinced it hadn't all been a dream. Has it really happened? The soreness was real enough. And so were the images flashing through your mind.

Bucky’s body on yours, looming over you, holding your wrists, kissing you with abandon. Taking each breast in his mouth, teasing you with his fingers. Sliding into you, tilting your back and thrusting deeper, faster, harder.

Suddenly a blurry figure appeared on the other side of the glass door. The door slid open and he stood there, looking disheveled from sleep but adorably sexy. And naked, too.

"Hi," he said, a seductive smile curving his lips. His eyes traveled down your naked body, pausing at your breasts and then sliding down to the between your legs where rivulets of water coursed and ran together.

You flushed at the frank inspection but willed yourself not to try to hide from him. You shifted your weight, jutting your hip out provocatively and smiled.

His eyes returned to yours, desire glinting in them. "May I join you?"

You pushed the door back and invited him in. Bucky stepped in and crowded you, not unpleasantly, until your back was up against the tiles. He braced his hands on the wall behind you, and let the water flow over him as he leaned down and kissed you.

You opened to him and kissed him back, winding your hands around his waist and sliding them down his ass, squeezing appreciatively. He smiled into the kiss, enjoying your wandering hands, then pushed forward so your bodies were pressed together, the water slick and warm between you.

"So," he murmured in your ear, his voice barely a whisper above the sound of the water. "So much for that idea."

"What idea was that?" you whispered back, kissing his ear.

"The idea that we could ever be just friends," he said, catching your jaw with his lips as you turned your head. He covered your neck with slow, lingering kisses, trailing his mouth down your and cupping your breast with his hand.

"Oh, I don't know, I think it's a great idea so far," you said coquettishly. "Besides," you joked. "I do this with all my male friends."

He mocked a scowl at you, and gave you  that smile that had always melted you. "Well, that's going to have to stop. You're mine now."

He kissed you slowly, his tongue tangling with yours as he teased and tasted, enjoying your mouth.

You kissed him back, licking and tasting and enjoying him until you felt rather than heard a hum of desire, of pure carnal lust, vibrating through him. He was growing hard against your belly, his cock pressing against you urgently.

He lowered his head further and took your  nipple into his mouth, licking the soft nub until it grew hard beneath his tongue. Pleasure shot through you, and he turned to lavish the same attention on your other breast. You writhed against the cold tiles at your back, arching into him and sinking your fingers into his hair to hold him to you. He smiled as you moaned with pleasure, and laughed softly when he took your nipple between his teeth and made you suck in a sharp breath.

His cock was as hard as it had been a few hours ago, and it surged in your hand as he took your breasts. You gathered some suds into your palm and grasped him again, feeling the iron-hardness of him beneath the silky skin. You began to stroke, gliding fast and smooth, and he groaned from the pleasure of it, collapsing against you and kissing you between his soft, low sounds of pleasure and need.

You kept stroking and teasing, gliding over him in a steady rhythm, and felt yourself growing warm and slick at how hard he was beneath your fingers. You loved that you were doing that to him, making him want you so much. He groaned, his breath jagged and shallow. He tried to kiss you through his mounting pleasure but he had to break off to breathe, to lose himself in the sensation.

"God, baby," he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. "So good."

You tried not to focus on him calling you baby, knowing it was only his arousal talking. You focused instead on the intense pleasure that was making him say it. You continued stroking him, changing your hand position so that you pulled up with each stroke, teasingly pulling his skin up over the head each time and sinking down to the base, pleasuring every inch of him. Your other hand cupped his balls and caressed him, gently rolling him around in your fingers as he tensed and surged and seemed to fight against you, against the unbearable pleasure you were causing him.

After a few torturous moments he stopped your hand, his breathing so fast and ragged that he could hardly speak. 

“You—don't want—this to end too soon, do you?” he warned, kissing you in between breaths. “Because, my God, you could make me come in seconds if you wanted to.”

“That might be fun,” you said, kissing the edges of his mouth, licking at his lips and his tongue when he opened his mouth to you again.

“For me, yes,” he breathed, breaking away from you. “But I'm not nearly finished with you yet.”

He slipped his hand into your hair and held your head, kissing you with such raw passion, such naked need that you felt a surge of warmth flood between your legs in spite of the cooling effects of the water. He had wrung a soul-shattering orgasm out of you just a few hours ago and yet here you were again, eager for him again. Wanton hussy indeed.

"Do you remember that night, two years ago?" he asked, his voice low and deep. "At the party, when I played that song on the guitar for you, and you asked whether it hurt my fingers to play the steel strings?"

He was watching his own fingers trail over your breasts, over your tightened nipple, down past your navel, as the water trickled over you both.

"Mmm hmmm," you murmured, your eyes closed, lost in the sensation of the water coursing down your body and his hand moving over you.

“And you touched my fingertips…”

Of course you remembered; you'd run your  fingers over the roughened pads of his fingertips, and had watched in delight as he'd twitched a little, and then trembled, just a little, at your touch. You'd kept your touch feather-light and soft, drifting over his fingertips and down his fingers a little, feeling the shiver of heightened awareness in your  own hands.

Maybe you'd been a little too suggestive, a little too lingering, whispering-touching those parts of him that were supposedly hardened against such sensations—but you'd been unable to stop yourself. His hands had been warm and strong and eminently male, and when he'd stiffened and held his breath, as if willing himself not to react to your seductive touch, you'd felt that shiver of awareness deepen into an intense desire.

Such a seemingly innocent touch, just a friend examining the time-worn calluses of a guitar player's fingertips. . .and yet in that moment, even amongst their friends, even with the music playing loud and the laughter soaring above it, you'd felt like it had been just the two of you in that room, touching each other intentionally for the very first time, your hand tentatively reaching out for his, and his reaching to meet your half way.

“You drove me wild.” he said, leaning to kiss your neck. “I got so hard, I was afraid to move. And after that, I kept thinking of all the things I wanted to do to you with these fingers.” He slipped his hand between your  legs and caressed your folds, parting them gently and sliding inside you. “Like this, for instance.”

You moaned and leaned your head against his shoulder, letting him touch you wherever he wanted. His fingers explored you, caressed you, possessed you, expertly as though they, too, knew you were his.

“I just had to touch you,” you breathed against him. “And believe me, this is what I was thinking about too.”

“You stopped me last night,” he murmured, dragging his mouth along your neck. “I wanted to feel you come for me. To finish what you started that night.”

You groaned at the sound of his voice, so low and sexual, so heated with his own desire.

“Let me feel you come for me, baby,” he whispered into your ear, licking your  earlobe. “Please.”

He gripped your hip and lifted you up against the wall slightly, positioning you so he could slide his fingers deep inside you. He held you firmly around the waist, bracing you against the wall, and thrust into you gently, with first one finger, then two, sliding deeper and deeper each time, stretching you, mimicking the size and power of his cock. His thumb played over your clit, sending shocks of pleasure through you as he pressed his forehead to yours and gazed down into your  eyes. You gasped and cried out from the overwhelming pleasure of it even as you squirmed beneath his fingers and ached for more.

He braced you against his thigh and pressed against you while his arm steadied you from behind, holding you completely in his grasp. Bucky had such a way of holding you, letting you know that you were going nowhere, making sure you had no desire to be anywhere but in his arms. You felt safe, and secure, and above all, worshiped.

Bucky bent down and kissed you, sliding his fingers into your with a wild, sensuous rhythm that matched the increasing speed of his thumb as it stroked and rubbed and swirled around your aching clit. His hand was so strong, his fingers curving inside you to caress you, to find that super-sensitive inner spot even as he plunged and drove and took. With his thumb circling your clit in a relentless rhythm and his fingers deep inside you, stretching you, claiming you, you felt completely owned by him, by the hand that possessed every inch of you.

His tongue slipped into your mouth, matching the rhythm of his fingers, swirling, tasting, mutely revealing that he had had another  fantasy, too. The thought of his mouth on you, his tongue tasting you, torturing you, swirling over your clit as you writhed beneath it made you go weak in the knees.

Bucky broke away from the kiss and began trailing kisses down your neck, your breasts, lowering himself to his knees in front of you  while bracing your hips against the tiles with his strong hands.

"Did I mention what it did to me the first time your tongue touched mine?" he whispered devilishly.

He looked up at you so intently, his beautiful blue eyes blazing as the water streamed over his shoulder and down the contours of his chest. You gazed down at him, and for the second time this morning questioned whether  all this could actually be happening. This gorgeous, virile man gripping you, kneeling before you, gazing at you like you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. It couldn't be real, could it?

Then he lowered his lips to your and you knew it was.

Sensation tore through your touch, so delicately gentle at first, and you arched against the wall with a startled cry. You reached down and gripped his shoulder, steadying yourself on one foot as he brought you to your leg up slowly, gently and eased it over his shoulder. The sight of it alone nearly made you come. He moved so languidly, so sensuously, positioning you better so he could enjoy your all the more.

He closed his mouth over your clit and kissed it luxuriously, his lips moving as though he were kissing your mouth. His tongue swirled over you in large, sensuous circles and he groaned against you, tightening his grip on your hip as you moaned against the sudden overwhelming pleasure of it. The tip of his tongue darted out to flick against your  rapidly as he looked up at you again, watching your pleasure, his eyes smiling at you as if he knew precisely how good he was making you feel. Then he fell on you again, his tongue roaming over you, tasting you, luxuriating in your folds and dipping to lap at your entrance.

“Oh my, g-god. Bucky—”

You bucked against him and cried out as his tongue slipped into your and pulsed there, gently, savouring you. Your hand sank into his wet hair and as you gripped his head, you were rewarded with a muted chuckle and a more intense forward surge of his tongue inside you. He liked the moans he wrought from you. He liked being able to make your  cry out and seize him, your head thrown back in agonizing pleasure.

And fuck did you like it, too.

"Oh God," you breathed, your heart thundering in your chest. "My God, that feels so good..."

He withdrew from your and slid his tongue up to torture your aching clit, and just when you began to miss the feel of him inside your he gently pushed his fingers into your again and began to thrust.

Pleasure soared through you and you cried out even louder, and the leg draped over his shoulder began to tremble. His tongue circled your clit again, deliciously slowly, as his fingers slid into you over and over again, a sensual, primitive rhythm that made you  want to grind your hips against the pleasure.

“I'm coming,” you whispered urgently. “You're going to make me come…”

His fingers thrust deeper and faster and he began to lick you so quickly, with such a throaty groan of pleasure that you felt your  orgasm rise, terrifyingly fast and sharp, making you cry out in increasing, panting breaths until you shattered, coming violently around his fingers and that sensuous, irresistible tongue. You shuddered with an aching cry and trembled from the spasms he sent rippling through you. Your body curled forward as you gripped him tighter, your  fingers pulling on his hair from the pressure.

He removed your leg from his shoulder gently as you continued to shudder, feeling aftershocks of pleasure shiver through you. He got to his feet and helped you stand, pressing himself against your  and nuzzling your neck.

“Holy shit,” you whispered, your voice shaking. your  whole body shaking. “That was incredible.”

“That...was just the prelude,” he whispered, kissing you. “I haven't even started pleasuring you yet.”

God, he was going to kill you. Death by orgasm, you thought happily. What a way to go.

He leaned to turn off the water, but he stilled his hand. He looked back at you with a questioning expression, and then understood. You pulled him back towards yourself and he went willingly, stepping back under the stream of water, kissing you deeply, his hands roaming greedily over your  body.

You weren't done with him. He had made you feel like a goddess, worshiped, cherished, adored.

You broke off the kiss and began trailing your  lips down his neck, his collarbone and chest, enjoying the warmth of the water trickling past your mouth. His chest muscles tensed as you kissed them, and as you moved your  lips slowly down his abdomen you felt his whole body go rigid with anticipation. You sank to your knees in the tub and brushed kisses along his navel, his hip bones, and he put his hands on your shoulders to steady himself. Water coursed over both of you, and you delighted in it, closing your eyes against the spray.

“Baby,” Bucky said softly, barely audible above the water.

You opened your eyes and looked up at him. He was about to say something but you smiled and glanced away, focusing instead on the head of his cock, hard and urgent in front of you. He was thick and beautiful, and still as hard, maybe even harder, than he had been when you'd teased him with your  hands.

“I want to taste you,” you said playfully. “All of you.”

You leaned forward and gently licked the swollen tip of his cock. He inhaled sharply, his whole body tensing, and you smiled up at him, letting him know this was for your  pleasure as much as for his. You swirl your  tongue around the head, taking it into your  mouth and suckling gently, teasing it. The skin was soft and smooth, stretched deliciously tight from the hardness of his erection.

You let your tongue play over it, dipping into the opening, making him moan. You drifted your tongue along the ridge, and down to the sensitive skin just beneath the head, licking and tasting, nipping and kissing.

You looked up at him, and his dark eyes were wild with desire. You smiled, and ran your  tongue up and down the length of him, ending at the head and flicking at it delicately, teasingly. He moaned softly, his breathing starting to grow rapid. You rose up slightly to take the whole length of him into your mouth and sucked him, long and hard.

He let out a gasp and braced himself against the wall with one hand, his other  hand gripping your  shoulder.

“Oh fuck—Baby...”

You slid your mouth over his shaft, deeper, deeper, and slid back up the length of him. Your hands came around and gripped his ass, pulling him towards you. He staggered forward slightly as you took him into your  mouth again, luxuriously taking in his entire length, sucking, licking, tasting as you went. The sensation of him in your mouth was almost as overwhelming as his first entrance into your body had been, so unfamiliar but so right at the same time.

You caressed his balls with one hand as you played your tongue over his cock. He groaned, his breathing jagged now, his cock harder than ever. His hand moved from your  shoulder to sink into your wet hair, and he gripped your head with barely restrained urgency. Gently he guided your head closer to him as you sucked. You lowered yourself onto him and slowly sucked your way back up, your mouth gripping him, your cheeks hollowing, as your tongue slid over him with each pass.

His hips began to move as he started to match your rhythm, thrusting into you, meeting your mouth. Bucky gripped your head more firmly and held your head still, driving into you gently.

You let your hand fall and you sat back on your haunches, enjoying the feeling of him sliding in and out of your mouth, controlling his own pleasure, taking what he wanted, and what you were so willing to give. Yet you could tell he was holding back, wanting to thrust harder and faster but restraining himself and settling for a smoother, slower pace.

For you. Bucky was holding back for your sake. This passionate, soulful, virile man was holding back his own pleasure because he wanted to be gentle with you.

The very thought of it excited you, and you increased your own rhythm, encouraging him, moaning with pleasure as he drove into you. You sucked harder, faster, turning your  gaze up to him with an urgent plea in your  eyes. Faster. Deeper. Now, my love.

And he understood.

Bucky groaned, and stepped forward. His hand clenched in your hair and he began to move, faster and harder, plunging deeper, holding your head as he thrust into your  mouth with urgent, rhythmic strokes. He slid in and out of your mouth as if through warm honey, and you felt and heard his pleasure mounting with every ratcheted breath and every desperate moan that escaped his lips.

His eyes watched your with rapt adoration and abject lust, and you could tell that the sight of your taking him fully into your mouth, of your sucking him with pure, greedy abandon and complete acceptance, was pushing him closer to the edge as much as the intense pleasure of your tongue on his cock was. Or more.

He tensed as his rhythm grew faster, his breathing harder, until you felt him tighten and strain so much that you felt certain he was going to spill himself into your mouth. But at the last moment he cried out and pulled back, his cock slipping out of your  mouth quickly. He stood still, breathless, his eyes closed as if willing his orgasm to retreat. Water sliced down his neck and chest, and finally he let out a slow, jagged moan of a breath and opened his eyes. He looked down at you wildly, and reached for you,helping you to your feet.

“Jesus,” he said breathlessly, staring at you as he tried to catch his breath. “I can't...I can't believe how goddamn good that felt. You brought me so close, so fast, I almost couldn't stop it.”

“Why did you?” you asked, running your  finger along his jaw. “I wanted to feel you come for me.”

He groaned against you, his hands roaming over your  body. “I told you, I'm not nearly done with you yet.”

He kissed you hungrily, his cock surging against your violently as your bodies met. you could feel him moving against you, his cock rubbing against you,and you knew how badly he wanted to be inside you again.

As badly as you wanted him inside you again.

He stepped back, his breath still ragged, and pressed his forehead to yours as he closed his eyes and tried to breathe.

“You're not done yet, huh?” you teased gently, letting your fingers sink into his wet hair as you kissed his neck.

“Not nearly.”

“But I have to go to work. Maybe if I'm lucky you'll be here when I get home?”

“I'm not going anywhere.”

He reached to turn off the water and stepped out of the shower, turning to help your step over the wall of the tub. You threw your robe on and cinched the belt as he dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist. You caught him grinning at you, and it was so clear what he was thinking that it made your  laugh.

“What?” you demanded, squeezing the excess water out of your hair with a hand towel. “What are you smiling at?”

Bucky wetted his lips with his tongue, “Fuck it. You're just going to have to be late for work. Come here…”

“Hey!” your eyes widened playfully, jumping away from him. “Are you trying to kill me? Stop!”

Bucky untied your robe and you yelped, trying to slap his hands away. He just kept advancing on you, grinning devilishly. You turned and scampered away from him with a squeal of delight.

He followed behind, still grasping for the robe. You shrieked and laughed and ran towards the bedroom, and he followed, catching up to you and pushing you onto the bed with a resounding crack of the bed frame.

You laughed as he tumbled on top of you, but he silenced you with his mouth, kissing you hungrily as he impatiently pushed your robe aside. His breath was ragged as he nudged your legs apart with his knee, his need too great for the slow, sensual lovemaking of last night. He held his cock against your entrance and smoothly thrusts into you and moaned against your mouth, and you wrapped your legs around him to draw him deeper.

He plunged into you, covering your body and your mouth with the same hungry possession. You were still so warm and wet, so exquisitely ready for him that he filled you easily, driving you relentlessly as he tasted your tongue, your lips, your neck, and groaned from the pleasure your body was giving him.

You tensed around him and he moaned breathlessly, a throaty, male sound of pure ecstasy. He pounded into you, falling into a steady rhythm born of raw, primitive need. Your body tightened around him with every thrust, and waves of pleasure rippled through you, building in intensity up to an almost unbearable pressure, a delicious heat that made you moan into his mouth as he kissed you.

He rose up, his arms braced beside you, to look down as he stroked and withdrew and breathed out his pleasure while his eyes glowed pure heat. He grabbed your rear, tilting one hip up towards him, entering you  on such an angle that a new kaleidoscope of pleasure bloomed throughout you. He gripped you possessively, driving you deeper and faster and harder. His eyes burned, glowing like obsidian, hot and wild and almost frenzied with desire.

“Baby,” he groaned, his eyes pinning you, claiming you, as though he were branding you with your heat.

You're mine...

You're mine...

Your first time together had only been hours ago, but it was as if you had been lovers for years...every fluid flexing of his hips against you hit just the right spot, every deep, powerful thrust of his cock stretched your pussy with a familiar, almost expected surge of pleasure.

“Yes—oh god yes, Bucky—fuck me,” you breathed.

Two simple words and suddenly he was on the edge...buried so deep inside you, thrusting, plunging, your breasts pressed against his chest, the pleasure roaring through his body.

Suddenly he wanted to take you, hard. He wanted to fuck you with abandon, the eyes-closed, head-back, moaning-out-loud kind of sexual abandon that he had so rarely experienced in his life, but which was crashing through his body and mind right now.

He wanted this woman...he wanted to own you, to take you, to claim your body as his....he wanted to fuck you until he'd emptied his balls into you, feeling your pussy clenching and spasming in orgasm around his cock as he came, as you came, as you came together.

He withdrew from you quickly, barely able to catch his breath, and, as if you could read his thoughts, you turned onto your stomach just as his trembling hands guided your hips over. Your hair spilled over your bare back and your ass curved out so seductively it was all he could do not to cum right there, all over your smooth skin. But his cock knew what it wanted, and he pulled you forward to slide into the heaven of your pussy, so wet and tight and swollen for him.

He cried out when he took your again, his cock parting your folds and filling you so completely. The feel of him stretching you, the crest of his head pressing against your  from this new angle...you felt a tremor of pleasure ripple through you and knew you were close, as close as he was. When he leaned over you and began to kiss your  shoulders you shuddered, and when he began to thrust you buried your face in the pillow and moaned.

Your moans of pleasure filled the room and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to last, begging his aching cock not to explode just yet. . .this pace, these quick short strokes as his hips slapped against your ass, your body moving with his every thrust. . .It was almost too much to bear. Bucky buried his faced in your sweet-smelling hair and let his cock plunge as it would, faster and faster, making him shake, making him breathless, making him feel like nothing but a desperate cock as he fucked you.

And fucked you. And fucked you, as you had begged him to...

You could only whimper now, lost to the pleasure of his man taking you like this, fucking you so wildly, almost savagely. The pleasure he was taking from your body, his moans and groans and the growls of pleasure you could feel against your back and in the warm breath at your ear. . . it was pure, primal lust.

You felt worshiped beneath him, as if every thrust of his hungry cock was a tribute to you, every growl and sharp breath an oath. He was fucking you, mindlessly, and yet every part of him was attuned to you, touching you, adoring you.

As his pace grew even faster, his thrusts shallower, you could sense he was about to come, and you felt your muscles tighten around him to heighten his pleasure and hers. His thrusts were so powerful that you felt the orgasm rising in you and you closed your eyes, lifting your head back so he could slide his hand into your hair, gently holding your neck and kissing your jaw with breathy, open-mouthed kisses.

“Oh, God Bucky...I'm coming,” you moaned. “I'm coming.”

“Yes...cum for me baby....cum on my cock.”

“Cum with me....please....I want you to cum inside me, please....please....”

And he could withstand it no more.

Pleasure detonated through him as his orgasm spasmed throughout his body, wracking him with wave after wave of euphoric release. He cried out your name as he thrust and bucked against your flesh, driving his cock deeper and deeper as he came and came and came. It felt like he would never stop cumming, and when he felt your orgasm tear through your pussy and clench his cock in waves, he thought he might black out from the sheer ecstasy of it.

You slammed back against him as the first spurts of cum began to fill you, and felt your  ravaged pussy begin to spasm again and again, milking his cock, pulling his cum deeper into you, flooding you with ripples of pleasure. You moaned and writhed, riding the crest of one orgasm only to feel a second one begin to climb and then crash over you. Breathless, almost sobbing from the pleasure, you let him hold you as he continued to pound into you, draining his balls into you at his will, lost in the utter bliss of a man taking a woman in the most primal way.

When he could bear it no longer, when his exquisitely sensitive cock throbbed within you and the pleasure bordered on pain, he stilled, finally, and shuddered. Sharp spasms of pleasure shot through him as his cock surged one last time within you, his aching balls emptying every last ounce of come. Bucky was almost lightheaded, his chest heaving, sweat glazing his skin as he withdrew his hand from your hair and ran it down the center of your back, needing to touch you, needing to feel your heated skin. You were breathless too, your back moving beneath his hand as you lay your head down and tried to catch your breath.

You felt him withdraw from you, and your  pussy rebelled, clenching to keep him there, as if pleading with him not to go. Bucky groaned softly against your ear as he pulled out and fell on the bed beside you, his arms surrounding you and pulling your back against him. You fit perfectly together, and every muscle in your body relaxed as you snuggled into him and breathed out a contented sigh. You felt his lips on the shell of your ear, kissing softly, felt his slowing breath against your skin as his soft sounds of contentment and pleasure hummed in his throat.

This is heaven, you thought. Pure heaven. your pussy twitched and tingled as you felt his warm come beginning to slip down your  inner thighs. His strong arms surrounded you, his soft lips murmured and whispered and kissed, his spent cock nestled against the curve of your ass.

“There was something I wanted to tell you, remember?” he murmurs, his words brushing warmly against your skin as he kisses a path down to your shoulder. “Last night… something I wanted to say to you. Something I wanted you to know.”

You shift slightly, turning to look at him, your heart pounding as you search his eyes, barely able to breathe. 

“Tell me,” you whisper, your voice almost a plea.

His gaze softens, an unmistakable warmth filling his expression as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek. 

“I love you.”

The words settle between you, simple but perfect, like they were always meant to be there. Your heart feels like it’s soaring, every nerve in your body alive with the thrill of it, of finally hearing what you’d been aching to hear.

You break into a smile, biting your lip, feeling giddy and light, and without a second thought, you lean forward, kissing him softly, your hand finding his as you whisper back, “I love you too.”

And as he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that feels like home, you realize that, for the first time, everything feels right.

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