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tripletstephaniescp · 7 days ago

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I hesitate to ask, but what happens to Brown?

Great story!

Checks and Balances

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Your boss was an ass—you knew it, the office knew it, the entire country knew it. Working for Senator Brown was never easy, but you had managed it for the better part of three years and didn’t want to see your career go up in flames. Unfortunately for you, Bucky was slowly falling in love with you, and Congressman Barnes didn’t think managing it was enough.

Word count: 9k

Warnings: Injury (kinda), hospitals, angst, an abusive boss, protective Bucky!!

a/n: Ahh a Bucky fic that's not an AU (that's also one million words)! Idk how the government works tbh so sorry if things are a little inaccurate there lol. This takes place right before Thunderbolts! Thank you for reading, I love you!! ❤️❤️

Masterlist

“Congressman Barnes,” you greeted, a slight nod of your head the only acknowledgement you could afford. Senator Brown was only a moment away from screaming at you again, and you could only take so much screaming in one day.

Bucky, unfortunately, did not care about being screamed at by Senator Brown. He took your upper arm in a light grip and shot you a confused smile. “What, you avoiding me? Can’t be seen in the halls talking to me?”

A fairer assessment of Bucky’s interruption was that he didn’t know of the wrath Senator Brown could incite upon you. Sure, Bucky knew that Brown was a hardass, and by association, his executive assistant would have to put up with it, but he had no way of knowing just how terrible the man was.

When you met Bucky a few weeks ago, you had been alone in a hotel lobby. The heels accompanying your freshly pressed pantsuit had been killing you, and you needed a moment for your feet to breathe. Bucky, apparently, also needed a moment away from the conference, and you had gotten to talking when he plopped into the overstuffed armchair beside you.

He knew you worked for Senator Brown. You knew he was a Congressman, obviously. You also knew his background and the complexities that came with it. Many people in the political space turned up their noses at him, something you had a similar experience with as you were “only an assistant.” The two of you had joked about it, eventually making your way to the hotel bar and laughing over the amount of hidden toupees currently residing in the ballroom.

In the weeks that followed, you had texted with him, met for coffee twice because he was “in the area”, and had maybe even considered the fact that you were friends with Congressman Barnes. Friends were invaluable to have in D.C., but they were also something to be wary of. Bucky didn’t feel the type to be wary of.

As you stood halfway frozen in the hallway, his comment began to make sense. He was calling back to your initial hotel conversation, making a joke about biases and stuck-up politicians, but this was not the time. Not that he could have known.

Senator Brown barked out your name when he noticed you were no longer beside him, surely trying to get you to jot down some thought banging around in his head. You whipped your head to the side, almost missing the affronted expression on Bucky’s face as he registered the tone that your name was spoken in, and shook your arm from his hold.

“Sorry, Congressman,” you murmured, turning on your heel and making quick strides in Brown’s direction. “I apologize. What can I do for you, Senator?”

Your boss barely hid a scoff. “You can start by being where I need you to be. And write this down—I do not believe that the House takes the proper—”

You scrambled to take out your phone and open the notes app. A rookie mistake; you usually had it open the second his meetings ended, but you had been distracted. By Bucky.

Your heels hurriedly clicking against polished marble, you took a fleeting glance over your shoulder. Bucky remained there, his brow furrowed and his arms crossed over his chest, metal from his hand glinting against the gentle fluorescence of the hall.

Three days later, he brought it up.

You thought you’d found a private spot to scarf down your lunch in your allotted fifteen-minute break, but with a sandwich only half finished and your mouth full, the call of your name reminded you that there is never any privacy for you at this job. The sound of Bucky’s voice softened the blow a bit.

“He always treat you like that?” Bucky asked, swinging his leg over the bench on the other side of the table. He watched as you tried to chew quickly, some of the hardness he’d sat down with melting from his expression.

You covered your mouth with your hand and swallowed hard. “What?” you finally got out, reaching for your water bottle.

Bucky raised a brow. “Brown. Does he always yell at you?”

After a few sips and swallows, you gave up on being able to finish your lunch. You had to plan out your meals very meticulously to finish, and Bucky had already taken up 30 precious seconds.

“Oh,” you began. You swiped a hand through the air. “It’s fine. He just gets a little intense sometimes. It’s just his personality.”

“You’ve been working for him for three years.”

“Right.”

“The guy should treat you better. He could only keep assistants for a few weeks at a time before you.”

“How do you know that?”

Bucky slid your food towards you. “Eat. You looked like you were in a hurry when I got here.”

You eyed him for a moment. With his hair tucked behind his ears, you could see the tenseness of his jaw and the shadow of his beard dusting above his collar. It was no secret that Bucky was alarmingly handsome in a sea of 60-year-old politicians, but you had never gotten the opportunity to see it at work. You were always too busy, and Bucky’s office was three floors down.

“I’m sorry I didn’t text you back,” you said, reaching for the fruit in your bag. “I meant to. I’ve just been working late since the meeting on Monday.”

“It’s alright.” A pause as you continued to eat your food. You had maybe four minutes left. “How late?”

“Oh, um, I’ve been going home around 10. It’s such a pain in the ass to get a taxi at that time, you wouldn’t believe. Uber isn’t much better, and I definitely can’t walk home in these things,” you joked, motioning to the bandaids strapped behind your heels. “It’s not so bad, though. After about a month of late nights, Brown will go on a “vacation,” and I’ll have a few weeks to reign in the chaos during normal business hours.”

You were giggling as you spoke, adding air quotes and sarcasm to try to alleviate the irritated look Bucky was sporting. After a few weeks of being around him, you understood that Bucky was quieter than you, but his silence right now was pressing. Your jokes weren’t getting him to talk, so you switched gears.

Popping a grape in your mouth, you asked, “What are you doing up here, anyway?”

Bucky let out a breath and tapped his hand on the table. “Honestly? I came to check on you.”

“To check on me?”

“After Monday, I wanted to make sure—”

Your phone started going off, the “Senator Brown” contact making your blood run cold. You brought your watch up and let out a gasp that made Bucky jump.

“What?” he rushed, standing from the table as you started to pack your things in a panic. He went to help you, but after two brushes of his hands, he realized he was only in the way.

“My break was over two minutes ago. I have to go right now.”

“Two minutes? What—y/n, that isn’t—”

He was here to check on you. Right. That was really sweet.

Your brain tried to catch up with your panic as you reached over and squeezed his arm gratefully. “I’m really fine, Bucky. It was nice to see you. We should get coffee again.” You were sliding through the double doors and back into the building as you called, “I’ll text you. I promise this time.”

And you did. In the seven minutes of free time you got around 9 pm, you sent him a quick follow-up text. The bubble went right below his text from two days ago, and you felt a small pinch of guilt for not answering him until now.

You: Free Saturday morning?

He answered you almost instantly.

Bucky: Depends. Are you still at work right now?

You frowned at your phone.

You: If I am does that mean you won’t get coffee with me?

Bucky: So you are

You: …maybe

And then, your seven minutes of silence were up. When Brown’s footsteps could be heard by the door, you tucked your phone into your desk and went to work on the stack of papers he assigned you. He so graciously let you know that he was going home now, and you could leave once you were finished.

That was perfect.

It took you an hour and a half, but when you sorted the final paper and checked his schedule for tomorrow for the last time, a sense of relief flooded you. You didn’t even care that it would take another 30 minutes for an Uber to arrive. All you could think about was your shower and your bed and taking these shoes off your feet.

You gathered your belongings and swiped your phone from the desk, clicking to the rideshare app and somewhat dreading the small talk to come. It would be extremely convenient to have a car, but that wasn’t something in the cards for you. Your tiny apartment had barely any parking, and everything else was within walking distance.

As you continued to ponder the pros and cons of taking the bus home, a honk from the curb made you jump. You lowered your phone and squinted into the distance of the now barren road.

“Someone order an Uber?”

Disbelief was your first emotion, and then shock and then confusion. “Buck—Congressman Barnes?” you asked, correcting yourself when the memory of the building at your back resurfaced.

“You’re not getting in my car if you’re calling me that,” Bucky replied, leaning down to peer out the passenger-side window.

“What are you doing here?” you asked him for the second time today.

“I told you, I’m driving for Uber. You called for one?”

A disbelieving laugh fell from your lips. You shook your phone by your face and leaned down towards the window. “Haven’t even ordered it yet. I’m not supposed to get in the car unless they can put in the code verifying my identity.”

“Give me a code, then. Here,” he passed you his phone, the background illuminating a small white cat. “Wait, sorry, I have to unlock it.”

Your next laugh was more of a scoff as he reached through the window to take it back. “Seriously, what are you doing here?”

Bucky paused, looking you up and down for a moment before his jaw ticked to the side in a smile. “I’m taking you home. You live close, it won’t take very long.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking. Now, hurry up and get in. I’ve been in the fire lane for 20 minutes and parking enforcement hates me here.”

You went to argue again, but Bucky only raised a brow and unlocked the doors.

Sliding in the car was somewhat of a mess with your bag and your jacket and the file you had meant to finish at home almost suffocating you. Bucky tried to help, grabbing items and waiting for you to buckle in before placing them by your feet. You were flustered from the transition, trying to adjust your skirt and seatbelt as Bucky reached forward to tuck a strand of hair stuck in your lip gloss behind your ear.

You turned to look at him instantly, but the man only gave you a closed-lip smile and shifted the gear of his car, pulling away from the building of your nightmares. You blinked back towards the dashboard, needing a few more seconds to settle yourself.

“I really didn’t mean to make you feel guilty,” you stressed to Bucky after he flipped the radio on, low music trickling in. “When I told you about staying late, I mean.”

Bucky tsked, knocking his head to the side to shoot you a lingering glance. “You didn’t, alright? This is my own problem. I just didn’t feel comfortable with you trying to find a way home so late.”

“I’ve been doing it for a while and I haven’t died yet,” you attempted to joke.

Not the best joke, it seemed, with Bucky’s fist clutching the steering wheel a hair tighter, the sound of leather meeting your ears. He shook his head. “Where’s Brown? He doesn’t let you take work home?”

“Oh, he does sometimes,” you chipperly replied, trying to sound awake and get Bucky un-pissed off. “He just checks my timesheets when we work overtime, so I have to make sure I stay late enough so that he won’t say anything. I still have this to take care of once I get home.”

You tapped the manila file in your lap and looked over to Bucky as he drove. He was wearing jeans and a pullover crewneck, his hair tied back and casual, and even though you’d seen him outside of work before, he looked different this way. Something about the night and him driving you home made him look different.

Bucky didn’t make a comment about your work or the system you had to avoid criticism from the Senator. Silence lapsed in the car, you lightly drumming your fingers on your thigh as the D.C. night swept past along the car windows.

“I would like to get coffee Saturday,” Bucky finally said. “If the offer still stands.”

“Of course it stands.”

You only briefly caught the half-smile that lit up his face before the light of the streets was lost to a tunnel.

Coffee was relaxed and enjoyable, as it always was with Bucky. He asked a few more questions about your work, a topic he had previously not touched on. He wanted to know about your coworkers, if the interns ever helped you, how much time you got off, and in turn, you asked him about being a Congressman and if he actually enjoyed it.

Both answers left the other person less than satisfied.

“What about you?” Bucky asked, tilting his cup up. “Why have you been an executive assistant for so long?”

You hummed. “I don’t know, really. My dad was in politics, and he would only really accept my work if I was, too. He’s… not around now, but I feel like I have to stay. I’m good at it.”

“I believe it. Could be good at a lot of things, though.”

You shot him a mock glare. “Trying to get rid of me, Congressman?”

Bucky leaned forward, placing a hand on the small table that only separated you a few inches. He answered you earnestly, but a small amount of humor lightened his eyes, made him look less serious. “Now, why would I want to do that?”

Your lips parted to quip something back, but then he was raising his hand again, the heat of his skin lingering at the corner of your mouth. He swiped his thumb there, and you were frozen, a replica of when he brushed your hair back a few nights ago, but the car had been a distraction then. You had been flustered and trying to sort out your belongings, so you didn’t think about it for longer than a few seconds.

“Whipped cream,” he explained, holding you in his gaze for a moment longer than you should have been. Even as the barista from behind the counter was now standing at your table and speaking.

“Hi! Would the two of you like to try our new coffee cake? Free samples since it’s new.”

Bucky was the first to look away, tearing his eyes from yours to smile politely at the barista. You shook from your stupor and quickly reached for a napkin, brushing it against your lips even though nothing remained.

You felt fuzzy, confused. But also nothing was confusing and you were reminded, again, how attractive the Congressman was. How attractive and how definitely off-limits he was.

It would be so taboo for Bucky to be dating an assistant.

“What about you, ma’am?” You blinked several times and looked up to read the small ‘coffee cake’ sign lying next to the treats, the barista’s blinding smile expecting and very retail.

“I’m allergic to cinnamon, but thank you.”

“Allergic to cinnamon?” Bucky asked as the barista left.

“Yeah, anaphylaxis and everything. I carry an epipen with me, but I’ve only had to use it once when I was 10. Did you know that some bakeries add cinnamon to buttercream birthday cakes?” you chuckled, reorienting yourself to the present. “Are you allergic to anything? Or, I guess you probably aren’t. Isn’t that a serum thing?”

“Not allergic to anything, but if I had been, it would’ve been wiped out by the serum. We didn’t really have a lot of food variety in the 30s. Could have been allergic to shellfish—didn’t try that until after.”

You had to pause the cup at your lips. “Oh my god, I forgot you’re like 100 years old.”

Bucky’s expression morphed into an offended wince. “Alright, I wouldn’t say that. I haven’t exactly lived 100 years.”

“I was just thinking the other day how you don’t exactly fit in with the rest of Congress, but you so do! Maybe even on the young side,” you teased.

“Oh yeah?” Bucky egged on, nodding with his brows raised. “You were thinking about me?”

You knocked your head back in a laugh, holding your stomach with your forearm. “How did I forget this?”

“You know what? I’m not driving you home anymore.”

With lingering giggles, you righted yourself in your chair, a smile still clear in your voice. Contrasting his words, Bucky’s smile was just as wide as yours, a slight redness to his cheeks making him look softer. You brought a hand to cover his arm on the table.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, Bucky. You aren’t old. I take it back.”

“Yeah, you better,” he taunted, though his arm flipped over and he gave your wrist a soft squeeze as he said it.

Bucky wouldn’t stop touching you.

You didn’t know if he was doing it consciously or if this was something he commonly did with his friends, but he was going to get you in trouble.

Outside of work, it was fine—distracting and disorienting, but fine. A brush of his hand helping you into the car, fixing your bag on your shoulder, a hand on your back when you left the coffee shop; over the past few weeks, it had all begun to feel commonplace.

It could have been frequency that made you more aware of this habit of his, because Bucky had begun picking you up every time you worked late and planned coffee or lunch or even a walk at least once a weekend. So, maybe this was his norm and you were just around him more often—something you enjoyed, but also something that made feelings more difficult.

Because, again, Congressman Barnes could not be dating an assistant. His credibility among the rest of Congress was already being questioned almost daily, and he did not need the court of public opinion breathing down his neck on top of that. It was a fortunate truth that while the internal part of his job was tricky, most of the public favored him.

So, as much as your chest hurt and your stomach flipped whenever you were around him, you settled for friendship. A touchy friendship.

At work, things felt heightened in the worst way possible.

You couldn’t even understand why he was coming to the top floor so often, seemingly lingering there so he could scare the crap out of you when you’d turn a corner. And then it would be a smile and another hand at your back when he was passing you—a hand that was not necessary. Or he would find you at the tail-end of your lunch break and move your hair away from your eyes, distracting you to the point of no return.

It was the worst because you were getting distracted, and when you were distracted, you got yelled at.

Bucky had seen you get yelled at a few times now, each seemingly worse than the last. He kept quiet about it, but you could tell it bothered him. He almost stepped in once—when Brown was irate at the coffee you’d gotten him and chucked it at the wall, you saw Bucky step forward from down the hall. He stopped at the slight shake of your head.

You were used to the Senator throwing things, and as long as it wasn’t in your direction, it was no harm done. At least, that’s what you thought.

“You should go to human resources,” Bucky commented one Sunday, the two of you sitting along a lake by the Capitol building.

You almost snorted. “Right. And what do you think old Mrs. Martha is going to be able to do for me? Brown has been in office for over a decade. If anything, that would just get me fired.”

Bucky shook his head, expression taut. “There’s gotta be something else then. You don’t deserve all of that.”

“If we’re talking about not deserving torment, I think I’m the least of our worries here, Sergeant,” you noted, knocking your shoulder against his in an attempted lightness.

But when you turned to look at him, Bucky was already facing you. “I’m serious, y/n. He’s throwing things at you. I’ve stayed out of it because you told me to, but after today—”

“Bucky, hey,” you calmed. “I know it seems crazy, but I know how to deal with it. I know he won’t actually do anything.”

“Right now, maybe.”

You sighed, searching his eyes and trying to discern when this became such an intense conversation. Trying to figure out when the two of you had discussions like this and not just lax coffee hangouts. Against your better judgment, you placed a hand over his thigh and relented.

“Okay, fine. I’ll work on it, but I’ll be the one working on it, okay? It definitely can’t be you—he would freak out if a representative started ordering him around. Even if you could totally knock him out.”

Bucky shook his head in disbelief, a smile begrudgingly sneaking onto his face. “I can’t believe you’re joking about this.”

“You can definitely believe that.”

“Yeah, I can.” And then you were tugged against his starched, ironed suit, his metal arm holding you close to his chest.

You gasped a little at the initial contact, your heart hammering against your ribs as Bucky simply kept you there. This is dangerous, your brain reminded you, but it was also harmless, if you looked at it the right way.

“You know, I’m not going to die, Bucky. I’ve dealt with this for years.”

“Yeah, you keep joking about that,” he gruffly replied, the words a ghost against the top of your head. You hadn’t realized his lips were that close. “If we could keep the death jokes to a minimum, that would be great.”

You pulled back from him enough to look at his face. “Why? Afraid your only friend will bite it?”

“Hey, I have other friends.”

“I haven’t seen ‘em.”

“Shut up,” he groaned, tugging you back in. “You can meet them as proof. Next weekend.”

“Okay, sure, Bucky,” you sang out, tapping his chest. “But if we need to reschedule this meeting with your 'friends,’ I would understand.”

As Bucky went on to refute your insinuations in a grumpy tone, you tried to pretend that this felt like that—just a friendship.

Approximately four days later, everything went to shit.

Senator Brown was on a tirade, screaming at everyone and everything in his path. When he got like this, the admin staff usually locked the doors to his office and the entire floor if they could, but today, they weren’t ready for how angry he was.

It was a bill, or a speech, or maybe even the press catching wind that he was cheating on his wife—it didn’t matter. He was pissed and you were going to have to answer for it.

You stood in his office with a clear view of the glass wall connecting to the hallway, hands behind your back and fighting off a wince with every curse and insult the Senator threw at you.

“I hired you to take care of this bullshit! Why the hell am I dealing with this when I’m supposed to have an entire staff? This is fucked!”

“You’re too worried about going home early, you can’t even assemble a reply to an email correctly! A fucking email!”

“I should’ve fired you weeks ago. When you started fucking off to wherever you take too long for your lunch break and stopped doing your job. I swear to god, this country has—”

You were only retaining about half of what he said, which was good, considering everything was an attack on you, and your work ethic, and then he even started going in on your clothes and your apartment. It must have been something really bad this time. After he was done yelling, you would check his texts and probably find a couple of mentions of divorce sprinkled in between messages with his lawyers.

Affairs and divorce were always messy for politicians.

“Of course, Senator. I will do better. I apologize,” you offered, unsure what you were apologizing for at the present. It wouldn’t matter; he would just start up again about another topic.

“Damn right you will or I’ll send you out on the streets. Do you know how hard it is to get a job in D.C when a Senator blacklists you?”

Did you ever.

When Bucky had asked you why you stayed, you left out that key bit of information. He was still newer to the field and didn’t need to know that Senator Brown held that over your head each time you even hinted at moving on.

You figured the screaming was almost over. Brown was in his 60s, so he would be getting tired. And it probably would have been over if he hadn’t checked his Apple Watch and read a text that got him fired up once more.

You greatly regretted setting that up for him.

You braced yourself for further yelling as his face began to turn red, but were alarmed as the Senator reached for the wooden pencil case on his desk and threw it. Pens flew, and you knew he wasn’t aiming for you, but the cup hit a vase on a high bookshelf to your right, which then toppled over and shook loose the framed art hanging above your head.

You should have moved, but you spotted Bucky in the hall, and he always distracted you.

The frame shot straight down, smacking you in the head and causing your knees to buckle in surprise. You fell to the ground, feeling dramatic and disoriented as the room silenced and your ears rang. You knew he wouldn’t apologize, but the continued quiet as you pushed yourself up and sat back on your haunches was almost deafening.

The glass door to the office swung open.

“What the hell?” A hand was on your elbow. A colder one felt around the top of your head. It was Bucky, obviously it was Bucky, but you were too afraid to look, keeping your gaze locked on Senator Brown. “Hey, you okay?”

The hand on your head moved down to your jaw, forcing your gaze to Bucky. He searched every inch of your face as you blinked at him, mind blank. “Um, I’m fine.”

Your brows furrowed, trying to connect the chain of events that led to this. You brought your hand up to replace where Bucky had placed his, the action seemingly spurring him into action.

“The hell is wrong with you, huh?” Bucky shouted, rising from the floor. “You think it makes you tough to throw things at her?”

Senator Brown had gone from furious to unsure, probably aware of the physical strength Bucky harbored. But, as was typical with politicians, he would not put anything before his pride. Brown righted his expression and pursed his lips.

“I wasn’t trying to hit her, Congressman. It was a simple accident. You weren’t even in the room to see it happen.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t need to be. You’re screaming at her when you’re not throwing. What kinda grown man does that?”

“Bucky—” you cautioned, glued to the floor still.

The senator directed his attention towards you, brows raised accusingly. “Oh, so you’ve been gossiping about me, then?”

You shrank back, hand lingering where your head ached, but Bucky stepped in front of you, blocking you from Brown’s line of sight.

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” Bucky seethed, jutting a finger into Brown’s chest.

Brown’s head sharply turned. “That you are, Congressman. But it seems like my assistant here no longer wants her role, so this conversation is moot.”

“Wait, I—”

“Maybe if you spent time picking on someone your own size instead of acting like a coward—”

“Bucky, don’t—”

“A coward? A coward? Who’s the one who cannot speak for himself on the board? Tell me, Barnes, is that part of some unresolved trauma from some nondescript decade?”

“You shut your mouth before I—”

“Congressman Barnes,” you called, authority that didn’t belong to you heavy in your tone. You were two seconds away from losing your job and being blacklisted, neither of which you could handle. Bucky froze, his anger still held in his shoulders. “Thank you for your concern, as I’m sure you were just passing by when you saw what happened, but I can assure you that it was an accident and I am fine.”

Bucky looked over his shoulder with furrowed brows, but took a step back and dropped his hands by his sides when he caught your expression—still disheveled, but resolute in your decision. He needed to leave. You needed to save your career. You could… figure everything else out later. Probably.

You bit into your bottom lip until it hurt.

Bucky looked at the wall behind your head and then tracked his gaze to the forming lump on your crown. “But—”

“I am fine,” you repeated slowly. Having risen from the floor before calling his name, you walked to the door and held it open. “We’re very busy. Please excuse us.”

Bucky licked his lips as he looked to the floor, shaking his head in abject disbelief and following your direction. When he met the entryway, he tilted his head slightly, opening his mouth to say something, but thinking against it. His hand twitched at his side, and then he left, taking long, purposeful strides away from the office.

You took a deep breath, allowed yourself a moment as the door closed, and then you did something purposeful yourself. Even if it killed you to do so.

Bucky’s POV

Bucky was losing his mind.

After leaving Brown’s office, he’d stormed into his own and promptly shut and locked the door. Tugging his tie away from his neck and prying the uncomfortable suit jacket from his shoulders, Bucky then began to pace. He was pissed. He was so beyond pissed.

It would have been so easy for him to knock that Senator out, and he would have deserved it. Bucky had had to watch for weeks as you were berated and screamed at, and then the line was crossed when he saw him throwing things. You hadn’t let him do anything, and then you hadn’t let him do anything again after you’d been hurt.

He watched you flinch and cover your face, and even that hadn’t been enough.

Bucky swiped a hand over his mouth.

When had you started to matter to him so much? That was a stupid question, and apparently, he was full of stupidity today.

He promised that he’d let you take care of it, and then he went in there and almost killed Senator Brown. A replay of you falling to the ground looped in his mind, and actually Bucky didn’t feel stupid at all. All he felt was rage.

“Shit,” he breathed out, knocking his head back and falling back into his office chair.

He’d messed up. He wasn’t sure exactly how, but he knew you were not happy with him. What did “taking care of it” even mean? And why were you so dead set on keeping that awful job? Bucky could think of at least a dozen other jobs in D.C. that would not involve you being verbally and physically abused.

Fuck, he wished he had more pull, but as a Congressman of only a few months, there was little he could do against a Senator. And he had a meeting in five minutes.

Bucky pulled his phone out and sent you a quick text about talking after work, let out the longest sigh of his life, and then readjusted his tie.

That had been three days ago.

You never texted him back. And you left the building far before he could give you a ride home. When he asked your coworkers, they said you were no longer working overtime and left during normal hours.

Fine. That was good, actually. Only, Bucky never saw you.

He frequented all of your normal spots, wandered up to the top floor, and even stopped by the coffeeshop two days in a row, and you were nowhere. Avoiding him, obviously, and while he understood (he didn’t), he mostly wanted to put eyes on you. To make sure you were okay.

Sure, you didn’t have a severe head injury, but it was more than that.

Bucky brought his turmoil to the barbecue Sam was holding that weekend. The one you were supposed to be at.

Nursing his fifth beer that wouldn’t do anything, Bucky leaned back against the fence of Sam’s yard and sulked. He’d talked to a few people when he got there, but sulking was on his agenda for the afternoon.

“What’s up with the stank face?” Sam asked, entering Bucky’s orbit of solitude and despair. “It’s gonna get stuck like that if you keep it up.”

“I don’t have a stank face,” Bucky argued.

“Right, right. Well, right now you have more of a pissed off face, but I guess I bring that out in you.” Sam paused and then smacked Bucky in the shoulder. “Come on, man. What’s going on, seriously? Does it have to do with that girl you were supposed to bring?”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Oh, you don’t? Then it’s that.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, knocking back more of his beer as the sizzle of burgers juxtaposed with his somberness. “Alright, fine. It’s that. But it’s stupid. We weren’t even…”

“Dating?”

“Yeah. That.”

“You told me you went out for coffee and all that. That you would go on long walks at the lake and canoodle at work.”

“Are you going to take this seriously?” Bucky accused. “‘Cause if you’re not, I’m leaving right now. I’ll leave.”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry,” Sam surrendered, raising his hands. “But really, Buck, that all sounds like dating. Tell me why she didn’t come.”

Bucky clenched his jaw and stared out at the merriment of the barbecue, remembering the scene more vividly than he would have liked. He tried to find an exact moment that would have led to you avoiding him, but he couldn’t pin it down. Maybe it was the entire thing?

“I think she’s mad at me. I kinda went off on her boss and she told me she wanted to take care of it.”

“What do you mean ‘went off’? And isn’t she working under a Senator?”

Bucky puffed out a breath. “Yeah, Senator Brown.” Sam let out a low whistle as Bucky continued. “He yells at her. Throws things. I felt like it crossed a line this week, so I guess I kinda stormed in. She threw me out and’s been avoiding me since. We had talked about it before and she said to stay out of it, but, Sam, the guy’s a dick.”

“And you really like her,” Sam added casually. “And I really like her,” Bucky confirmed.

Sam paused to contemplate, though Bucky didn’t know what he could possibly offer that Bucky hadn’t already considered. He really, really liked you—more than he figured possible, especially with all of his attempts at dating since his pardon. But then you’d surprised him that night at the hotel, and he’d been hooked.

He hadn’t even had the chance to tell you.

“Well, two things,” Sam began, leaning on the fence next to Bucky. “Sounds like she knows what she’s doing, so you should have trusted her. But—” Sam cut out as Bucky opened his mouth “—it also sounds like Brown’s a major ass with a lot of power. You don’t know what he might have over her, slimy dude like that.”

“What, you mean like blackmail?”

“Maybe, who knows? You just gotta talk to her, man. Work it out.”

Sam clapped Bucky on the shoulder before wading back into the party in the yard. Bucky, feeling somewhat lighter but also still at peril, kicked off the fence and made his own attempts at being sociable.

“As soon as I can actually find her,” he grumbled to himself.

The charity gala had been on your calendar for the past six months, and still, nothing could have prepared you for how much you didn’t want to attend.

You usually enjoyed events like this. You got to dress up and eat nice food, and Brown always got too drunk to remember that his assistant was even in the building. The first hour felt like work, and then the rest of the night was cosplaying as a rich politician.

That was not the case for this gala.

Ever since the ordeal with Bucky, Senator Brown had kept you on a tight leash. Whether that was due to how much he enjoyed intimidating you or his fear that you actually were telling people he was a mean, abusive boss, didn’t matter. All that mattered was that this gala was going to suck and there was nothing you could do about it.

You had apologized profusely, swore up and down that you didn’t know Congressman Barnes, and practically pledged your life to Brown in every way you knew how. You never left the office, never took a lunch break—you were pretty sure your eyes were permanently dry from how long you stared at a screen all day.

Making you attend this gala and not leave his side was another ploy to make you atone for your wrongdoings. Maybe the man knew how much you enjoyed these events and was taking advantage of that.

“Check this,” Senator Brown lazily ordered, draping his coat over your arms. “And meet me back in the dining room. You get to sit right next to me.”

You offered him a tight smile and felt the ache in your shoulders begin to fester. You were more uptight this week than ever, but that had nothing to do with Bucky Barnes. Nothing.

It was just this job and your future in D.C. hanging in the balance.

Obviously.

You meandered over to the coat check, taking longer than you needed to and dragging your feet along the way. Your phone was buzzing incessantly in your bag—most likely some PR fire you’d need to put out before more people realized Brown was cheating on his wife—and you had absolutely no inclination to drag it out.

“Just these two,” you offered, pressing the coats into the attendant's hands and taking the ticket in return.

“Actually, can you add this one to that ticket?”

As if this night couldn’t get any more uncomfortable.

You could feel his chest against your back even before you heard him. He shifted his arms out of his sleeves and placed a hand on your shoulder as he leaned towards the counter. Of course he smelled good. Why wouldn’t he?

You fought the urge to roll your eyes in repressed… something and spun on your heel.

He was just as close as you were expecting and also far too close for comfort. You knocked your head back to catch his gaze, trying to appear unamused and angry.

“Why would you do that?” you asked.

Bucky paused for a moment, searching the planes of your face for a beat too long before replying, “No reason to open another ticket. I’ll just leave when you leave.”

“You mean you’ll leave when Brown leaves, then?”

The muscle in his jaw jumped. “So, nothing's changed.”

This time, you did roll your eyes. You clutched the coat check number in your hand and began to storm off, not in the headspace to have this conversation at this gala. Bucky, however, did not seem to mind.

The hand on your arm was soft but firm as you were tugged into a closet and subsequently shoved into a rack of hanging coats. It was too dim to see beyond your hands out in front of you, but Bucky solved that predicament as he entered your space.

“Did you seriously just throw me into a closet?” you whisper-yelled, all too aware of the staff only feet away.

“I had no choice,” he replied with the same urgency. “You were stomping off. And I didn’t throw you in here.”

“I was not stomping off,” you scoffed.

“You were.”

“Was not!”

“I could hear your heels. You were stomping.”

You groaned, pushing into his chest to try and create distance that wasn’t available. Your back only hit the wall.

“Fine. What do you want?”

Bucky froze for a moment. “I… I didn’t actually think you’d stay in here. Or let me talk, if I’m being honest.

Your jaw fell open, an incredulous laugh slipping out. You’d almost forgotten how endearing he was in just about everything he did. Even as he stood in front of you in a full, three-piece suit, smushing you against a closet wall because he had dragged you in there with no plan, a part of your chest warmed.

Your phone vibrated in your bag, and that warmth turned to ice.

“I don’t have time for this,” you determined, wiggling your way towards the door.

“Wait, hold on. I do have something to say, wait,” Bucky pleaded, metal hand—more gentle than you were sure it was ever used for—encircling your wrist. He tugged you back even closer this time, your face inches from his. “I wanted to say sorry. And… and I want to get it.”

“Get it?” you parroted, trying extremely hard to ignore the dropping feeling in your gut as he stared into your eyes.

“I want to get why you stay. Why you let him treat you like that. I want to know so I can… feel okay backing off.”

All you could get out was, “Why?”

Bucky’s next words were spoken as he stared down at your lips. “I think you know why.”

Breaths began to fail you, each exhale more ragged than the last. You had been expecting this, in a way, and that was why you always made excuses. He couldn’t be with you because he was a Congressman. You were only an assistant. You couldn’t date him because you were too busy. He wouldn’t want to date you, anyway. Senator Brown would never be okay with it.

All of those excuses evaporated within the shared space of the closet, and then you got scared. So, you blurted out what he wanted.

“He won’t let me quit. He won’t let me work anywhere else.”

Bucky blinked, a fog clearing from his heated gaze. His head jutted back an inch, and the hand that had somehow found a home on your jaw paused its ascent into your hair. “Won’t let you?”

“I’d be blacklisted.”

“He can’t do that.”

“He can.”

Bucky opened his mouth to speak again as the air in the closet became breathable and light peeked in from the cracking door. You sprang back from the Congressman, pushing his hand away from your cheek and slamming your back into the wall. It didn’t help much; the fifteen-year-old with the shawl in her hand was already making her own assumptions as you rushed past her and left Bucky to his own devices in the closet.

Amazing.

Just amazing.

You debated moving states, or countries, or entire career paths as you hurried into the dining room of the gala. Not only had you taken too long at the coat check, but you knew you looked completely flushed and out of it. You prayed that Brown was already drinking and wouldn’t catch on.

Thankfully, your prayers were answered.

While he was not happy to see you, his raised brow and side-eye deadly as you sat down, he didn’t say anything. And that was how dinner went—quiet and uncomfortable for you, but otherwise par for the course for Senator Brown.

Bucky was staring at you from across the table. The room was backlit by dull candles and expensive chandeliers, and you could feel his gaze on the side of your face like an unprecedented heat. He often flickered that gaze to Brown, but it would harden, become angry.

There was nothing he could do. There was nothing anyone could do.

You either stuck it out with Brown or tossed your political science degree in the trash can on your way out.

When dinner passed and dessert was served, you eyed the lemon tart mocking you from your plate. Dessert, when your life felt so out of control and confusing, couldn’t hurt, you figured, so you picked up your fork and ignored the knots taking up space in your stomach.

“Yours looks better.” Senator Brown picked up the lip of your plate and slid his in its place. “Here.”

“But—”

“Oh, don’t complain about it. Who complains about chocolate cake?” he peeved, snickering to the men on the other side of the table. He then went on a drunken rant about “good help” and the “youth of today” as you looked down at the cake in front of you.

Was D.C. even worth it?

Bucky was staring at you again. He wasn’t directly across from you, a few centerpieces blocking your view, but you could feel it. To avoid him—and your feelings—you ate the cake. Brown and the men sarcastically cheered as you did, alcohol clear in the air at this point, and you took another bite to get them to find some other novelty.

You took three bites before it started to sink in.

You vaguely registered that Bucky had pushed out from the table, a clink of silverware preceding the motion. It was too late for him, however, because as your own fork clattered down, you could no longer breathe.

Your tongue felt ten times too big in your mouth and your throat was glued shut, air tunneling through any openings it could find. You pushed out from the table and stood. The extra space didn’t do anything. You clawed at your throat until your legs became unsteady and failed from the lack of oxygen.

The table was extremely long, so at some point, you thought you heard Bucky dive over the dinner party rather than continue his trek around to your side. Other sounds filtered past the panic clogging your ears.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“I don’t know!”

“Is she allergic to something? It’s an allergic reaction!”

“Brown, what is she allergic to?”

“How should I know?”

“Well, do something!”

As you were grappling for your purse, a choked whine fell from your lips. It had been kicked somewhere, pushed out of your grasp, and no one at this damn gala was helping you. Several older women had gone to their knees with worried expressions at your eye line, but they weren’t doing anything.

“Move.”

Your head was beginning to spin, and your thoughts were blurring, but you heard Bucky. He came to your side much faster than it felt, moving things around that your blurred vision couldn’t catch. And then, pain. And then relief.

Your gasping breaths were supported by gentle hands on your face, thumbs brushing along your cheekbones. You grappled at Bucky’s wrists and tried to parse out panic from physical symptoms, but there was so much commotion in the room and your head was still so fuzzy.

“You’re okay,” Bucky assured you, voice almost too low to catch. Someone was on the phone with 911 in the back. “You can breathe with me. Come on. Don’t—hey—don’t look at them. Look at me.”

Your chin was pushed forward, and then your forehead connected with his. Ringing persisted in your ears. Your hands were beginning to shake from the epi, your jaw following close behind.

“I got you, okay?”

“F-f-feels—”

“I know,” he hushed. When your breath was somewhat steadier, he tucked your head beneath his chin and began barking out orders. He asked for an ETA on the ambulance, for your jacket, for ten other things you couldn’t register. And then, “You’re a piece of shit, you know that?”

The chaos of the room went silent. Within your shaking hands clutched in Bucky’s suit jacket, your fingers spasmed out of fear.

“Excuse me?” Brown scoffed. You were honestly surprised he was still in the room.

“What, throwing things at her wasn’t enough? Had to try and kill her?”

“B-bucky—”

“Throwing things at her?” you heard from across the room. “Brown, what is Barnes talking about?”

“I have no idea,” Brown spat out. He jutted his hand out towards you on the floor. “He never knows what he’s talking about. We’ve established that.”

“Right,” Bucky deadpanned, pulling you closer to his chest as you gasped for breath. “So what do you call this?”

“An accident, obviously.”

Bucky let out a puff of air through his nose, shaking his head in disbelief. Silence blanketed the room once more, and it was clear that he had given up. His hands were glued to the back of your head and your back, and he didn’t have the time or the drive in him to care about Brown right now.

“I saw you switch the plates.” The quiet voice came from across the table, the young blonde’s face registering in your memory as you peeked out from beyond Bucky’s chest. “She had a card with it, too. It said there was an allergy accommodation.”

Low murmurs fell over the room. Brown, much to your surprise, looked at a loss for words, his expression betrayed as he stared at the woman across the room. It clicked then, where you knew her from. She was on the front cover of every article you were pressured to get taken down, and the contact photo for the main caller in Brown’s phone.

“What? No,” Brown refuted, a nervous chuckle escaping him. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about, either. She’s barely even a secretary. She’s—”

The eyes around the room made his words trail off. “Barely even a secretary” was certainly a degrading title for his mistress, and everyone in the room knew it. If you were to look at your phone, you’d have seen that the newest story of their relationship had been blowing up all night. You guessed she was fed up with him denying it.

Sirens sounded beyond the doors of the ballroom, breaking up the tension at the wide table. Brown used it as his getaway, throwing his napkin down and muttering something about insolence or idiots or something of the sort. You couldn’t really hear anything over Bucky’s low whisper in your ear, followed by his lips against the side of your head.

After being monitored in the emergency room for approximately six hours, the night shift staff sent you off with a horde of medication to take for the next month and, of course, a new epipen. You trudged out past the waiting room, prepared to wait in the parking lot for an Uber, when a certain man sitting in a chair far too small for him caught your eye.

He was half asleep, his face held in his metal hand as he nodded off and woke up just as quickly. His suit looked stiff and uncomfortable as he twisted his wrists, dragging the sleeves up to his elbows. He’d discarded the jacket somewhere, probably lost to the world now. And then he spotted you, your dress awkwardly draped over your body in your haphazard attempt to re-dress, your hair completely out of place, and your hands filled with paper bags of medication.

He shot out of the chair, holding everything in your hands in one of his, and assessed you himself. His gaze roved the mess you’d become. He should have made a joke about it, maybe teased you for almost dying, but instead, he ran a hand over your head and dragged you against his chest.

“Scared the shit out of me,” he murmured into your hair. He pressed another kiss there, reminding you that the first one hadn’t been your imagination.

“You didn’t have to stay,” you said, clutching his button-up in your hands.

“‘Course I did.” He leaned you back, hand still woven at the base of your hair, not caring that he was in the middle of the ER waiting room. “You okay?”

It only took you a moment to make a decision.

You pressed up, kissing him even though you were in the ER waiting room. Even though you both looked like a mess and you’d almost died and you had no idea if you still had a job. You kissed him and it startled him, the paper bag of medications crunching in his hand, but he kissed you back without hesitation.

It wasn’t a passionate kiss—not like the breathless, wanting kisses you would share late, share tomorrow—but it was confirming something. Bucky held you and had his lips firmly against yours, his brows furrowed in a way you couldn’t see, and he confirmed everything you’d suspected.

You figured you wouldn’t need to work if your boyfriend were a Congressman.

But, as you would soon find out, Senator Brown didn’t have very much time left as a Senator, anyway.

3K notes · View notes

tripletstephaniescp · 7 days ago

Text

I'm with her.

on command.

this is the first story from my 707 followers' milestone event 💖

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Medic!Reader (female)

Summary: It started with a question you didn’t realize sounded filthy: “Can you come on command?” Bucky thought you were teasing. But you were just too clinical to know better. And now? He’s going to show you exactly what happens when curiosity goes too far.

Disclaimer: 18+ (mdni!), explicit smut content, p in v, oral sex (f receiving & m receiving), fingering, dirty talk, blowjob, face-fucking themes, size kink (mild), orgasm denial, soft dom!bucky, light power play, praise kink, slight dub-con vibes via misunderstanding, medical/clinical kink themes, slow build to climax, cockwarming (implied), cum on thighs, aftercare

Word Count: 7.1k

The med-bay smelled like antiseptic and fresh laundry—too clean for a room that had known so much blood. It was a Sunday evening, quiet and uneventful, the kind of shift where silence hummed against your ears and your thoughts wandered deeper than you intended. The kind of boredom that stretched into your ribs.

Until you heard the heavy thud of combat boots echo down the hallway.

You looked up from your tablet. He walked in with a presence that made the sterile air feel charged.

James Buchanan Barnes

Unit: Thunderbolts

Registry: Alpha-01

Notes: Vibranium prosthesis (left arm). Serum-enhanced physiology. Prior Hydra experimentation flagged in psychological history.

His combat shirt hung from one shoulder, blood soaked into the seams. His torso was bare—bruised, sweating, smeared with dried streaks of red. Deep brown hair fell in damp strands against his temples, jaw tight, body moving like something made to endure.

“Didn’t know we had new faces,” he said, voice gravel-rough as he eased himself down onto the med-bed. “Nice change.”

You nodded once and pulled on gloves. “Yes. I started this week.”

He dropped the shirt beside him, settling in like the cot was his personal recliner. The tone in his voice had suggested ease, maybe even a joke, but you didn’t react. You weren’t always sure when people were being sarcastic.

Especially not him.

You retrieved gauze, saline, antiseptic. You were focused on the wound low across his abdomen—a shallow blade graze, already clotting along the edge. As you cleaned around it, you recalled a conversation from earlier that week. Your first night shift had been filled with stories, warnings, casual gossip from the senior medics. They spoke about the team like they were walking myths. And Bucky Barnes, in particular, had been the centerpiece of several of those stories.

He can do anything if you tell him to, someone had said. Hydra programming, you know? Sit, kneel, come—just say it.

You hadn’t laughed. You’d written it down. Because you didn’t know it was a joke.

Now, he sat bare-chested in front of you, quiet, unmoving, skin warm beneath your gloved hands as you pressed sterile pads to the wound.

The question formed itself before you realized it was inappropriate.

You spoke plainly, genuinely. “I was wondering—can you get hard and ejaculate on command?”

The silence that followed was total. Not a pause. Not surprise.

It was a shift.

You didn’t notice it right away, too focused on folding gauze precisely, until the weight of his gaze pulled you back to the moment.

When you looked up, his entire body had stilled.

His eyes were on you. Unmoving. Brow low, mouth parted just slightly, as if he were still computing the words. The faint line between his brows deepened.

“Come again?” he asked, but his voice wasn’t casual. It wasn’t flirtatious either. It was something closer to caution.

You met his stare. “I asked if you’re able to achieve erection and reach orgasm on command. Based on what the other officers implied regarding your conditioning.”

He blinked once. Very slowly.

Your tone hadn’t faltered. You weren’t embarrassed. You were just curious—curious the same way you’d asked someone last week if the Hulk’s resting heart rate really was thirty-five BPM.

Bucky leaned back slightly, eyes scanning you like he was waiting for the punchline. When it didn’t come, his jaw worked, muscle flexing once under stubble.

Then he stood.

Not abruptly. But with enough weight behind the motion that you instinctively stepped back. The tray clinked behind you.

He stepped closer, enough that you felt the heat coming off his skin. Still watching you. Still trying to process.

“You’re seriously asking me that?” he said, quieter now. “Like, you’re not messing with me.”

“No,” you answered plainly. “I just wanted to understand the scope of the conditioning. Neurological control of physiological functions isn’t unheard of.”

He dragged a hand down his face. Let out a long breath through his nose. You saw the flicker in his expression—somewhere between disbelief and… something else.

“You really don’t realize how that sounded, do you.”

You tilted your head. “Should I?”

He huffed a soft, disbelieving laugh, almost under his breath.

Then he moved forward again—closer. Close enough that your hip bumped the counter edge.

“Are you asking because you want to know,” he said slowly, gaze dragging down your face, “or because you want to see?”

You stared back at him, unflinching. The intensity in his eyes didn’t register as threatening to you—just confusing. Your fingers curled slightly at your sides, still gloved. Still sterile. Still in the mindset of diagnostics and assessments, not flirtation. You weren’t sure what he meant by see, but the phrasing seemed to demand clarity.

So you gave it.

“I want to know,” you said plainly, meeting his eyes. “But if visual confirmation is possible, then yes—seeing would be helpful.”

His face didn’t move at first.

Not a blink. Not a breath.

Then his eyebrows lifted just a fraction—just enough to break the tension—but his mouth stayed parted like he’d lost his words somewhere between inhale and exhale.

You watched him, calm as ever. Not realizing that what you just said, to him, sounded like you were practically asking to watch him jerk off in the middle of med-bay.

His eyes narrowed slightly, still scanning you for a punchline. When there was none, something shifted. Not in you. In him.

Because that’s when it hit him—hard.

You weren’t fucking around.

You weren’t teasing. You weren’t flirting. You weren’t setting him up for some kind of HR trap. You were genuinely trying to understand the technical boundaries of Hydra’s physiological conditioning, like you were running through a checklist for your own notes.

He exhaled once through his nose and ran his palm over his jaw.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, half to himself. His gaze flicked to the side, like he needed to look anywhere but directly at you for a moment.

You could see it happening—the calculation behind his eyes. He was deciding whether or not to walk away. Whether to laugh. Whether to report this. But then something else moved through him, too—curiosity. You recognized the signs: pupils shifting slightly, breath shallower. He wasn’t sure either.

“I mean,” he said at last, voice rough, uncertain. “I’ve never… actually tried that. Not like—deliberately.”

You tilted your head slightly. “Would you be open to attempting it?”

His mouth parted again, like he wanted to respond but couldn’t decide which direction to take it. You sensed hesitation and tried to reassure him in the only way you knew how: by defaulting to protocol.

“If you’d prefer this be off-record,” you added, “we can skip the video documentation. I’ll log it manually.”

That did it.

His jaw dropped just a fraction further as he let out a breathless, incredulous noise. It wasn’t quite a laugh—it was something between disbelief and amusement, and it landed heavy in the air between you.

He looked back at you like you were some rare, alien creature. And maybe you were.

You hadn’t moved. You weren’t flustered. You weren’t seducing him. You were just… waiting. Like this was any other medical procedure.

Bucky dragged a hand through his hair, clearly still processing. Then his eyes returned to yours.

“You really wanna see if I can do that,” he said. It wasn’t a question. More like a final check. Like he needed to hear it in your voice one last time before he crossed the line.

“Yes,” you said simply. “For observation purposes.”

There was a long, still beat.

Then his stance shifted.

Something subtle in the way his feet planted, in the slow curl of his fingers at his side, in the way his shoulders rolled back with quiet intent. He wasn’t leaning anymore—he was centered now. Present. Watching you as something darker flickered behind his expression. Something curious. Something charged.

He nodded once. Low. Controlled.

“All right,” he said roughly, voice dipping just a bit lower than before. “Try me.”

—

You gave a short nod, already reaching back toward the tablet on the metal tray behind you, fingertips hovering to wake the screen. The chance to collect a new data point—something none of the other medics had dared ask for—was unexpectedly thrilling.

But the rustle of fabric behind you pulled your focus.

Bucky had stepped away from you again, his heavy boots padding quietly as he moved back toward the med-bed. Except this time, his fingers were already at his waistband.

You froze halfway between the tray and your chair.

He turned slightly toward you, eyes locked onto yours as his thumb worked open the button of his tactical pants. The zipper followed with a quiet rasp, slow and deliberate. He wasn’t speaking. Just watching.

And only then, only then, did your brain finally process the image forming in front of you.

His pants loosened around his hips, hung low now—unzipped and open just enough for you to see the black band of his briefs and the defined lines of his lower abdomen. The cut you’d just cleaned stretched faintly when he moved, muscles flexing subtly under the skin. His cock was still covered, but the shape of it—resting heavy against the fabric, shifting slightly as he adjusted—was impossible to miss. Still soft. Still untouched. But undeniably there. And Bucky wasn’t breaking eye contact.

Something shifted in your chest—an odd tightness you weren’t familiar with. A spike in heart rate. Not fear. Just sudden, confusing awareness. Your lips parted slightly, and your fingers fell away from the tablet screen.

Bucky let out a quiet breath. Not a laugh, not quite. A huff, amused and something darker beneath it.

“You’re realizing how bad everything looks now, huh?” he said, and his tone was different—still low, still calm, but tinged with heat. A crooked smirk played at the corner of his mouth. “Starting to piece it together?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t—not yet.

Because the tension in the air had shifted again. The weight of it wasn’t theoretical anymore. It was physical. Heavy. Warm. Centered on the space between you and the man now standing with his pants undone, cock barely covered, staring at you like this was still part of your little experiment.

You swallowed. Just once.

“I can stop,” he added, arching a brow. “But if you’re gonna ask me to do this… I need you to say it.”

“Say it?” you echoed.

He nodded, the line of his jaw tight, like something about this had challenged him in a way he wasn’t used to. “Yeah. The command. Give it. Let’s see if it works.”

You blinked, heartbeat tapping quick in your throat. Your gloves felt suddenly too tight.

It was for science.

Wasn’t it?

Except… now you were staring at the shape of a man’s cock through his briefs. At the subtle way it shifted behind fabric. At how he just stood there, open like a test subject, waiting for you to initiate the next step.

And suddenly, your carefully ordered brain started… glitching.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to look. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this—warm skin, eye contact, unspoken tension stretching tight across the space between you like a surgical suture about to snap.

You tried to stay focused. Tried to categorize what was happening as neuromuscular stimulus, externally initiated. That’s all. But the words slipped out of your mouth before you could repackage them more… appropriately.

“What kind of command should I say?”

Bucky’s brow arched. He shrugged one shoulder, still loose, still watching you like you were the show now. “Anything,” he said, voice smooth but quiet. “Try whatever comes naturally.”

Your brain immediately clicked into gear, cataloging possibilities, filtering for language precision. He’d said command. Singular. Direct.

“Get hard,” you said.

Bucky blinked once, slowly. “You might need to be more specific,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching. “There’s a lotta things in here that can get hard. Floors. Plastics. Steel.”

You paused. Blinked again. Fair. Logical.

Your eyes dropped to the bulge at his front, the soft outline of his cock resting slightly to the left beneath dark cotton.

So you recalibrated. Clarified.

Your voice was steady when you said it:

“I command the cock of Bucky Barnes to get hard.”

The silence that followed wasn’t quiet. It was crackling. Electric.

And then—it worked.

You watched, frozen, as the shape beneath his briefs shifted. Thickened. From a resting weight to something firmer. Fuller. The fabric tightened around him as the shaft pressed upward and outward, no longer soft, no longer passive. He twitched once—just enough to catch your eye—and then kept swelling.

Your lips parted. You didn’t move.

That wasn’t supposed to happen.

It couldn’t happen.

But it had.

And Bucky… Bucky exhaled something between a scoff and a groan, and tipped his head slightly back like he couldn’t believe it either. When he looked at you again, his pupils had darkened, narrowed, and the curve of his lips had turned into something far less amused and far more interested.

“You’re kidding me,” he murmured, shaking his head. “You actually meant that.”

You nodded once, slowly, as your eyes locked onto the now very-obvious bulge straining his briefs.

He smirked, but there was a heat beneath it now—a flicker of something dangerous. His voice dropped a notch deeper.

“More.”

“What?”

“Give me another command,” he said. “Anything. Let’s test your theory.”

You hesitated. A beat too long. Then your eyes dropped again, tracking the shape beneath the black fabric. Your breath hitched—quiet, but noticeable to both of you. Your gloved hand curled reflexively at your side.

You bit your lip.

And then, softly, clinically—

“Twitch for me.”

And it did.

Just slightly. A small, visible movement under fabric. But enough.

A pulse. A response. An involuntary contraction of arousal-based musculature.

Your throat went dry.

A chill spidered down your spine, despite the warmth flooding your neck. Your mind scrambled to reframe this—to maintain control—but this no longer felt like controlled scientific inquiry. This was crossing into something else. Something biological. Something reproductive.

This wasn’t a training module anymore.

This was a live demonstration.

And you were the sole witness.

—

Bucky’s fingers curled under the waistband of his briefs.

He held your stare for a moment—something unspoken hanging in the air between you—and then he pulled them down.

Not rushed. Not coy. Just practical. Like it was necessary for the demonstration.

“You wanna learn properly, right?” he said. His voice was smooth, but edged. “Gotta see it bare if you want the full data.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Because your breath caught the moment it came into view.

You choked—literally—on your own saliva.

Half-hard, and already thick. Heavy. You could see the potential of it, the way the veins curved beneath flushed skin, the slight upward tilt even in its semi state. It looked obscene without even being fully erect yet, and you couldn’t stop your eyes from tracing it, from measuring it mentally like you were still running diagnostics.

But you weren’t anymore. You knew that now.

Bucky saw your stare, the way your eyes had locked there like you forgot how to blink. His voice dropped, barely audible over the thick hum of your pulse.

“Give me another command.”

Something in your body responded before your brain did. Your feet shifted—one step forward. Then another. And another. Four in total. Just enough to bring you closer. Close enough that you didn’t have to squint to see the twitch of him. The weight of it.

Your gaze finally broke from his cock and lifted—slow, dazed—until you met his eyes again. There was something in them now. Not confusion. Not amusement.

Permission.

“Stroke it for me,” you said, voice quieter than before. Not clinical. Not innocent. Just… real.

And that was the moment the game changed.

Bucky’s breath stuttered once in his throat, just the smallest hitch. Because now, you weren’t analyzing—you were participating.

And he liked that. He liked it a lot.

He wrapped his flesh hand around the base, slow and deliberate, his thumb swiping just under the tip as he started to stroke upward in long, lazy pulls. His cock twitched again in his palm, growing harder with every pass. No sounds left his mouth. His jaw clenched. His brows pulled tight. But he didn’t moan.

He was waiting for you to tell him to.

You shifted in place, thighs pressing together with a sudden, instinctive squeeze. Your breathing went uneven, and the pressure building between your legs was no longer something you could rationalize away. Wetness pooled at the center of your panties. Your skin was hot. Your thoughts a blur of static and want.

Your eyes dropped again. His cock had grown—thicker, longer, flushed deep at the head. Veins thickened along the shaft. The slide of his hand was smooth, practiced. Deliberate.

Your mouth opened again.

“Stroke faster.”

He obeyed instantly.

The rhythm changed, tightened, faster now—fingers gliding up the length, thumb brushing the tip each time in a way that made the muscles in his stomach twitch. His breathing picked up, but still no sound. Still waiting.

You stared.

Hard. Thick. Veined. It should’ve been obscene, but you couldn’t look away. The way his cock reacted to your voice felt like an experiment gone wrong—or maybe perfectly right. And you were the one holding the data, holding the power.

Your pulse beat between your legs.

And then—a glint.

Your eyes caught it before you could process it.

A bead of pre-cum had leaked from the tip, catching the light under the bright med-bay fluorescents. It clung there, glistening.

You groaned.

Not intentionally. Not performatively.

It was raw, low, a breathy little sound dragged straight from your chest before you could clamp it down.

And when you realized what you’d done, your hand flew to your mouth.

Bucky’s fist slowed for just a moment.

Then he smirked—eyes dark, blown wide, a faint sheen of sweat forming across his collarbone.

“That wasn’t very professional,” he murmured.

—

Bucky’s fist moved faster now—stroking with a pace that was no longer lazy or exploratory. It was urgent. Determined. Testing both your commands and his own control.

His eyes flicked up to you again, and this time his voice had a rasp to it. Thicker. Needier.

“Come on,” he said lowly, just above a whisper. “What’s next, huh? Moans? Touch? You’re running the experiment, right? Gotta get all your data points.”

The words coiled low in your abdomen like a tightening wire. He was pushing you now—not resisting, not breaking the role—but tempting you to go further. Daring you.

And fuck, you were already too far gone to backpedal.

You watched the way his cock jerked in his hand, the head flushed and leaking. The pace was obscene—wet, rhythmic, fast.

“Stop,” you said, breathless but firm.

His hand froze instantly, mid-stroke.

You stepped closer, chest rising with shallow breaths.

“Now grip it tight. At the base. Like a cock ring.”

His jaw clenched. But he obeyed.

Fingers slid down, wrapped tight at the base. The moment he squeezed, his hips jolted just slightly—a tiny thrust he didn’t mean to give. The muscles in his stomach twitched. His lips parted.

A whimper escaped him. Soft. Strained. Like it had been forced through grit teeth. Not a moan. But close.

Your own breath caught.

Something about that sound—his frustration, his restraint, the way he held himself back on your order—sent a hot wave crashing through your core.

Your nipples peaked, the fabric of your bra suddenly too tight, too abrasive, like even the fibers couldn’t stand not touching you directly. Heat spread low in your belly, soaking between your thighs. You didn’t dare look down at yourself. You didn’t need to.

You already felt how soaked you were.

Your eyes didn’t leave his cock.

It twitched slightly in his grip.

Alive.

Waiting.

You swallowed, and then—

“Moan for me.”

He did.

Not a pornographic moan. Not some overdone, fake gasp. It was real.

It started low in his chest, almost like a growl — rough, full of restraint snapping open. It vibrated in his throat before it left his mouth, his jaw slackening as he let out a slow, masculine moan that sounded like it had been pent up for hours.

“F-fuck—” he gasped, voice catching. “That what you wanted?”

It was full of yearning. Of weight. Like he’d been aching to be heard, and now your voice was the only one he’d obey.

Your thighs squeezed again, tighter this time. You shifted on instinct, trying to ease the pressure building deep inside you. But it was no use.

He saw it.

Saw you squirm, saw your chest rise like you couldn’t catch your breath, saw the tremble in your fingers now clenched around the edge of the tray behind you.

And he smiled.

But this one… wasn’t mocking.

It was sharp. Almost feral.

His hand still gripped the base of his cock, skin tight and flushed. But he didn’t move. He just looked at you, pupils blown wide.

Then—his voice dropped to something darker. More commanding.

“Your turn.”

You blinked.

“What?”

His smirk widened just slightly, voice gravel-smooth, no longer soft or playful.

“Take the gloves off,” he said. “Then touch me. And let’s stop pretending this is still about Hydra.”

—

For a moment, you hesitated.

Just a breath.

Then you peeled off your gloves—one hand, then the other—fingers flexing slightly in the cool med-bay air. The sterile barrier was gone now. There was no pretending this was still clinical. This wasn’t about notes. This wasn’t about data.

This was about him. And you.

Your footsteps were slow, measured, as you stepped the last bit of distance between you and Bucky. He stood in front of the med-bed, body bare from the waist down, cock flushed and leaking, his chest rising just a little faster now.

You reached out.

Your fingers wrapped around him—replacing his own grip at the base. He let go immediately, lifting his hand away to let you take over, the breath in his throat catching as your skin made contact.

He was hot. Heavy. Alive in your palm, twitching slightly as your hand encircled the base. The skin was soft where it needed to be, velvet over steel, and the tip was slick and pulsing.

You looked up at him.

Your gaze met his, and his eyes were dark, narrowed—hungry.

His lips parted just slightly, voice rough and short.

“Stroke me. Then blow me.”

The order made your thighs clench.

You obeyed without speaking.

Your hand began to move, slow at first, adjusting to the shape and heat of him, your grip gentle, exploratory. You watched the way his stomach flexed with each pass, the subtle twitch of muscle when you passed your thumb over the tip, smearing the pre-cum slowly down the shaft.

You leaned in.

Just slightly at first, tilting your head forward, your breath skating warm over the flushed head. Bucky’s eyes dropped to your mouth.

Then your tongue slipped out—just a taste.

One slow lick, right over the tip.

He groaned. Low. Guttural. His head tipped back for a split second, throat flexing.

You licked again, bolder this time, then wrapped your lips around the head of his cock and drew him in—slowly. You hollowed your cheeks slightly, using just enough pressure to feel him respond, the weight of him dragging your mouth open more as you took him deeper.

Your hand didn’t stop moving.

You stroked while you sucked—your fist gliding up and down the base in sync with your lips pulling wetly around the top. The angle made it easy, almost natural, to slide into a steady rhythm. Before long, your knees found the cold tile beneath you, and you dropped fully down.

On your knees for him.

Bucky’s hand reached for you.

His fingers threaded through your hair—not yanking, not controlling, but guiding. His palm cradled the back of your head, gentle but firm, keeping you steady, helping you move with him.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Jesus—you feel…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

He didn’t need to.

You felt it—every twitch, every surge. You could taste him. Hear the sound of your mouth working over him—slick, lewd, hot. His cock throbbed under your tongue, and your hand was slick with saliva and pre-cum now, sliding faster, keeping pace.

Your thighs were soaked. You didn’t dare check.

This was no longer about commands.

This was about the way he moaned when your lips sank lower.

About how his hips gave a slow, helpless jerk when your tongue curled underneath.

About how your name—or maybe a prayer—slipped from his lips like he was giving in.

—

Bucky’s moans were getting ragged—too close. You could feel it in the way his hand tightened at the back of your head, the subtle twitch in his hips, the tremble riding down the backs of his thighs. He was losing control.

But then—he stopped.

His cock slid from your mouth with a wet pop, strings of saliva still clinging as he stepped back, and his hand released your hair with a gentleness that contrasted the tension still buzzing in the air.

You blinked up at him, breathless. Lips swollen, jaw slack.

Confused.

He leaned down suddenly, close, the blunt edge of his nose brushing your cheek, his mouth ghosting against your ear.

“I gotta stop,” he said, voice thick and wrecked. “If I keep going, I’m gonna come—and that’s not how I want this to end.”

Before you could speak, he inhaled sharply, slow and deliberate—right near your neck, your shoulder.

“I can smell you,” he whispered, so close you could feel his breath. “So sweet… fuck, you smell good. Like heat. Like need. It’s all I can fucking think about.”

Your throat tightened. Your thighs instinctively pressed together, but it was no use. Your panties were soaked through. You could feel it now—sticky against your skin, the telltale ache of need building deep and low.

He pulled back, eyes locking with yours.

“Get on the bed.”

You didn’t think. You just moved.

You climbed onto the med-bed, hands shaking as you laid flat, the sterile paper beneath your back crinkling under you. Your chest rose and fell too fast. Your heart was hammering.

Bucky stepped up beside you, fingers moving straight to the controls along the side panel. You watched him adjust the platform—angling it upward, shifting it higher, higher—until your hips were raised perfectly at the edge, aligned with the height of the rolling med-chair he pulled in behind him.

Then his hands went to your waist.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your uniform pants—flicking the button open, tugging down the zipper slowly.

His eyes stayed on yours the whole time.

The fabric slid down your hips, over your thighs, exposing your underwear—already ruined.

His gaze finally dropped, and the sound he made was primal. A low, breathless groan punched straight from his chest.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Look at that.”

Your panties were dark with arousal, wet from center to seam, clinging to your folds. His thumb grazed the soaked cotton, dragging it along the sticky heat there.

“You’re this wet for me?” he murmured. “Just from watching me stroke my cock?”

You swallowed but didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your hips tilted slightly into his touch, searching for more.

He hooked his fingers under the waistband and peeled your panties down, slow. As he pulled them off your legs, he paused—his eyes lingering for a heartbeat too long on the soaked gusset—and groaned again under his breath.

If he brought them to his nose, you didn’t see it. You were too busy trying not to tremble as he settled between your thighs.

He grabbed the chair, dragged it forward with one hand, and sat—his eyes level with your cunt now, bare and glistening, exposed completely on the edge of the bed.

“You ever had someone eat you out?” he asked, voice deep and low.

You shook your head. Small. Honest.

A flicker of something passed over his face—dark and pleased. His pupils blew wide, tongue wetting his bottom lip.

“Good,” he said, breath ghosting hot against your inner thighs. “I want to be the first.”

Then he leaned in—and licked you.

The first pass of his tongue was slow, wide, and devastating. A drag from your entrance up to your clit in one long, shivering stroke.

You gasped, back arching. “Oh—!”

He moaned into your cunt, low and deep.

Again.

He licked you slower now, more deliberately, the slurp audible. He nosed into you, spread you with two fingers of his flesh hand and devoured you like it was the only thing he was built to do. His tongue circled, then flattened. Then flicked—messy, wet, perfect.

Your hips twitched. Your hand flew to the bed rail, fingers clenching tight.

“Bucky—” you whimpered, voice trembling.

He grunted into you—sound vibrating straight through your clit.

Then you felt it.

Cold.

His vibranium fingers slid between your folds.

One pressed at your entrance—gentle, firm. A slow stretch as he slipped it in, knuckle by knuckle, filling you in one smooth thrust.

You cried out. Your thighs jerked.

The coldness of metal inside your hot, fluttering walls was overwhelming. You clenched around it instinctively, hips rocking into the sensation.

“Shit—yeah,” Bucky rasped, pulling back enough to speak. “Clenching already? Fuck, you feel good.”

His mouth returned to your clit, tongue circling, then sucking, lips closing around it just right.

At the same time, that finger started to move. A slow, deliberate rhythm. In and out, curling just slightly.

You whimpered. Your eyes squeezed shut. The heat building between your legs was unbearable.

“More—” you gasped. “I want—”

You didn’t finish the sentence.

You didn’t have to.

Because your body had already betrayed you—back arching, hips bucking, slick dripping down to his palm.

His mouth sucked harder, tongue flicking faster, finger fucking you deeper—and you felt yourself start to unravel.

His breath hit your cunt when he spoke again.

“You want more?” His voice was rough, dark. “Say it. Tell me what you need.”

—

Your back arched as the first vibranium finger curled inside you, drawing another soft whimper from your lips. You needed more. The pressure was good—but not enough. Not yet.

Your hips rocked forward instinctively, searching, rolling toward his mouth, his hand, anything he’d give.

“Please,” you breathed, voice trembling. “Another…”

Bucky didn’t hesitate.

Another cool, sleek finger joined the first, easing in slowly with a delicious stretch that made your thighs jerk open wider. He groaned against your cunt as he watched your body react.

“That’s it,” he murmured, lips brushing against your inner thigh. “Take it. Just like that.”

Your hips rolled, desperate for more friction. The pressure was growing deeper, stronger—but it still wasn’t enough. Your moans grew softer, more frequent, broken by panting breaths. You couldn’t form words. Couldn’t ask.

But he knew.

Without needing permission, he slid a third vibranium finger inside you, and that made you cry out.

“F-fuck—” you gasped, legs shaking.

The stretch was intense—your walls clenching tight around the cool metal, fluttering with every slow curl of his fingers. You didn’t know you could feel this full from just fingers. But the pressure was perfect. Overwhelming. Too much and not enough at the same time.

Bucky groaned, his own voice ragged now.

“Fuck, look at you,” he said, voice thick and reverent. “Clenching around me like you’re starving for it.”

He set a faster rhythm, fingers pumping into you with slick, wet sounds that filled the space between your own needy moans. His thumb slid up, circling your clit while his tongue flicked beneath it, and it was too much—your thighs shaking, your breath coming in shallow, desperate bursts.

Your hands gripped the rail above your head. Your body was so close, teetering, right there—

And then he stopped.

Just like that.

You whimpered, a broken sob of air as your hips bucked forward, trying to chase the friction he just took away.

“No—” you gasped.

He didn’t answer. He just sat back slightly, eyes hooded with heat, breath heavy, fingers soaked in your arousal.

He raised his hand to his mouth.

Licked the wet off one finger.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “You taste so sweet. Addictive.”

Then, to your surprise, he brought those same fingers to your lips.

You parted them without thinking.

The taste of yourself hit your tongue—salty, musky, warm. It made you moan softly, eyes fluttering closed.

Bucky’s hand dropped, and he leaned over you, one arm curling around your waist as he pulled you upright from the bed in one swift, effortless move. Your legs wrapped around him loosely, chest pressed to his, your soaked cunt still throbbing.

He kissed you.

And it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was claiming.

Slow. Deep. The kind of kiss that spoke everything his mouth couldn’t say. Tongue sliding against yours, hands anchoring you close, his cock thick and hard between your bodies.

You broke the kiss first, breath catching in your throat. A soft moan escaped you as you leaned into the crook of his neck, lips brushing his jaw, your breath hot against his ear.

“I need your cock,” you whispered, voice shaking. “Inside. Now.”

He jolted. Just slightly—but you felt it. The way his fingers dug into your hips, the way his cock twitched hard against your stomach.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice rough. “We don’t have to go that far. I can just—keep going. Oral only. Or I can stop.”

But you weren’t having that.

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eye.

Your voice steady now. Low. Commanding.

“It’s a command. Fuck me. Use your cock.”

Something in him broke.

His expression shifted instantly—lips parting, pupils dilating, breath punching out of him like you’d knocked the air from his lungs. And then his hands were on your hips, dragging you down the bed, adjusting your angle.

“Yes, ma’am,” he breathed.

—

Bucky stepped in close, hands firm on your thighs as he aligned his cock at your entrance. You were still clinging to him from the kiss—legs locked around his waist, hips tilted forward—and the tip of him slid through your slick folds, gliding right up to your clit.

You gasped. Your arms tightened around his shoulders.

He let his forehead rest against yours, breath hot between your lips.

“Gonna split you open real slow, doll,” he whispered, voice dark and low. “Wanna make sure you feel me for days. Wanna make you think of my cock when you’re sittin’ at that medic desk, squirming in that chair…”

You whimpered, breath catching hard in your throat.

He shifted his hips slightly, the fat head of his cock nudging right at your entrance. There. Warm. Heavy.

“Still okay?” he asked, eyes scanning your face.

You nodded quickly—too fast.

But Bucky didn’t move yet.

He was patient. His flesh hand slid to your lower back, supporting you. His vibranium arm cradled under your thighs. You were secure. Held. Open.

He pushed in slowly.

The stretch was immediate.

Your breath hitched. Your brows pinched tight.

It wasn’t pain. It wasn’t discomfort.

It was just—a lot.

So thick. So full. Your walls struggled to accommodate the girth of him, every inch pressing into you with that impossible, deliberate pressure.

Your fingers clawed slightly at his back, seeking grounding. Your lips parted around a breathy, trembling moan.

He stilled halfway.

“Talk to me,” he whispered. “Need me to stop?”

You shook your head. “Just—need a second. You’re…”

“I know,” he muttered, placing a soft kiss against your temple. “You’re taking it so well.”

His cock twitched inside you, and the sensation made your core flutter around him again.

You adjusted your hips subtly, trying to find that sweet angle, and he caught your eyes—dark, hungry, but still gentle.

You gave him a tiny nod.

“Okay.”

He eased forward again, the rest of him slowly sheathing inside—inch by thick inch—until his hips met yours and you were completely full.

You both paused.

You gasped softly, still trying to breathe through the stretch. He stayed still, letting you feel everything: his length, his weight, the way he filled every space inside you like he was made for it.

Then—he began to move.

His hips rolled forward, slow and deep. A drag of thick cock against tight, soaked walls. You moaned quietly into his neck, your arms around his shoulders as he rocked into you with careful, steady rhythm.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he groaned. “Tightest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever felt. Gripping me like you don’t wanna let go.”

You didn’t. Couldn’t. Your body wrapped around him like instinct, taking everything he gave, hips jerking slightly with each push forward.

The pace stayed tender, but every thrust got a little deeper.

He lifted you slightly with each one, your thighs trembling around his waist.

But after a while, he slowed again—kissed your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

Then his voice dropped.

“Turn around for me.”

You blinked up at him, dazed. “What?”

“Wanna see you bend over that bed,” he said, voice rough. “Wanna fuck you from behind. Real slow. Let you feel every inch while you arch that back for me.”

You moaned.

He slowly pulled out—slick and thick and aching—then gently set you down on the mattress.

The bed hissed slightly as he adjusted the height down, just enough to allow your knees to hit the floor if needed. You leaned forward, hands braced on the mattress, spine arching as he guided you into place.

Your cunt throbbed—open and wet, dripping for him.

“That’s it,” he muttered behind you. “Just like that.”

Then he slid back in.

Your mouth dropped open with a gasp as his cock filled you again from behind—this time deeper, the angle hitting something different, something devastating.

He kept his hands firm on your hips, pulling you back gently as he rocked forward. The rhythm wasn’t hard—but deliberate. Controlled. Every stroke sank to the hilt, then withdrew just enough to let you feel the drag before he shoved back in.

You whimpered, braced against the bed, flushed from the neck down.

And he just kept going.

“Still good, baby?” he murmured, thumb brushing over the curve of your lower back.

You nodded, nearly trembling. “S-so good…”

But the words were starting to fall apart.

So was your mind.

And neither of you had even come yet.

—

Bucky’s thrusts deepened, hips rolling into yours at a steady, dragging pace. Each stroke hit just right, and you were keening for him—barely holding yourself upright, knuckles white as you clutched the edge of the med-bed beneath you.

But then his rhythm slowed.

You gasped when he slipped out, your empty cunt fluttering at the sudden loss. Before you could speak, his hands were already guiding your hips—flipping you over with a gentleness that made your heart twist.

You landed on your back.

He hovered over you for just a beat, gaze sweeping your face.

Then he leaned down and kissed you—slow and tender. Like a thank you. Like a promise.

“Lie back,” he murmured against your lips. “Wanna see your face when you come.”

Your cheeks burned. But you obeyed.

You slid further onto the mattress until you were lying flat, arms at your sides, heart pounding in your ears. He followed—climbed onto the narrow bed, the space barely enough for him, but he made it work.

He settled between your thighs again, and without a word, lined himself up.

Then—he pushed back in.

Your body stretched around him once more, the delicious fullness making you gasp. He groaned softly above you, head dropping to your shoulder.

And then he started to move.

Still gentle—but faster now.

Deeper. The strokes came in a rhythm designed to wreck you, his hips driving into yours, the mattress squeaking faintly beneath the both of you. His mouth hovered over yours, your foreheads touching, breath shared.

You looked up at him—really looked—and something in your chest cracked open.

He was flushed. Focused. Eyes trained on every expression you made. Every gasp. Every tremble.

“You’re so close, huh?” he whispered, voice rough. “Can feel you squeezing me.”

You nodded, breath caught in your throat. Your hands gripped his shoulders now, fingers digging into his back.

“Bucky—” you choked. “I’m— I’m coming—”

His mouth found yours as you shattered beneath him.

Your entire body clenched around his cock, heat surging through you like a wave breaking. Your walls pulsed tight around him, spasming with every beat of your climax. Your legs shook. Your fingers trembled. Your voice caught somewhere between a moan and a sob.

And he kept going—just enough to help you ride it out, hips rocking in slow, shallow thrusts as your body twitched and trembled beneath him.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Just like that. You did so fucking good…”

When your spasms started to ease—when your cunt stopped fluttering and your hips finally slumped against the mattress—he pulled out, slick and twitching.

His hand wrapped around his cock, stroking hard and fast.

You could barely watch, breathless and dazed, but the sight of him, flushed and towering above you, fucking his fist with your arousal still shining on him—it was filthy in the best way.

A few strokes later, he came.

Hot ropes spilled across your lower belly, streaking your thighs in thick, warm pulses. He grunted low, teeth clenched, brows furrowed as his release overtook him.

You lay there, wrecked. Chest heaving. Skin slick with sweat.

Bucky? He panted for a moment—but that Super Soldier thing had him steadying fast. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your stomach, just above the mess he’d made.

Then he reached for the tissue box by the tray.

You flinched when the cool wipe hit your thigh, but he was gentle—careful as he cleaned the sticky remnants off your skin. His touch wasn’t sexual anymore. It was care. Quiet. Wordless.

He helped you sit up, tugging your pants back into place like it was second nature. Buttoned them for you. His fingers lingered at the waistband.

Neither of you spoke right away.

You didn’t need to.

There was no awkwardness. No guilt. Just… this unspoken truth between you.

This would happen again.

You both knew it.

Bucky looked around the room once everything was cleaned—bed straightened, gloves tossed, no trace left.

Then he turned to you, mouth tugging at one corner in a crooked grin.

“Maybe next time,” he said, voice low, “we try sex on command, too?”

You laughed softly, breath still shaky.

You nodded.

“Yeah,” you said. “For documentation purposes.”

💌: @iamthatonefangirl @sonja-blayde

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tripletstephaniescp · 7 days ago

Note

Whew. Is it hot in here or is it just me?

thinking about Bucky and his dog tags in bed

i once saw a post somewhere about fucking a man with dog tags and they accidentally hit your face and you can’t help but laugh so he takes them in his teeth and fucks you harder… that’s all I think about now when I hear phrases “Bucky” and “dog tags”…

He’s deep inside you — hips grinding slow, strong arms braced on either side of your head, eyes locked on yours like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. The weight of his dog tags swings with every thrust, clinking gently against your chest, your collarbone… your chin.

Then, one good thrust, and they bounce up — smack — right against your lips.

You let out a surprised giggle, biting down on the sound, but it’s too late. Bucky hears it. His rhythm stutters. He pauses, cock twitching inside you.

“What’s so funny, doll?” he murmurs, already smirking.

“N-nothing,” you pant, breathless and wide-eyed.

But the tags swing again — click, clack, a little more chaotic now — and you giggle again, covering your mouth.

Bucky chuckles once, low and dangerous. Then, without a word, he dips his head, catches the chain between his teeth, and bites down.

The sound of the metal muffled in his mouth is sinful. His eyes stay locked on yours. And then he fucks you — hard. Deep. Relentless.

Your laughter is gone, swallowed by gasps and the slap of skin. His dog tags no longer hit your face — they bounce wildly against his lips as he holds them in his mouth like a threat.

“Still funny?” he growls through clenched teeth, mouth full of metal, sweat dripping from his temple.

You can only whimper.

He doesn’t let up. Just keeps driving into you with brutal precision, eyes burning, chain still clenched in his teeth like you’re something he refuses to let go of.

“Didn’t think so.”

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tripletstephaniescp · 7 days ago

Text

Jesus wept. This man is so beautiful.

SEBASTIAN STAN for L'Officiel Malaysia 2025

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tripletstephaniescp · 7 days ago

Text

I love this woman and the concept for this story. The perfect title.

Juxtaposition

Pairing: Mafia Boss Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: 2174

Warnings: Smut, Dom/Sub, Oral (f rec)

Summary: Bucky Barnes is the boss of your city's mafia. You are the sweet, shy woman who has fallen in love with a bad man. At least, that's what everyone thinks.

A/N: Special thanks to my hype princess & beta reader @whisperlullaby.

You took a deep breath as you walked past the line to the bouncer guarding the club doors. He knew you immediately and waved you through.

“Evening,” Thor winks cheekily as he holds the door open for you.

“Hi,” you demure.

A guy at the front of the line takes offense at this and yells, “Hey! Why does she get in?”

“Cause she’s a hell of a lot prettier than you,” Thor laughs unperturbed but with a warning look at the guy.

“Can’t argue with that,” the guy shrugs, taking the hint.

“Thank you,” you whisper shyly.

“Anything for the boss’s girl,” Thor nods.

You make your way through the crowded club as lights flash and loud music accompanies the many people bumping and grinding on the dance floor. You get to the bar and give a small wave to the two bartenders, Natasha and Clint.

“He’s in the office,” Natasha says over the music while holding out a glass of scotch and a bottle of water to you.

“Thanks,” you say as you take the drinks. You make your way to the back hallway, currently guarded by Bruce, who smiles kindly and opens the door for you. You nod to him sweetly and hurry down to Bucky’s office door. Balancing the glass of Scotch carefully, you push the door open but stop short when you see Steve and Sam holding a man up by his arms as Bucky lands a solid punch to his gut. Obviously not the first one, the guy groans and remains slumped. Three heads snap up to see at your wide-eyed stare.

“I-I’m sorry!” You exclaim quickly and begin to back out the door. Their captive’s head snaps up at the sound of your voice and you see his jaw drop at the sight of you.

“It’s okay, Doll. Come in. We should have been done by now. I got a little carried away,” Bucky turns his attention back to the men but seeing the man’s eyes on you enrages him all over again. He punches him in the nose, easily breaking it and causing blood to gush , “Get this trash out of my office. If I ever see you around here again, if you ever even look at her again, Walker, you’ll be a dead man. You understand?”

“Yes,” the man wheezes as Steve and Sam drag him out. You stare as they walk the man through the door, both making brief eye contact with apologetic looks.

“We’ll take the trash out and get back to our post, boss,” Steve assures as he closes the door behind him.

Bucky unbuttons his suit and takes a seat behind his large desk. He takes out a handkerchief and dabs at a small spot on his knuckle. Otherwise, he is immaculately clean despite the mess from the beating he had given. You make your way to the desk slowly and set down the drinks. He watches your every move with a hungry look. Licking your lips, you walk around to stand in front of him.

“You’re early,” he says, eyeing you.

You pick his arm up and look at the watch on his wrist, “I’m right on time.” You drop his arm and slap him hard enough to turn his head. As you stand there, he keeps his face turned away but you see the tick in his jaw. “How dare you make me see him. You should have been finished and ready for me.”

His control is beautiful as you watch him carefully. He waits, not moving, for your permission. You had trained him well.

“Speak,” you say quietly.

“I’m sorry,” he says, moving only his lips.

“Look at me,” you command. He complies immediately giving you a feeling of elation. “What are you sorry for?”

“I’m sorry he was still here when you got here. That I didn’t manage my time better,” Bucky says, jaw still clenched. You know he’s frustrated and turned on by the slap you had delivered. Judging by the red mark on his cheek, it was still stinging.

You grab his face with one hand. Gripping the back of his chair with the other, you lean over him. “You aren’t sorry you beat him so badly?”

“No,” he growls.

“No, what?” You squeeze his cheeks harder with annoyance.

“No, ma’am.”

“You aren’t sorry that he’ll be in pain for days, weeks even?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Good boy,” you smile down at him as you release your grip and slide to sit on the desk. You grab the glass of scotch and hold it out to him, “You look like you could use a drink.”

You waited until his hand was just within reach of the glass to pull back, “Have you hydrated today?” His clenched jaw gives you the answer. You tsk as you hand him the bottle of water. He opens it and obediently takes a sip. “All of it,” you instruct, tipping the bottle to his lips. He drinks while maintaining eye contact with you. When the last drop slides into his mouth you smile, “Good boy.”

“Does that mean I’ve earned my Scotch?” he asks carefully.

“Mmm,” you consider the request as you roll the glass across your chest. “I think an apology is still in order. I said I never wanted to see him again and then there he is right in my face.”

“I apologize again, ma’am,” Bucky says, watching the glass move, wishing he could pour the contents down your chest and trace its path with his tongue.

You lean forward with a small smile, reading his thoughts as clearly as he spoke them aloud, bringing your face close. Bucky’s mouth opens slightly awaiting your kiss of forgiveness but instead of giving him that relief, you bring the glass to your lips and take a sip of the amber liquid. With a smirk, you clarify, “Apology was the wrong word. I meant penance. So, precious, can you think of some way to make me forget seeing him again?”

As you speak, you propped your legs on each side of his chair, allowing the dress you wore to ride up your thighs. Bucky’s eyes blaze a trail up to the visible wet spot on your innocent pink panties. He loved this juxtaposition about you. To anyone else, you were a shy, innocent-looking woman, but with him, behind closed doors, you were a dominating seductress. It wasn’t anything he thought he’d ever want but since you’d show him that side of you, and himself, he’s been utterly lost to you. He would take down empires at your command, tear the world to shreds, while you stood at his side looking like the good woman who fell in love with a bad man. His dick twitched at the thought. His eyes snap up to yours, “May I touch you, ma’am?”

His gravelly voice shoots a thrill through you. He was so goddamn perfect staring up at you like that, full of want and admirable restraint. You nod, widening your legs. His hands are immediately under your skirt, reaching for your panties, and you oblige him by lifting up for him to pull them off you. Moving his chair closer, he wraps his arms around your legs.

“Can I put my mouth on you, please?” His voice comes out in a desperate whisper as he leans a cheek against your thigh.

“Are you getting hard already?” You croon.

“Yes, ma’am,” he groans.

“Oh, precious, if you’re already getting hard from this little bit of teasing, I can just imagine how you’re going to be by the end of the night.” You decide to tease him and put your hand over your mound, “I don’t know if my poor little pussy can handle it. You look like you might not be able to control yourself. Maybe I should just take care of myself.” You dip your fingers into your wetness and slide them over your clit.

“Please,” Bucky whispers as his eyes follow the movements of your fingers.

“Please, oh! Please, what?” you whine breathlessly, moving more quickly.

“Please let me put my mouth on you. Please, ma’am. I’ll be good. I’ll make you feel so good,” he begs.

“Say please again,” you demand.

“Please! Please, I need it! I need you, please!” Bucky’s words make you gush.

“You’ll be gentle with me, won’t you, baby?” you tease him. He knows you can take it any way he could dish it out.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Show me,” you lean back on your elbows, giving him full access.

He’s immediately kissing his way up your thighs with whispered words of affirmation, “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be gentle. Fuck, I want you so much. Please, ma’am, I need to get my mouth on you, please.”

“Okay, baby. If you make me come with that tongue of yours, maybe I’ll accept your apology,” you encourage him.

He wastes no time burying his face between your legs. He runs his tongue up and down your slit, laps at your clit, and moans as he tastes you. You grab a handful of his hair and tug at it to encourage him. Fuck, you live for this. For his compliance and skill at pleasuring you. The way he moved his tongue over your clit had your legs quivering. He used his fingers to play at your entrance and then slid them down to tease your ass before returning. When he slid one in and crooked it into your G spot, you bucked against his face while holding him tighter against you.

“Using that tongue so fucking good. Fuck,” you can feel your orgasm building. He was good with his mouth, both talking and fucking with it. You lean your head back as you rock your hips. You grip his hair harder, pulling it from the tie that held it back. Silky soft strands tickled your thighs and his tongue worked double time until your body spasmed. You came hard, gripping his head with your thighs and rubbing your pussy against his face.

“Fucking hell,” you whisper as you begin to come down. You release the vice-like grip you have on Bucky’s hair but his tongue is still making slow circles. “I forgive-”

The door slams open as Tony walks in, “Hey boss. I’ve got- oh.”

You jump off the desk and turn away, pulling your skirt down before wrapping your arms around yourself. Bucky surges out of his chair with a growl.

“Sorry, boss, didn’t realize you were in the middle of dinner,” Tony smirks as he wiggles his eyebrows. In a blink, Bucky has him by the neck and slams him against the wall.

“Don’t look at her,” Bucky growls. “The fuck are you thinking?”

“You said you wanted to know as soon as I got the info. Your boys weren’t outside standing guard so I assumed it was just you three in here. My bad,” Tony wheezes.

“I should rip your eyes and tongue out,” Bucky growls.

“That would make me much less useful, boss,” Tony replies.

“That’s the only reason I haven’t yet. Apologize.”

“Sorry, boss,” Tony mumbles.

“Not to me,” Bucky whispers.

“My sincerest apology, miss,” Tony says loudly in your direction but without looking at you, remembering Bucky’s earlier warning. Bucky looks over his shoulder at you and sees as you nod your head but then lift your hand as if wiping away a tear. He knows how shy you are around others. Like he said, you were a paradox. Shy, timid, demure even, when out in public. It was only behind closed doors that you became the self-assured domme who fascinated him.

“Is it what we thought?” Bucky asks suddenly.

“Yeah,” Tony nods.

“Share the information with Bruce and the two of you need to take care of it. If it isn’t done by tomorrow night… you can still work with one eye, right?” Bucky says threateningly.

“Consider it done.”

“I don’t,” Bucky lets him go but then punches him in the jaw. “Get out and get it done.”

“On it, boss,” Tony assures, holding his jaw.

Bucky practically throws Tony out the door, meeting the shocked stares of Sam and Steve who were just returning.

“Bring my car around,” Bucky says as he slams the door. Hurrying back over to you, he wraps his arms around you and cradles your face in his neck. “You okay, doll?”

You nod against his shoulder but are too overwhelmed to speak. Part of you is embarrassed to have been seen in such a compromising position, the other part of you is turned on by Bucky’s protective reaction. You cling to him, breathing his scent deeply to ground yourself.

“Can I take you to my place? I’ll make this all up to you,” Bucky pulls back to look at you. He watches you closely and sees the moment your dominant side takes hold again.

Your eyes light and you smirk at him, “Yes, but I’m going to need a bottle of scotch and some handcuffs when we get there.”

Updates and taglist: Due to the unreliable nature of tags, I no longer keep a taglist. Updates for series will be made on Sundays Central Time Zone. Please follow my sideblog @tuiccimfanfiction and turn on notifications for updates. All series and new stories will be reblogged to it. You will only receive notifications when a new part or story is out! Nothing else will be blogged to the page. I can’t thank you enough for your support!

Tags: @badassbaker @rebekahdawkins @learisa @liebs82 @blackkflamecandle @saiyanprincessswanie @thejemersoninfernoo @thehumanistsdiary @supraveng @chrisevansbab y@randomfandompenguin @hiddles-rose @jbbarnesgirl@late-to-the-party-81 @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky @ysmmsy @looking-for-another-world @colereads @happypopcornprincess @mrsbarnes107th @sebsgirl71479 @palaiasaurus64

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tripletstephaniescp · 7 days ago

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This man. Whew.

Bucky Barnes during Airport Battle Captain America: Civil War 2016 | dir. Anthony Russo, Joe Russo

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tripletstephaniescp · 14 days ago

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Love you too!!! You are utterly amazing.

Thinking of you all amazing people. Sending hugs and kisses and a man of your choice to chase away any Monday blues! ✨️

@anika-ann @stellar-solar-flare @steviebbboi @writing-for-marvel @saiyanprincessswanie @thereoncewasagirlnamedjane @late-to-the-party-81 @tripletstephaniescp @yenzys-lucky-charm @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @bigtreefest @elixirfromthestars @jobean12-blog @flowersforbucky @bitchy-bi-trash @bcksbarnes @vunblr @ronearoundblindly @buckyys-babydoll @gremlin-girly @navybrat817 @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @themaradwrites @buckets-and-trees @societyfolklore @sunday-bug @artficlly @azriona @watermeezer @buckybarnesfic @ohmylovewhereartthou-blog @zaraomarrogers @thevillainswhore @soelstress @eloquentlytired @sosa2imagines @salvatoreitmeanssaviour @nekoannie-chan @lokischambermaid @veltana @krirebr @iwudbutnah @missvelvetsstuff @sarahowritesostucky @thiquefunlover63 @skaye44 @buckybarnes82 @ramp-it-up @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers and to all of you who I missed 'coz of the tag limits, and to everyone who's seeing this. Lots of love to you 💞😘✨

Just some random GIFs added as flair 🤭😆

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tripletstephaniescp · 16 days ago

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That is so sweet and sexy all wrapped up on a bow. I love this story.

Just My Type

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 1.5K

Summary: Bucky can’t imagine that he’s your type

Author’s Note: Bucky’s the perfect type of guy and no one can convince me otherwise (I’m sure you all agree :) thank you all so much for reading! Much love always🩷🩷🩷Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy🥰

Warnings: some fun, flirting, lots of fluff, bob’s a great wingman��

“What’re thinkin’ about?”

“Huh?” Bucky drags his eyes away from you and turns toward Bob.

“You seem deep in thought. What’s on your mind?” Bob asks.

“Nothin’ really,” Bucky answers, giving him a half-hearted smile.

“Nah, come on. You can tell me,” Bob says gently.

“What do you think she sees in guys like that?” Bucky asks, his eyes once again trained on you.

Bob follows his line of sight and purses his lips. “Nothing. She doesn’t look interested at all.”

Bucky scoffs and takes a slow sip of his beer. “That guy looks interested.”

“Obviously,” Bob says. “Who wouldn’t be.”

Bucky shifts his eyes to Bob and Bob immediately holds up his hands defensively. “I’m just saying. I get it.”

The metal plates in Bucky’s arm shift and whir under the leather of his jacket and he spins the beer bottle between his fingers as he thinks. “I don’t stand a chance.”

“What was that?” Bob asks, leaning forward.

Bucky just shakes his head, sighing and slumping over his beer.

“Why don’t you just ask her?”

“Ask her what? Bucky says.

“What she sees in them? Bob shoots back. “That’s the only way to find out.”

“Yeah, well….” Bucky can’t finish his sentence because you start to head their way.

“Now’s your chance,” Bob whispers before he smiles at you.

“What are you guys up to over here?” you ask when you stop in front of Bucky.

“Nothin’,” Bucky smiles at the same time Bob starts to say, “Bucky was just wondering what you see in those guys.”

Bucky shoots Bob a death glare.

“What guys?” you ask, your eyes on Bucky.

“Like the one you were talking to by the dart game,” Bob clarifies.

“Not my type at all,” you answer.

“Told ya so,” Bob says with a light elbow in Bucky’s shoulder.

“Well not your type is headed our way,” Bucky grumbles as he straightens his shoulders.

You turn to catch the guy that was chatting you up at darts heading your way.

“He just can’t take a hint,” you say under your breath.

“Hey, there you are,” the guy says as he slides up next to you. “I thought you were getting another drink.”

“I’m going to,” you start, “but I wanted to see my…”

Before you can finish the sentence, Bob chimes in and says, “boyfriend.”

“Who? You?” the guy says, pointing to Bob.

Bob starts to shake his head no and then Bucky stands and slides his arm around your waist, tucking you against his side and saying, “no. Me.”

Bob chuckles from behind you but quickly stifles it when Bucky narrows his eyes.

“You didn’t say you had a boyfriend,” the guy frowns.

“Well. I do,” you say as you rest your head on Bucky’s chest.

“I wouldn’t have spent so much time chatting you up if I didn’t think I had a chance of getting some,” the guy scoffs.

Your mouth falls open and you feel Bucky tense next to you. Even Bob slides around front and stands at your other side.

“Now that wasn’t the right thing to say,” Bucky grits out, his tone hard.

You turn your face up to Bucky and smile. “Now do you see why I’m not interested.”

Bucky smiles back and let’s his hand slide over the curve of your hip. “Yeah doll, I think I get it.”

The guy from darts just stands there, looking between the three of you.

“That was your cue to leave,” Bucky growls. “Unless you need me to make you…”

The guy throws his hands up in surrender and backs away, quickly turning on his heel before disappearing near the bathrooms.

“He was going on and on about his big tricked out truck outside,” you say, emphasizing the words “ big and tricked out,” with sarcasm and a roll of your eyes. “Too bad he didn’t get a look at your bike.”

You grin at Bucky when you say it and see his eyes light up.

“I’ll take you for a ride anytime you want doll face.”

“I could get used to this boyfriend thing,” you murmur, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.

“I think he’d like that.”

If your eyes weren’t already focused on Bucky’s lips you would have sworn he said the words. But his lips never moved, and it takes you a second to remember that Bob is still standing next to you.

You whip your head Bob’s way, and he smiles brightly and nods. Your head falls into Bucky’s chest, and you start to shake with laughter.

“What?” Bob asks with his eyebrows drawn in.

Bucky’s mouth lifts into a sideways grin. “Where’s Yelena?”

Bob’s eyes scan the room, and he finds her standing by the dart game with a knife poised between her fingers.

“About to play darts with her knife,” Bob says as if it’s nothing.

“Why don’t you go play with her,” Bucky says.

“I’ll never win,” Bob retorts.

You look over at Yelena and catch her eye, subtly conveying through the unspoken girl bond that you want her to get rid of Bob for you.

She naturally gets the idea and waves at Bob, motioning for him to come join her.

“See,” Bucky says, somewhat shocked but then looking down at you and giving you a knowing smile. “She wants you to play.”

Bob smiles and says goodbye as he rushes off to join her.

“I’d kick both their asses,” Bucky says.

“Of course you would Buck,” you reply and pat his chest.

“Thanks for saving me before,” you tell him, turning in his hold and wrapping your arms around his neck.

You give him a hug and then a soft kiss near the corner of his mouth. “I would never have gone home with that guy.”

Bucky’s quiet for a moment, still savoring the feel of your lips on his skin.

“So then…what’s your type?” he asks.

“Hm. Well…,” you start. “I prefer darker features…dark hair.”

You run your fingers lightly through the hair at the back of his neck. “And I love facial hair.”

Your fingertips trace the line of his jaw, gently scratching through his scruff. “Especially when there’s these little patches of gray.”

He sucks in a small breath, his eyelashes fluttering and the tops of his cheeks turning a light pink.

“Beautiful eyes…”

You hold his stare. “Especially framed by long dark lashes I wish I had.” You follow that statement with a little laugh.

“Your eyelashes are perfect,” he whispers, and you smile.

“But the most important thing is that he has a good heart.”

You follow those words with the flat press of your palm to his chest, right over the rapid thumping of his heart.

He closes his hand around yours, squeezing lightly as he tugs you closer and dips his head.

“Anything else?” he asks.

“A good kisser would be a big plus.”

“I think I can handle that,” he says, his warm breath fanning your lips.

He releases your hand, sliding it down along your arm to your back where his fingers splay and he gently brings you closer. The first contact is just a brush of his lips over yours, the briefest sweep.

You’re already sure it’s going to be the best kiss of your life and when you hear the quietest moan escape his throat he leans in again, pressing his soft, strong mouth to yours and taking your top lip between his, sucking gently, before he turns his attention to your bottom one.

With a smile forming against the kiss, he tilts his head and slides his hand at your back higher, cupping the nape of your neck and taking you with a heat you couldn’t have predicted but makes you feel like you’re free falling backward into the clouds.

His other hand smooths over the curve of your waist and up to rest warmly on your cheek, his thumb caressing your soft skin while he kisses you senseless.

Everything is quiet before you hear cheers from the back of the bar and he slowly releases you, pressing his lips to yours softly again and again before he pulls back.

“Bucky Barnes,” you whisper as you bury your face in his neck. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Yelena and Bob continue to clap, and he takes your chin between his fingers, bringing your eyes back to his.

“Nah doll. Just hoping that kiss was good enough to snag me a date.”

“A date? After that kiss I’ll marry you.”

“Even better,” he winks before his lips meet yours again.

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tripletstephaniescp · 16 days ago

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Awesome story!

eighteen hours.

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

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

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

It started like any other assignment.

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

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

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

You stiffened.

“Walker, Ava, and…”

She looked straight at you.

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

The silence afterward said everything.

That pause before your name wasn’t a slip.

It was surgical.

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

This wasn’t routine.

This was designed.

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

But neither of you moved.

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

We’ll find each other.

However we can.

—

Packing was mechanical.

Weapons, suits, coordinates, clearances.

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

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

He shut the door behind you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gasped—part surprise, part pure heat.

“Bucky—”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ll text me when you can?”

“Every chance I get.”

“Even if it’s just one word?”

“Even if it’s just a photo.”

You smirked. “Of what?”

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

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

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

“You’re such a menace.”

“You love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

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

“We’re good?”

“Always.”

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

—

The first few days weren’t unbearable.

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

But the nights were something else entirely.

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

It didn’t.

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

You grabbed your comm. Lifted your phone.

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

The angle was deliberate.

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

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

Bet you’d wreck me if you were here.

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

—

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

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

He was shirtless.

Dog tags heavy and low over his chest.

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

But the part that made your thighs press together?

His sweatpants.

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

Hard. Veined. Heavy. Angry.

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

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

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

This was manageable, you told yourself.

Just teasing. Just playing.

It would pass.

—

It got worse.

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

Bucky cracked first.

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

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

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

A pause. A harsh exhale.

“And fuck, baby… I nearly lost it.”

You played it three times.

Nearly dropped your comm on the third.

—

You didn’t just tease back. You retaliated.

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

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

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

You’re not playing fair.

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

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

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

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

—

Then came Ava.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could’ve died.

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

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

—

He didn’t laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

But he didn’t stroke.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t dare.

Not without your hands.

Not without your thighs tight around his hips.

Not without your voice whispering that he could let go.

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

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

This was supposed to help.

All these videos. These fucking pictures.

It’s making everything worse, doll.

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

—

He stopped sleeping properly.

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

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

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

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

He trailed off.

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

His jaw clenched again. He tried to redirect.

“We’ll send Bob first to—”

But Bob was already looking sideways at him.

“You gonna pass out?”

“No.”

“You look like your brain’s buffering.”

“I said I’m fine.”

But his voice had cracked. Just slightly.

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

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

Bucky didn’t even turn his head.

She kept going.

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

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

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

Bucky finally looked up.

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

“I’m not jerking off.”

That shut them up.

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

He pulled up your last photo again.

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

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

He groaned into his palm.

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

Inside the compound, it was unusually quiet.

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

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

You didn’t smile. Not yet.

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

Something shifted the moment you stepped inside.

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

It was quiet. But not empty.

He was there.

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

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

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

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

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

He just held you.

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

You clung back like it might hold you together.

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

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

Your heart cracked, melted, rebuilt itself.

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

“You remembered.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Missed you more.”

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

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

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

“Go on. I’ll be right here.”

—

You hadn’t even closed the door behind you.

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

You stepped into the spray and let it hit you.

Heat flooded your shoulders. Rolled down your spine.

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

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

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

And then—

“Mmh…”

Just a sound. A breath.

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

The floor creaked.

You turned, startled—and everything inside you tightened.

He was there.

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

And he was naked.

Completely.

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

His eyes drank you in.

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

“Baby…”

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

“Please…”

“Please stop torturing me.”

But he didn’t move. Not yet.

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

You reached for him.

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

He whimpered.

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

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

You smiled softly. Nodded.

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

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

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

“Missed you,” he rasped between frantic kisses.

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

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

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

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

You did more than touch.

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

“Jesus, sweetheart—”

His fingers slid through the slick between your legs.

“You’re soaked…”

He groaned. Slid two fingers inside you.

You gasped, walls clenching hard around the intrusion.

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

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

That was all it took.

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

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

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

He sank in.

One thrust. Deep. Full.

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

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

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

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

“James, I—I’m coming!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Good. I’m not going anywhere.”

—

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

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

He laid you on the bed like something sacred.

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

You reached for it with trembling fingers.

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

His voice was lower now. Hoarse. Reverent.

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

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

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

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

You whimpered.

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

But he didn’t rush.

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

Mouths met softly, then harder.

Tongues sliding slow.

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

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

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

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

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

He was gone. Let you take full control.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded. “Already close.”

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

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

And you did.

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

He didn’t last much longer.

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

That tipped him.

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

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

“You alright?” he asked, voice scratchy.

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

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

—

Later.

The wine sat untouched on the desk.

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

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

And you?

You were flushed. Sweaty. Trembling.

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

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

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

You didn’t answer.

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

Both of you moaned. Loud.

Deep.

Almost pained.

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

“Oh, fuck—”

His hands gripped your waist like he was anchoring himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bucky, I—I think I—fuck, I’m gonna—”

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

You broke with a cry.

Legs shaking. Hands digging into his thighs.

Your pussy clamped down hard, and then it hit—

You squirted.

Hard.

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

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

He didn’t stop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes—James, please—”

And you did.

A second wave slammed into you.

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

Bucky lost it.

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

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

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

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

“You just… soaked me, baby.”

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

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

—

You should’ve been done.

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

But you weren’t.

The ache still lived in your bones.

The emptiness still throbbed between your legs.

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

He needed more.

You both did.

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

“You okay?” he whispered against your throat.

“No,” you rasped, voice cracking.

“I need you again. Right fucking now.”

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

“Jesus, doll… you’re insatiable.”

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

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

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

“Let me take care of you.”

Your stomach fluttered. Your thighs clenched.

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

“James—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He devoured you.

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

You whined. Cried out. Legs trembling.

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

“Bucky—fuck—baby I—”

Your voice broke.

Your hips bucked.

You were so close again, already, already—

He pulled back.

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

“Not until you beg for it.”

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

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

That broke him.

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

You exploded.

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

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

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

You didn’t even get to respond.

Didn’t even breathe.

Because his tongue never stopped.

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

You came again.

Harder.

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

He kissed your trembling thighs through the aftershocks.

Pressed his forehead to your belly.

“You okay?” he whispered.

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

“And I think I like it.”

—

Later—

Maybe thirty minutes.

Maybe five.

Time had stopped meaning anything.

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

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

And then—

The mattress dipped behind you.

You felt his warmth before you felt his hands.

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

His lips brushed your shoulder.

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

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

“Always.”

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

He kissed your spine.

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

“I’ll never stop wanting you.”

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

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

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

You whimpered.

He thrust deep.

Steady. Gentle.

Every movement an unspoken prayer.

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

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

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

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

“Still feels like a dream,” you whispered.

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

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

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

You choked on a moan.

“I’m yours, James. Always.”

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

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

“Let go, doll. Let me feel you.”

He wasn’t far behind.

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

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

He didn’t move. Didn’t pull away.

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

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

You nodded.

“I think I’m in love with you again.”

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

—

Your body was trembling again.

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

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

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

And yet—

Your core still throbbed.

Your nipples still ached.

Your cunt still ached for him.

He noticed. Of course he did.

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

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

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

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

“Breathe for me. C’mon.”

His thumb stroked your cheek.

“You look wrecked.”

“I am…”

Your voice came out hoarse.

“I’m so tired.”

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

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

But your hand was already moving.

Shaky, slow—but determined.

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

Still hard.

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

His breath caught.

“Baby—”

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

“Please, don’t stop. I need you.”

He looked stricken.

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

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

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

His restraint cracked like glass.

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

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

You nodded.

Wrapped your arms around his neck.

Pulled him into you.

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

But not done.

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

“So much it hurts.”

You barely had breath left to answer.

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

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

He moaned into your throat.

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

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

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

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

And so he did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll only give you what you want.”

—

The sky was beginning to lighten.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He exhaled like you’d just saved his life.

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

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

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

“Fuck,” Bucky exhaled when he saw you.

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

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

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

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

He didn’t make you wait.

Not this time.

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

“Bucky—fuck—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He thrust harder. Faster. Your thighs trembled violently.

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

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

You shattered.

Legs giving out.

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

“Fuck—fuck—gonna fill you again—”

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

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

“You okay?” he whispered.

You nodded faintly.

“Good. ‘Cause we’re not done.”

—

The sun was climbing now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You heard the footsteps.

But they didn’t head for the fridge.

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

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

“Just not for that.”

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

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

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

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

You didn’t even get the chance to speak.

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

“Fuck, Bucky—!”

“Still so wet,” he growled behind you.

“Still squeezing me like you want more.”

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

This wasn’t slow.

This wasn’t tender.

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

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

You dropped your head onto your forearm.

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

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

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

“You’re gonna kill me—”

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

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

Your whole body clenched.

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

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

“Yes—yes—please—just one more—!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I could do this for days.”

“James…”

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

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

“Just say the word.”

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

“…I think my soul already came twice.”

Bucky laughed softly. Kissed the crown of your head.

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

—

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

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

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

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

You blinked. Shifted slowly.

He stirred.

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

“You okay?”

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

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

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

“Told you I’d wreck you.”

“You did. Multiple times.”

He chuckled, then leaned forward to kiss you.

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

You melted into it.

Pressed your forehead to his.

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

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

You whispered it back. Quiet. Honest.

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

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

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

His arm was around your waist the whole walk.

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

—

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

It was pasta night.

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

John Walker looked up the moment you stepped into view.

“Oh look,” he said dryly. “It lives.”

You flipped him off without stopping.

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

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

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

Yelena didn’t even look up from her plate.

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

You covered your face with your hands.

Bucky didn’t blink.

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

“We could’ve made it nine.”

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

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

You just smiled.

And yeah…

You weren’t done.

💜 @iamthatonefangirl @sonja-blayde

6K notes · View notes

tripletstephaniescp · 16 days ago

Text

This was deliciously evil. I loved it.

this vertigo of bliss

Dark!New Avenger!Bucky x Scientist!Reader

Summary: You were hired by Val to work alongside the New Avengers in the watch tower. Of course, you weren’t superhuman beings like them, but you were a brilliant scientist. And while the team went off on missions in their loud jets with their guns and grenades to fight battles, you stayed and took care of your lab and carried on with your research projects. Always looking for ways that might help your superheroes friends. Be it finding ways to heal their injuries faster, or how to keep them healthier, or understand their modified DNA better so that in the future as they age – albeit slower than most humans – they’ll suffer less. Plus, your research would be useful in case new superhumans popped up out of nowhere, like Bob did. And you were proud of your work, as was the team, but then one day you go down an ambitious rabbit hole and make a mistake. Luckily Bucky is there to save the day. Or is he?

Themes: sex pollen trope, mentions of drugs, smut, mild degrading kink, mild breeding kink, dom!bucky, explicit language, c*m play, aftercare

Shit. Shit. Shit.

You could hear your own heartbeat, your heart going insane inside your rib cage – a warning sign. This was bad. Very, very bad.

You couldn’t do anything but stand back and watch the pale smoke fill your lab, reaching every crevice, filling your lungs, coating your skin and leaving it feeling oily and dirty. You gasped for air, the mask over your face completely useless.

Shit, what had you done? What the hell had you done?

You were well aware it was hubris to even get into those secret HYDRA files on your computer. You knew it was selfish to try and recreate the drugs they used all those decades ago. You knew it. You knew it. It was wrong on so many levels. There’s a reason these files are so well hidden.

And you told yourself you’d never follow through. That you’d stop right before you created this damned thing. But you couldn’t stop. It was so tempting to do what is most forbidden and here you were now, breathing in your mistake.

You took the useless mask off, along with your lab coat. Your body was heating up. And you felt feverish. Like in a haze. And you knew what was happening. You’d read it all this morning. And you knew it would be hours before you felt normal again. Before this itch went away. This animal inside you, suddenly awake and hungry for… everything.

No, no, no.

You could barely stand up.

It wasn’t supposed to be this potent. You knew nothing would leak outside the lab, it was designed that way for safety, but you still locked the entrance just in case.

You blinked a couple of times, trying to reorient yourself as best you could, despite the smoke filling your nose and throat. Nobody was in the tower except you today. The team had left on some mission this morning.

Or so you thought.

Because as you were holding onto the wall, trying to make sense of what was happening to you, you heard someone knocking on the door.

“Hey, Doc. You in there?” A deep voice. Bucky. “The system notified me that something was wrong up here. Are you okay?”

Ah shit. Just his voice was making things worse. Your legs trembled, you were gasping for air. Your body throbbing at the mere thought of him, his hands, his mouth, his touch, his–

“Bucky.” You managed to respond to him. “Please,” You were getting breathless, almost fucking moaning, mouth watering just at the thought of him standing right there… no, no, no. “Please, don’t come in.” You managed to tell him, every fiber of your being wanting nothing more than to just let him use you, let him rut into you, let him–

“Uh, you don’t sound okay, Doc. Are you hurt?” He asked, the panic and concern very evident in his voice.

Fuck. No, he had to leave. Now. He had to leave now.

You managed to lean against the cool wall, trying to see past the pure lust coursing through your veins. You breathed slowly. “Bucky, you have to leave. Okay? I’m not hurt. I’ll be fine, you just have to leave. Now. Please.”

“No,” He argued, sounding worried. “You don’t sound alright. I’m coming in.” He said. And there was usually no arguing with that tone.

“No,” You whispered weakly. He had access to everything in this tower. Of course he could unlock the door with no problem. And before you could tell him not to, Bucky was in your lab. “Bucky, no.” You whispered, unable to speak properly.

You felt warm. Hot. Burning. And you could see Bucky’s large frame moving around in the smoke.

“Doc, what the–,” He stopped speaking abruptly. You felt the realisation sinking in, even in him.

You felt tears falling down your face. “I’m sorry.” You whispered, watching him get closer to where you stood, “I’m so sorry. Look, just walk away. We’ll wait it out.” It pained you just to say it. “Go away, Bucky.”

“Doc,” His voice was strained as he spoke, “What have you done?” His face so somber and blank. He was losing it too…

“I’m sorry.” You apologized again. “I didn’t know it would– I thought I could stop. I didn’t think…” You whimpered as he got closer, your brain – whatever part of it remained coherent and not lust drunk – knew he was feeling it too.

That pull. That damned itch. That need to feel, or grab, or bite, or fuck another warm body…

Bucky stood right in front of you. In full tactical gear. His guns were still strapped to his body. His glorious body… strong and muscular.

“You…” You spoke, despite the burning desire of wanting to just throw yourself at him and let him use you however he wanted. “You have to leave, Buck.” You whimpered, gasping for air, feeling your skin all warm and damp with sweat.

He was burning too. His fists clenched. His skin shiny with sweat, his body heat almost radiating off him. He was silent, then he reached for you with his metal hand. Tracing his cold metal fingers down your neck, feeling your quick pulse.

“You know I can’t do that.” His fingers carefully wrapped around your throat. He was losing control. “You know I can’t walk away from this. And neither can you.”

Something was different about his voice. Something was darker.

“I’ve been through this before, Doc.” He leaned in and held your stare. “Believe me when I say, it gets worse if you don’t fuck it out of your system. The first hour is fine. Tolerable. But by the third, the fourth hour… you feel like you’re losing your mind. Like you’re not even human anymore. Like you were made just to breed. Like an animal.”

“Please,” You felt fresh tears fall down your face. The guilt was still there under all the lust and filthy desires. “I didn’t mean for this to–,”

“Shh, it doesn’t matter. We’ve got each other. We can get out of this.” He leaned in and nuzzled your neck, inhaling your scent which to him felt like the most ambrosial scent ever. “I can make it better.” He promised, pressing his body into yours. “I’ll make it feel good.”

You whined, tilting your head back and exposing more of your neck and throat. Surrendering. “But, Bucky…” You tried, weakly.

“Don’t fight it.” He said, pulling away from your neck to look into your eyes. “It gets worse when you fight it, Doc. You know that, don’t you?”

That darkness in his eyes was new. You didn’t recognise it.

“I didn’t know it would–,”

He cut you off. “It would what?” He barked. His icy stare had you frozen in place. “You didn’t know what you were creating?” He taunted, and you noted – even in your own hazy state – that the smoke, the drug, whatever it was, was affecting him way more than it was affecting you. Because judging by his face, his voice, his stare, his movements… Bucky was almost completely gone. “Huh? You didn’t know what this drug was? You didn’t know what it could do? You’re a smart woman, Doc. Surely you knew what you were making…”

While you were clawing, trying to hold on to your sanity, Bucky’s words were luring over to the other side. “No…”

“Yes you did.” He accused. “You knew all along. And you still made it.”

“Please, Bucky.” You begged. You begged for… you didn’t even know what for. All you felt was desire, and pain. A hot pain. Like something inside you contorting, wanting to explode.

Bucky smirked, both his hands grabbing you this time. “It’s starting to hurt, isn’t it?”

You blinked away the tears and nodded, pleading with him with your eyes. Then you caught yourself, heavy-eyed, mumbling, “Make it better… please.”

That did it. That got rid of whatever was making both of you hold back.

Bucky picked you up and slammed your back against the wall – all while kissing you hungrily, like his life depended on it. You couldn’t even form a proper thought as his tongue slipped into your mouth, making you moan into the kiss.

Your hands slid into his ridiculously soft hair and he held you tightly against him. Your core pressed against his firm body as his mouth moved perfectly against yours, driving you crazy. Well, crazier.

You didn’t care that you were dry humping him, all riled up just from his kiss.

“That feels good, huh? Rubbing yourself on me like that?” He moaned quietly into the kiss as your hand gently tugged on his hair. He smirked and spread your legs apart just a little so he could be closer to you.

His hands held you up, securely against him, he had a very firm grip on your thigh, his other hand placed right under your ass – holding you up while he kissed you like there was no tomorrow.

“I’m gonna make it better, okay? You hear me, Doc? I’ll make it feel so good.” His lips left yours momentarily to kiss along your jaw, and down your neck, nibbling on your skin and making you moan out loud.

He pulled away from you for a moment, and stared into your eyes again. Almost like he was looking for any warning signs which told him to stop, “Tell me I can.” He demanded, “Tell me I can fuck you however I want. Tell me I can use your body and make us both feel better.” The pleading tone in his voice was hard to ignore.

You could tell he was fighting it too. The animalistic, primal urge to fuck. To breed.

“You can.” You told him, wanting. Just wanting. “Please, I’ll… I'll let you do anything. Just make it feel better.”

“You’re safe with me, okay? I won’t hurt you. I need you to remember that, okay?” His voice sent chills down your back and you didn’t want to be all slow and gentle anymore, you simply couldn’t wait any longer, so you reached out and started unbuckling his pants, and he helped you by tearing your clothes off, and slipped his hand in between your legs. Your naked, squirming body pressing against his tactical gear felt immoral in a way you couldn’t explain.

You were wet, embarrassingly so. And even you could tell just by how easily Bucky ran his knuckles along your wet folds, smearing your arousal around in the process. He chuckled right in your ear as you pulled his cock out and stroked it with vigour.

“Can’t wait, huh?” He slipped his forefinger and his middle finger through your entrance with ease and grunted in your ear as he felt your walls instantly welcoming him in. You could feel your wetness dripping down your inner thighs. He curled his fingers inside of you, hitting all the spots you wanted him too. “Just wanna be fucked badly, don’t you?”

“Bucky…” you whimpered and closed your eyes when he leaned down and nibbled on your skin around your collar bones. Something about how desperately, and sinfully his name escaped your lips drove him wild. You bucked your hips against his hand and he chuckled as you moaned out loud while he touched you.

Your legs wrapped around his waist as he held you up easily with just his metal hand. The rough material of his gear chafing your skin but you did not care. “Bucky,” You whined when you felt his cock briefly brush against your wet folds. “More, please. Please.” You cried out.

“I know, I know. I feel it too.” He kissed down your neck, smirking against your skin and peppering it with kisses as he aligned his throbbing tip with your entrance. “I know, baby. I know it hurts. I’ll make it better, okay? Just let me in…”

He pushed himself into you, stretching you out as he went. His nails digging into your skin as he held you by your hips, and yours clawing at his neck, and shoulders as he filled you up nicely. You were both panting by the time he filled you up entirely.

He barely gave you a few seconds to adjust to his size before he started rocking in and out of you. You felt all of him, each vein, each stroke brought you to tears with how good he felt.

“So fucking tight…” he whispered against your cheek, more so to himself. “You’re gonna let me have this tight pussy, huh? Just like that. Hmm? You’re that much of a little slut you’re not even gonna put up a fight, huh?” He stroked your walls with his pulsating cock and you were moaning against his cheek in no time. He enjoyed every second of it.

Both his hands supported you up by grabbing you at the curve of your ass, holding you against him, as he sped up into you. He dipped his head into the crook of your neck and said, “I bet you did it on purpose too, huh? You dirty fucking whore.” He hissed in your ear, cock sliding in and out of you as he fucked you like an animal. His brain running on nothing but pure animalistic instincts. “I see the way you look at me, like a bitch in heat. You’ve probably been plotting this for weeks now. Months even.” Bucky accused. “You knew everyone else left for that mission this morning and I stayed back. Maybe you knew it was going to be just you and me in the tower, and it all worked in your favour, huh?” His grip was punishing. “You had me all to yourself. And you knew I’d come to help you. You knew locking the door from inside wasn’t gonna stop me.”

“No…” You tried to protest, tried to tell him his accusations were wrong. But you could barely talk. “Bucky…”

He didn’t give you the chance to form coherent sentences. He kept taunting you. “And here we are now, Doc. Here I am, at your fucking service. Your good little soldier doing his job. Fucking you like you wanted it.” He let out a cocky chuckle. “Am I doing a good job, Doc? Am I being a good little soldier, fucking you how you want me to? Hmm? Is this good enough for you? Is this what you always dreamt of?”

“Buck…” You gasped. “You know that’s not true.” You whined. “I would never… never do this on purpose…,” You gasped, “To you.”

“No?” He taunted. “But look how well you’re taking it. Look at you. Look at your body swallowing that cock each time like you’d been practising.” He whispered into your ear, his tone filled with lust and filth, “Did you practise, Doc? Did you fuck your biggest toy each night leading up to this in preparation, huh?”

You moaned out loud again, reciting his name religiously as he slammed into you relentlessly.

He was taking over all your senses and you were more than happy to surrender to him.

You felt the pressure forming, fiery and pressing inside you. While it eased the pain, it also wanted out. It wanted to explode. You needed a release. “Please, Bucky. Please make me come…”

Bucky nibbled at the skin under your ear and you lost all control you had left. Your thoughts became cloudy and all you could focus on was how his body brought you closer and closer….

“So fucking good…” he mumbled softly against your skin while he fucked you like an animal; occasionally growling at how good you felt around him. “Better than I ever thought.”

Your throbbing clit rubbed against his pelvic bone each time he buried himself completely in you, and he soon quickened his pace – earning more moans from you.

“Look at what you did,” He growled in your ear as he pounded into you as fast as he could, your back slamming into the large wooden front door with each thrust. “Turned me into a fucking animal. All I can think about is making it good for you. All I want is to fill you up, and fucking breed you. Is that what you want? Want my babies inside you?” He rambled, also getting closer. “I’ll give it all to you, you know that? Not even worried about it, you’ll be a great mommy, won’t you? Won’t you, baby?”

Your body moved along with his, his cock sliding in and out of you like you were just a toy. And you never complained once. You barely listened to what he was saying, all you did was nod and agree with his ramblings. Thinking he didn’t mean them. It was the drugs talking, you reminded yourself with whatever sanity you had left.

You could hear the wet sounds caused each time he pushed himself into you and the sounds of your skin slapping against each other. It was downright sinful.

He moaned against your ear and the sound sent shivers down your back. “Perfect fucking pussy, fuck, you feel like heaven,” He gasped, “Could fuck you all day and do nothing else. Right here in between your legs, huh? Is this where you want me all the time, Doc?” He hissed in pleasure, “Yeah? Does that feel good? Do I feel good inside you?”

“Yes,” Your legs started to shake around him as he quickened his pace, pounding into you mercilessly. “Fuck… yes, you feel so good.”

You felt like you were losing your mind. The pleasure was too much and you couldn’t hold back anymore. So, you came undone around his cock, screaming his name out loud in the empty lab. Walls clenching around him, nails scratching down his neck.

“That’s it, baby. There we go, that feels good, huh?” His thrusts became irregular as he came right after you did, cock throbbing against your pulsating walls as he emptied inside you.

“Oh fuck….” You could feel his warmth filling you up. “That feels…”

“Come here.” He pulled out of you and grabbed you by the wrist, pulling you towards your nearby desk, and pushed you on it, making you sit on the edge, legs dangling for a moment as he grabbed your face and gave you a punishing kiss. “Need more from you, you hear me? Be good and give it to me, okay?”

You were too far gone to even care what position he had you in, all you wanted was him. Inside you. All you cared about was how he’d make the pain go away. So when Bucky grabbed your legs and placed them on the edge of the desk, opening you up to him completely, you let him.

He placed his hands on your thighs and spread them further apart and took his time inspecting your wet folds. He mindlessly dragged a finger up and down your slit, making you shiver and moan as he touched you, occasionally fingering his cum back into you.

“I wanna see what we taste like together.” He whispered, kneeling down.

His eyes trailed up to your tits, and his other hand reached up to pinch a nipple, making you yelp. He chuckled, “So pretty, and all mine to play with, yeah?” He whispered, getting down on his knees so his mouth was mere inches away from your clit. “Now, keep your legs spread for me. Just like this. Okay?”

You nodded, looking down in between your legs as he leaned in and pressed his ravenous mouth shamelessly to your wetness.

His tongue, his lips, the gentle suction of his warm mouth – it was all too much. He moved his head side to side, his coarse stubble brushing against your soft inner thighs. You whined and trembled, trying to keep your voice down as he made you lose your mind by eating you out like a starved man.

Then he looked up, meeting your eyes as the lower half of his face was completely submerged into your wet cunt. And that did it. You came with a yelp and a moan, riding his face and tugging on his hair.

He got up quickly and grabbed your face, breathing heavily with wetness all over his lips, “You wanna taste us together? Yeah? Wanna see how good we are?”

You nodded, delirious. And he leaned in to kiss you again. A messy, warm, filthy kiss. Bucky only pulled away when you were breathless and begging him to stop. He was panting by the time he was done abusing your mouth.

Then he looked down at your cunt, seeing the way wetness kept oozing out your hole.

“Look at that,” He looked down in between your spread, trembling legs and pointed at the little puddle of wetness you’d left there on top of the desk. “You made a mess, baby. Better clean it up.”

He pulled you off the desk and bent you over, pushing your face down, right into the little puddle you’d created there when you came for him.

“I said clean it!” He hissed, sliding his cock back inside you from behind. “Let me see that tongue licking all that up.” He growled, “Yes, that’s it. Lick it clean, baby, come on.” He pressed down on the back of your neck, refusing to let go. “Did you get it all cleaned up? Huh? Give me a taste of that then, come here,” He pulled you up, manhandling you however he wanted. He grabbed your face and turned it to the side to kiss your open, wet, and warm mouth. You were panting by now. He didn’t care, he took whatever he wanted. Shoving his tongue into your mouth and sucking your taste, stealing it.

He pulled away and that wild look in his eyes made you throb. “So fucking good…” Then he spat in your mouth and pushed you back down, bending you over your desk again and went back to fucking you from behind, keeping a tight grip on the back of your neck.

You whimpered as his pelvic bone smacked against your ass each time he thrust into you.

“Look at that body,” He mumbled. “Look at how perfect you are.” He teased, “Who knew our resident, nerdy little scientist would be such a filthy little slut for me, huh?” He slowed down, grabbing your neck and pulling you back into his chest, getting closer to your ear as he said, “Is that what you are now, Doc? Are you my little slut? Tell me. Tell me you’re my little slut and I can breed you whenever I want to. Tell me I get to use you whenever I feel like it.” He hissed, “Fucking tell me.”

You whimpered, “Yes I am. I am your little slut, please just… you can do whatever you want, Bucky, just please make me come.”

Bucky chuckled, cocky now that he’d heard all that he wanted to hear. “Yes you are, baby. A perfect little slut for me. Just for me.”

Then he resumed fucking you like an animal. His moans and groans loud in your ear.

“You better come for me, slut.” He growled into your ear. “You hear me? Come on this cock, come on. I want it wet with your cum.”

His words made you delirious. Lust drunk even more than ever before. You moaned as he reached every single sensitive spot inside you. You felt a familiar warmth taking over you, and a pressure building in between your hips.

“Oh…” You whined, “Bucky, I’m gonna come.” You cried, and you were pretty sure you had warm tears streaming down your face.

“Come on, baby. Come on. Let me fill you up again, huh? You’re gonna just be a good girl and take it, huh? You’ll just be nothing but a cum dump for me, that’s it, angel. Milk that fucking cock, it’s all yours baby… all yours.”

You couldn’t hold it any longer. And you came all over his cock, crying with hot tears down your face.

“Yes… look at you.” He cooed, his voice laced with lust and desire. “You come so good for me.” He slammed his cock harder into you, and your eyes watered even more. He felt agonisingly good, even though you were so sensitive that each stroke had you whimpering and trembling.

Bucky came right after you, grunting and sighing in pleasure. His warm load shooting inside you as your body shook against the desk.

“Fuck, angel, you’re so full of my cum.” He pulled out and pushed back into you, a shallow thrust, as if to test something out. “There, I can feel it all inside you.”

Your mind was a foggy mess. The lab was clearer now though, no more smoke poisoning your brains. But there was enough in both your systems that Bucky only had to wait another minute, before he was ready to go again.

Turning you around and stepping in between your legs and slid back into you again. “It’s getting better, huh? The pain? Are you okay, baby?”

You just nodded and let him take over.

A few slow strokes, then the animal in him took the reins again. Bucky fucked hard and fast into you, his teeth bruising your lips. His mouth swallowing your moans, as he whispered against your open mouth, “It’s all yours, all fucking yours. This is what you wanted, huh? This cock is all you wanted? Should’ve just asked, baby. You didn’t have to do all this. Should’ve just looked up at me with those pretty eyes, gave me one of those please fuck me looks and i would’ve done it.” He chuckled, ending with a loud moan. “Fuck, I would’ve done it. I would’ve taken care of you so fucking good…”

“Please,” You begged, “Please, Bucky, can you–,” A loud moan escaping your mouth cut you off.

“What?” He hissed.

“I want to taste you, please come in my mouth.” You asked, your brain barely registering what you were asking for.

He chuckled, “No, no, no. I can't waste all this.” He reasoned. “This goes in you, right? That’s why you did all of this? To be pumped full of my cum, right? So no, baby. Can’t waste it all by shoving all this down your throat instead of in your womb.” He teased, “Sorry, but not this time.”

Moments later, you were coming undone loudly while Bucky was spilling inside you, some of it oozing out all around his cock, which was still snug inside you. “There,” He gathered some on his finger tips, chuckling, “I guess you can have some of it.” He shoved his fingers into your mouth, which you greedily sucked on like it was fucking ambrosia. Bucky hissed, “Yeah, you like that? The taste of me?”

You nodded, his fingers still deep into your mouth.

“You want more?” He asked.

You nodded again.

“Let’s go then. I need a bed to properly break you in.”

—

Hours later, finally satiated, Bucky decided you two could stop now. That agonising hunger subsided.

He was spent. As were you. And he had barely any energy left. But he made an effort, hissing as he got up and out of bed, feeling all his muscles screaming after hours of non-stop fucking. He stood there, stretching his limbs a little as he looked over at you.

You were buried under his blankets and pillows, only your pretty face was visible. And your eyes were shutting more and more. Bucky leaned over and caressed your face, waking you up gently. “Hey, baby. Wake up.” He whispered gently. “I need you to drink something, okay? Don’t fall asleep just yet.”

You whined, “Just wanna sleep.” You mumbled.

“I know, I know.” Bucky walked over to his mini fridge and got some sugary drinks out. “But you need to drink this, okay.” He walked back to bed and forced you up, pulling you onto his lap so he could better observe whether you were drinking all of it or not. “Come on, have some more. You need it, angel, please.” He reasoned, kissing your shoulder, and rubbing your thighs.

You finished your drink, and leaned back against Bucky, thankful for his warm chest and his strong arms holding you up.

“I got you, angel, I got you,” He murmured, his hands rubbing all over you. He didn’t care that he was smearing his own cum all over your thighs and abdomen, it felt weirdly good. Like he was marking you. “I’m sorry I got so rough earlier,” He apologised, kissing your shoulder. “You just felt so good, I wanted your body to bend and break for me.” He kissed your tired body wherever he could, “Am I forgiven?” He kissed your neck until it tickled, “Hmm? Do you forgive me for being rough earlier?”

He earned a sleepy drowsy giggle. “Yes, Buck.” You answered, letting him tuck you back in bed. “Need to shower,” You mumbled.

Bucky answered, saying, “Later, baby.” And he kept kissing you, murmuring praises and post-sex rambles into your ear. “You’re perfect, you know that?” He spooned you from behind, not minding the sticky, sweaty mess you both were. “My perfect girl…”

You were too close to falling asleep to note the change in his tone. The slight darkness lacing his words. Still.

Bucky pressed his body to yours, caging you in his arms. Then noticed the way you backed up into him, purposely because you did it twice.

“Again?” He asked you, chuckling when you nodded at his question, your butt pressing into his crotch as you drifted off… barely conscious and letting out the tiniest, softest moans as he slid his cock back inside you. Hard already. With ease. Fucking you slowly and enjoying the feeling of your wet warmth wrapped around him.

He knew your body by heart now, so even in the dark he let his hands roam all over you. Touching you exactly where you needed to be touched.

You let out a sleepy whimper, “Mhmm,” And mumbled some nonsense, “...feels so good.” You let out a sigh. “Gonna need you all the time now.”

“I know, baby.” Bucky murmured, already spilling inside you. Filling you up with his cum again. “I know it feels good.” He tightened his arms around you, left his cock snug inside you and pulled you closer to him, whispering against the back of your neck, “And we would’ve never known how good it can be if I hadn’t intervened to speed things up, now would we?”

How long had he yearned for this? For you? Months maybe. But you were always so cautious, always so proper. Always so distant and with frozen, icy walls around your heart. Bucky could never get in. But he wanted you. Oh, how he wanted you since the day he first saw you.

Gods… it was so easy to sneak those files into your computer. And he knew you were so curious by nature that you wouldn’t have been able to resist looking into them. And once you looked, you wouldn’t be able to resist trying to recreate something so forbidden.

All he had to do was let you believe that he’d left that morning with the team as well. But he never did. He planned things too well. Stalled just enough so that right as they were about to take off, Bucky was able to pull back. Showing everyone that the system had alerted him that there was something going on in the lab. The team agreed that Bucky would stay behind and deal with that while they went away and carried on with the mission.

So then, just as he had planned, you two were all alone in the tower and he was at the lab at the right time. Barging in to get you out, like a hero. And accidentally inhaled all that vapour that drove him wild…

And here he was now. His plan was well executed.

Bucky playfully bit your skin, tasting you like you were there just for that. “You played your part well, baby. Thank you for that.” He smiled upon hearing another one of those sleepy moans escaping your mouth. “And now you’re all mine.” He whispered into your ear.

—

a/n: what? I was horny okay…

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tripletstephaniescp · 19 days ago

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This was hilarious. And sadly something i did once. Didn't end as well. 😊

Hidden Affections

AN: Thanks for the prompt, @buckyys-babydoll. I hope you enjoy this bit of fluff with a big dollop of embarrassment and mutual pining.

Not beta’d, so apologies in advance.

Header by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics

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Summary: You get tongue-tied around Bucky, which is inconvenient when you work with Sam and Joaquín. When he comes to the compound unannounced when you’re the only one there, you only have once course of action available — hide!

Relationship: Bucky x Reader (gender not specified but Sam calls you Sugar and Bucky calls you Doll and doll-face)

Word count: 1.6k

CW: Mild angst, fluff, unrequited crush (or is it?), embarrassment.

You didn’t know what it was about Bucky Barnes that upset your equilibrium so much. Okay, scratch that, you did know. It was because he was so freaking hot, that’s what! But you were frustrated that it — he — affected you so much. You worked with Sam and Joaquín regularly and they were both very attractive men and yet you managed to keep your cool around them. So what was it about him?

When he’d come to compound on previous occasions, to share intel or just hang out, you’d found yourself acting distracted and clumsy. Your usual verbosity disappeared to be replaced with one word answers that you had to stammer out. You’d decided a few weeks back that the best thing to do when Bucky appeared was to politely excuse yourself, taking your folders and binders and maps with you to a room far, far away from the supersoldier and his piercing blue eyes. It didn’t seem to stop him from finding you, though. Every time he visited he sought you out, even if just to say good-bye before he left to do whatever it was he did now. Each and every conversation was excruciating, leaving you to wish that the ground had opened up and swallowed you.

You couldn’t even figure out why he was coming to find you. You were no-one. He had no connection to you — didn’t know you from before and didn’t work with you now. You were Sam and Joaquín’s ground support, here to help analyse intel and look for any patterns of incidents. You weren’t anybody special.

Also, just to add to your confusion and embarrassment, Joaquín, the absolute turd of a surrogate brother he was, had picked up on your discomfort and taken to teasing you about it whenever he could. Luckily both he and Sam were currently absent from the building, twirling around in the sky overhead, getting in some flight practice. It meant you could get on with you analysis in peace.

Until the entrance sensor pinged.

Your eyes flicked up to the security video screen to see who’d crossed the boundary of the compound’s land. There were no visitors expected today, but you weren’t worried though — Sam would have received the alert as well, and the fact that he wasn’t immediately on comms with you meant whoever it was probably wasn’t hostile.

The screen showed a large motorcycle heading down the drive and you immediately froze.

Bucky.

Bucky was about to arrive and the others were out and it was just you here and…

You tapped a button on the console in front of you to open the comms up.

“Uh Sam, were you expecting Sergeant Barnes, because he’s on his way in?”

“Hey, Sugar. He said he might stop by. Told him me and Joaquín would be training, but he said he’d just hang out with you and wait for us.”

You gulped. You and Bucky. Sitting here together. Talking.

No, no, no, no, no…

“Umm. Okay, Sam. Thanks. Uh. See you two in a bit, I guess.”

Disconnecting the comms, you dropped your head into your hands with a groan. What were you going to do? You were a professional, grown-up, but just being in his presence turned you into a tongue-tied teenager.

Another chime from the security monitor let you know that Bucky had now entered the building and would be in the same room as you in the next couple of minutes. A wave of panic washed over you, and you stood up sharply, your chair shooting backwards as you flapped your hands.

What to do? What to do?

With a manic gaze you looked all around the room for something – anything – that would help you escape this nightmare.

There! In the corner! The cupboard. Maybe if you hid in there Bucky would think you weren’t in the building and he’d leave?

You hurried over and pulled the door open. For a moment you froze – you’d forgotten that Sam had stashed his old, broken suits in here – but you could hear Bucky’s footsteps and your brain had already committed to this plan of action, so you shoved your way between the hanging vibranium fabric suits and pulled the door as far closed as possible behind you.

In the dark of the cupboard, your breathing sounded loud in your ears and you forced yourself to slow it down. You peered with one eye through the gap in the door and had to clap your hands over your mouth as Bucky walked in.

Fuck! He was beautiful. His jaw length hair wafted around his face and his t-shirt and jeans looked painted on. You swore you could see every individual ab on his stomach.

You watched as he looked around the room, seemingly perplexed. He strode over to your workstation and poked at your abandoned papers, before turning to look at your equally abandoned chair. He walked around it, staring at it, as though by doing so it might give up the secret of your whereabouts. Then his eyes flicked up and you swore they were momentarily locked with yours through the tiny slit in the cupboard door.

Swallowing down a squeak, you tried to push backwards into the musty and metallic smelling fabric. However, as you did so, your heel caught on something lying on the floor, probably one of Sam’s old boots and you staggered. Your hands shot out as you instinctively tried to break your fall and you grabbed at the suits, but they fell off the hangers. With an inelegant screech you fell over and the suits tumbled down on top of you.

A few seconds later, the world around you brightened, not that you could see much, what with a red white and blue suit covering your head.

“Hey, Doll. You alright there?” Bucky sounded a little amused and you were glad he couldn’t see your face.

“Yeah, I’m… uhh… just sorting out some old bits and pieces. I’m good. Really,” was your muffled reply, but internally you were shrieking to yourself. What were you saying? Really? You were trying to convince him that this was purposeful? He might technically be 108 years old, but he wasn’t stupid.

You blinked rapidly as your vibranium fabric shroud was removed from your head, and as your eyes adjusted you saw Bucky crouched in the cupboard doorway, a soft smirk on his face.

“You sure you’re not stuck in there?”

You felt the heat of embarrassment wash up your neck and you realised there really was no way of getting out of this with your dignity intact, what little there was left anyway.

“Okay, maybe I could use a little help.”

“Just a little,” Bucky repeated, holding his left hand up with the thumb and index finger a scant centimetre apart. “Come on, let’s get you outta here.” He reached out and you clasped his hand, realising this was the first time you’d ever touched each other. A quick, controlled tug and you were back on your feet and your free hand landed on his chest as you regained your balance.

“Umm, thanks,” you whispered and took a step back. However, Bucky didn’t let go of your hand and you jerked to a stop. You looked down to where he still held you and couldn’t believe that he was rubbing his thumb back and forth across your skin. “Is, uh, there anything else I can help you with? Sam and Joaquín should be back soon. I could, umm, get you a cup of coffee or something?”

“Coffee would be great, Doll, but only if we go get some together.”

Your head snapped up. “What? I mean, pardon?”

Bucky grinned at you. “Come get a coffee with me. I mean, I could be wrong, but I think you might like me as much as I like you.”

“You like me?” Your voice rose in pitch with surprise.

“Uh, yeah. Quite a lot, actually,” and you saw a blush creep across his cheeks as he broke eye contact to look down at where your hands were still joined. “I thought I was making it obvious enough by always coming to find you each time I visited, but some winged ego-maniac told me that maybe I was being too subtle. And then a smaller, but similarly annoying baby-bird may have let it slip that I probably wouldn’t be turned down.”

The gears in your head started turning. “Did Sam tell you to come here today?”

Bucky looked at you from under his sinful, dark lashes. “Yeah. He said he has some things – intel – he needed to go through with me. Get my opinion.”

“Sonofa…” you muttered. “He and his boy- wonder are out flying circuits of the state, and not due back for a while. I think we’ve been set up.”

Bucky nodded at your words. “Well that explains some things. However, it doesn’t explain to me why you were hiding in the cupboard. Care to elaborate, doll-face?”

“Absolutely not. I plead the fifth.”

Bucky’s lips – those plush kissable lips – twisted in wry amusement and his eyes sparkled. “Hmm, can’t have you incriminating yourself, so I’ll let it go. This time. And only if you come for a coffee with me.”

“Are you always this pushy, Sergeant Barnes?”

“Only when I see something I want, and know that it’s mutual.” He stopped for a moment, his expression changing to one of curiosity. “It is mutual, isn’t it? Joaquín wasn’t yanking my chain?”

“You think I hide from just anybody?” You said with a chuckle. “Come on, Sergeant. You said something about coffee?”

“I did, didn’t I? Oh, and Doll..”

“Yes?”

“Call me Bucky.”

Tag list: @km-ffluv @wheezy-stucky @kmc1989 @kombatfather1796

@christywrites @alexakeyloveloki @wolfsmom1 @doasyoudesireandlive

@sonatabee-blog @goldylions @galactusdevourerofworlds @apenny4thots

@crayongirl-linz @nicoline1998enilocin @king814318 @blackhawkfanatic

@strawberrylore @scram1326 @hhiggs @peaches1958

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tripletstephaniescp · 21 days ago

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They are hilarious.

Would you rather be constantly itchy when you're wearing clothes or be constantly itchy when you're naked?

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tripletstephaniescp · 21 days ago

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He is so GD beautiful!

Bucky Barnes

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tripletstephaniescp · 21 days ago

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Ditto!

need a man so muscular he struggles to get his jacket AWF

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tripletstephaniescp · 23 days ago

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Now that's a movie night I would like to attend. Hehe

what good girls get after movie night

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader

summary: movie night in avengers tower gets interesting when you and bucky barnes test the limits of your secret relationship.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), thunderbolts* spoilers, smut, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, vaginal fingering, edging/orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, come eating, semi-public fooling around (under a blanket during movie night), 'need to be quiet so we don't get caught' trope, sneaking around/secret relationship, dirty talk, light degradation, praise kink, teasing, biting, pet names (sweetheart, baby), established relationship, both bucky and reader are members of the new avengers—let me know if i missed something!

word count: 3.1k

a/n: here's my first ever entry for @buckybarnesevents's Hot Bucky Summer event!! idk yet how many weeks i'll be able to write for, but i'm gonna try to do a couple at least. and to start us off, we've got a very dirty Bucky Barnes and some New Avengers tower shenanigans 😅 hope y'all enjoy! ♡

prompt: “Mind your own damn business.” | [Secret Sex/Relationship | Embarrassment | Denial]

It was movie night in Avengers Tower—or rather, New Avengers Tower—and you plopped down in one of the end seats of the overstuffed couches in the lounge.

You always made sure to show up early so you didn’t end up crammed between John Walker and Ava Starr. Their bickering could ruin any movie.

Sure enough, the pair entered the lounge not long after you, arguing about who won some sparring match during their training that day, and whether it was cheating for Ava to use her powers. She was threatening to phase into his room and stab him while he slept as they took their seats on another couch.

You breathed a sigh of relief that they weren’t sitting near you. The seat next to you was still open, and you had hopes for who would take it—though you tried not to look hopeful as the others filtered in.

Alexei Shostakov, Yelena Belova and Bob Reynolds entered the lounge a few minutes later. Yelena flopped down on the floor, while Bob sat on the couch closest to her, the two of them having a conversation that was much more civil than the continued bickering between John and Ava, which had devolved into threats of bodily harm.

Alexei went straight for the remote to the massive TV before settling into the lounge’s only recliner armchair. Everyone had long ago agreed that was always his spot because he fell asleep five minutes into the movie and snored like a fighter jet mid-battle.

Just before Alexei hit play on the movie, Bucky Barnes slipped into the lounge and took the empty seat next to you. Immediately, your heart began to beat a little faster, and you tried to hide your joy as you looked around at the others on the team.

You’d spent hours wondering whether everyone else knew you and Bucky were sneaking around together, trying to keep your relationship secret so it wouldn’t get back to Valentina Allegra de Fontaine. Neither you nor Bucky knew how Val would react, and you both figured it was easier not to find out.

That night, no one was paying you and Bucky any mind—Yelena was snapping at John to shut up while Alexei’s recliner creaked loudly as he settled into it. You figured they either hadn’t noticed how close Bucky was sitting to you, or they didn’t care.

Knowing The New Avengers as you did, you truly couldn’t determine which was more likely to be true.

Finally, the movie began. The sound was turned up to a nearly deafening level, and you let your worries about what the team did or didn’t know fall away.

A few minutes in, Bucky grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and he casually tossed it over the two of you. When you looked at him and caught his eye, the ghost of a smirk danced at the edge of his mouth, and you shot him the barest smile in return.

Glancing around the room, you made sure everyone was engrossed in the movie before curling into Bucky’s side. You threw your legs over his thigh while his metal arm wrapped around your shoulders, tucking you into his body.

Ducking your head, you hid a pleased smile as you got comfortable. Your body relaxed into Bucky, your fingers holding the blanket up to your chin so it covered as much of your entwined limbs as possible.

Snuggled up with your secret boyfriend, you settled in to watch the movie in peace. But Bucky had other ideas.

While everyone else was focused on the TV, Bucky shifted so he was curled more around you, his hand slipping onto your knee beneath the blanket.

Just that touch had tingles of warmth dancing up your thighs to settle heavily between your legs, your body already beginning to crave Bucky’s. But with the team littered throughout the room, you did your best to ignore your reaction to Bucky’s touch.

Then, oh so slowly, Bucky began to slide his hand up your thigh. His palm was blazingly hot through the thin cotton of your leggings, teasing you with his heat when you truly wanted him to be touching your bare skin.

The higher his hand got, the less you could ignore it. Especially when his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thigh, earning a choked whine from you.

“Bucky,” you gasped on the softest exhale you could manage, well aware that there were two other super-soldiers in the room. No matter how loud the TV was, there was always a chance someone would hear you, or—god forbid—sense you another way. “We can’t.”

Lifting your head, you looked around the lounge with quick, sharp eyes.

Thankfully, Alexei was already asleep, the loud rumbling of his snores drowning out the quieter moments of the movie. Bob looked totally engrossed in the TV and Yelena was playing with one of her knives while she kept an eye on Ava and John, who were bickering again, though about what you couldn’t tell.

“Shh, sweetheart, watch the movie,” Bucky murmured teasingly in your ear, clearly having done his own sweep of the room and noting that no one was paying any attention to the two of you.

Bucky took advantage of the team’s distraction to slide his hand even higher up your thigh, until his big palm was cupping your pussy through your leggings. It was all you could do to bite down on your plush lower lip and hold back the sharp gasp that wanted to escape. His hand was so big and it felt so good pressing between your thighs.

A smirk slashed across Bucky’s face, his hungry eyes watching your expression closely so he could devour each and every one of your reactions. He pressed his fingers into your throbbing slit, watching as your lips dropped open and your eyes went hazy from the pleasure pulsing in your pussy.

He kept rubbing your cunt, and you knew the moment he realized you weren’t wearing any panties under your leggings because a soft growl rumbled in his chest. You’d already soaked through your leggings, and you were certain his fingers were growing wetter and wetter with every swipe of your pussy.

“You’re such a little slut, baby,” Bucky purred, ducking his head so his mouth was right against your cheek. You could feel the rasp of his stubble against your skin, and you squirmed on his lap, trapping his hand between your thighs, which only made him chuckle. “You wanted this, didn’t you, sweetheart?”

His words were so condescending and filthy, they had your heart racing in your chest, battering against your ribs. Embarrassment heated your cheeks, but you didn’t protest Bucky’s accusation—because he was right. You had foregone wearing panties hoping it would give Bucky easier access to do exactly what he was doing.

“You wanted to fool around during movie night, didn’t you, baby?” Bucky murmured, his impish grin pressed into your cheek. “You wanted me to rub your bare pussy through your leggings while the rest of the team are right here.”

It was so dirty, what the two of you were doing, but you didn’t want to stop. So even though his last words weren’t a question, you nodded. You lifted your eyes and looked at Bucky from under your lashes, letting him see all the naked desire in your expression.

Bucky’s grin widened, turning wolfish and hungry as his eyes sparkled in the dim blue light of the TV. His hand rubbed your pussy harder, thumb pressing tight circles into your clit, dragging you tenaciously toward the edge of your release.

“They could catch us at any second,” he warned, his voice still low enough that only you could hear. “And then they’d know just what a filthy little slut you are for me, huh?”

“Bucky, please,” you rasped on a stifled sob, turning your head and burying your face in Bucky’s neck. Your shoulders trembled, fingers curling into fists as you clung to his t-shirt. The pleasure rolling through your body was made even more overwhelming by the need to keep quiet.

“Don’t worry, baby, I won’t let them catch us,” Bucky rumbled soothingly, his hand between your thighs slowing to draw out your pleasure. “You just be a good little slut—stay quiet and let me play with your sweet, greedy cunt during the movie.”

“Yes, sir,” you whispered into Bucky’s neck, pressing a kiss to his skin as you spread your legs wider for him beneath the blanket.

“Good girl,” he cooed against your temple, making you quiver from the pleasure.

For a long while, Bucky rubbed your dripping cunt through your leggings, getting the fabric soaking wet while stoking your pleasure to a constant, burning heat. He was merciless, playing with your clit and your puffy pussy lips as if trying to get you to slip up and make a sound.

For your part, all you could do was try to be good. You muffled your moans in the warmth of Bucky’s neck, huffing out soft mewls and breathless whimpers that were drowned out by the movie playing on the TV and Alexei’s snores.

When you thought Bucky was going to edge you like that for the entire movie, he pulled his hand from between your thighs. Without warning, everything sharpened around you, your mind surfacing from the haze of constant pleasure.

Despite the reprieve from his torture, you nearly whined at the sudden loss of Bucky’s touch. Your fingers curled tighter in the soft cotton of his t-shirt and you were about to say something—but then he hooked his fingers around the waistband of your leggings and slid his big hand inside.

Bucky’s warm, calloused fingers pushed between the messy, swollen lips of your pussy, and the feeling was so good—so filthy and exquisite—that you were nearly helpless to it. At the last second, you ducked your head and sank your teeth into the hard muscle of his pecs to stifle the moan that demanded to spill free.

A grunt came from Bucky when you bit him, and you lifted your head in time to catch him glancing furtively around the room. When it was clear that everyone else was distracted by the movie or each other, you both breathed a sigh of relief.

Bucky’s fingers, which had stilled against your pussy, slipped deeper between your thighs. Two pushed into your hole, spearing you open and sinking inside you to the knuckle. They stretched you deliciously, stroking against your sensitive inner walls, and for a moment, you forgot yourself.

“Oh god, Bucky,” you breathed on a sigh of delight, pushing your face into his neck in a belated attempt to muffle your sounds of pleasure. He smelled like salt and leather and you wanted to lick him and moan with abandon.

“Shh, ya gotta be quiet, sweetheart,” Bucky chided you, his tone warm with affectionate teasing. “You don’t want anyone catching us, do you?”

Pleasure was throbbing through your body, so sharp and insistent, you could hardly bring yourself to care about getting caught anymore. You just wanted some relief—you wanted to come.

“Need you,” you whined as quietly as you could manage. “Please,” you begged pitifully, tugging weakly on Bucky’s shirt, as if that would sway him toward giving you what you wanted.

A reprimanding growl rumbled in Bucky’s chest and when he spoke, his mouth brushed against your ear, his words filling your head.

“If you can be a good girl and be quiet for the rest of the movie, I’ll take you back to my room and show you what good girls get,” he said, and then, as if deciding to make his point even clearer, he went on. “Good girls get to come on my big, fat cock while I spill my seed in their greedy, hungry cunt.”

His words were a lightning bolt straight to your pussy, and you nearly moaned again. You had to bite down on the base of Bucky’s throat to stifle the sound, and as soon as it passed, you pulled your mouth away to respond.

“I can be good—I can be good, I swear,” you promised in a rushed babble, a whine in your tone as you nodded your head against Bucky’s shoulder.

“Good girl,” Bucky purred in your ear, his metal arm tightening around your shoulders and tucking you deeper into his chest. All the while, his fingers fucked your dripping hole slowly, torturously, ramping up your pleasure before easing you back down.

Bucky brought you to the edge three more times before the movie ended, rumbling in your ear to be a good girl and not come on his fingers so he could reward you later. It was a near thing each time, but you managed it, your body trembling more and more beneath the blanket concealing your bodies.

He’d let you wind down after each edge while he slipped his hand from your leggings and licked your desire from his fingers. His eyes would glimmer with barely leashed lust as he held your gaze, making you watch him taste you while you quivered in his arms. Then he’d start the process all over again.

By the time the movie was over, you were wound so tight, you knew you’d explode the second Bucky slid his cock into your aching, hungry cunt. And you couldn’t wait another minute for that release.

The second the credits began to roll, you yanked Bucky’s hand from your leggings, the super-soldier letting you free his fingers with a low chuckle. Then you tossed the blanket off your overheated bodies and hopped up, heading straight for the door with Bucky hot on your heels.

“Where are you two going?” John called as you tried to make a hasty escape, drawing all eyes to you and Bucky. “Don’t tell me you guys are tired already, we only watched one movie! Bucky might be ancient, but what’s your excuse, rookie?”

“Mind your own damn business, Walker,” you snarled, hurling the comment over your shoulder as you picked up your pace.

You didn’t care anymore if the team knew about you and Bucky and what you got up to when you were alone in the tower. All you could think about was the pounding pulse between your thighs and your need for release.

Looking over your shoulder, you caught Bucky’s eye, and he looked just as desperate and hungry as you felt. With a jolt of understanding, you realized he didn’t care if anyone else knew either, and the thought made you smile happily at him. His wolfish grin answered you and urged you on.

As the two of you retreated from the lounge, you heard John whining to the others, “What’d I say?” The last thing you heard was everyone else—save for Alexei, who was still asleep in his chair—laugh at him.

Once you were out of sight of the team, Bucky hauled you over his shoulder and took off. He jogged through the winding hallways of the tower until he got to his room. There, he pushed quickly through the door and locked it behind him, before tossing you down on the bed.

“Leggings off now, unless you want me to tear them off you,” Bucky growled, already yanking his clothes off.

You grinned at his impatience, as if he wasn’t the one who’d tortured you for the last two hours by edging you during movie night. But you decided to save your teasing for later, because you wanted him too badly to say anything. Instead, you just tore of your own clothes as quickly as you could.

Then Bucky was on you, his hips bullying between your legs, his cock smacking against your wet, needy pussy. Your thighs spread wide to welcome him into your body, your lips parting on an obscene moan when he crushed you into the bed with his heavy form.

In one thrust, he was inside you, and you let loose an uninhibited scream of pleasure that filled his room, bouncing off the walls and shattering the stillness of the night.

Just as you’d predicted, you came the moment Bucky slid home inside your pussy, your release helped along by the way he was grinding the base of his cock into your clit. He knew exactly what he was doing, pushing you over the edge with relentless efficiency.

And you were helpless to it. The pleasure coursing through you, crashing over you in blissful waves had you trembling and whimpering beneath him, riding out the overwhelming release with your thighs wrapped tight around his waist.

“That’s it, sweetheart, you’re coming like a perfect little slut on my cock,” Bucky praised you, brushing kisses to your cheeks before capturing your lips in a filthy kiss. “You were such a good girl, so quiet and perfect for me while I played with your pretty pussy.”

Bucky started rolling his hips, thrusting into you with deep strokes of his cock, filling you up over and over again. You could feel the twitching and throbbing of his hard length, but he didn’t let up, just set a brutal pace, pounding into your cunt. Before your release had even fully subsided, he was urging you toward another.

Gripping your jaw in one hand while he braced himself on his metal arm, Bucky held your face still, his eyes locked on yours. There was a promise of pleasure in his feral gaze, in the slash of a smirk on his face, and you couldn’t help the eager grin that pulled at your lips at his next words.

“Now it’s time for me to show you what good girls get after movie night.”

Bucky Barnes was a man of his word, and show you he did. He fucked you long and hard, making you come so many times you lost count, until the evidence of your pleasure was seen in the uncontrollable quivering of your exhausted thighs and the amount of come—both his and yours—making a mess as it spilled from your body.

Meanwhile, the rest of the New Avengers team gave Bucky’s room a wide berth for the night. They all had a good idea about what the two of you got up to when you slipped away from the others to be alone; they all knew about your “secret” relationship and your not-so-secret cuddling during movie night. (Thankfully, that was all they knew about.)

Well, everyone knew about you and Bucky Barnes except John Walker. But he was always the last to figure out anything.

All told, it was a pretty standard movie night in the New Avengers Tower.

thanks for reading!! comments and reblogs are always appreciated ♡

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