fandom-fck-me-up

[fandom-fck-me-up]

One Piece as funny tweets (but with reader)

Part 1 | part 2

#one piece #one piece netflix #incorrect quotes #one piece incorrect quotes #funny #meme

[fandom-fck-me-up]

Hey! Since your requests are open, may I request opla!Zoro x reader (established relationship) where the reader has a lot of self doubt (not only in their looks, but their abilities and their place in the crew) since it’s, unfortunately, been shoved done their throat by pretty much eveyone they knew, even their parents, that they would never be good enough? Maybe Zoro figures out that they have sort of been spiralling lately and they have a talk about the readers past and the problems they’re facing and he comforts them? Maybe it ends sort of spicy or turns out full on spicy, if you’re comfortable with that!

daybreak

ABOUT

alternate title: some fluffy established relationship hurt/comfort to save my soul

rating: teen & up

characters: live action!roronoa zoro | fem!reader

pairing: live action!roronoa zoro x fem!reader

word count: 2.9k (short; sorry!)

description: zoro notices you've been seeming off recently, and you confide in him your insecure feelings of self-worth. he comforts you.

tags: strawhat!reader, established relationship, fluff, emotional hurt/comfort, kissing, no use of ‘y/n’, soft zoro, ridiculously stupidly absolutely horrifyingly fluffy. 

author’s note: thank you so much for the very lovely request! i hope i did your prompt justice; i ended up not writing any spice at the end (just slightly suggestive) since i didn't think it fit the story but i hope you like it anyway ^^

it feels slightly ooc, but i also wrote it in the span of two hours at 1:00 am so can you really blame me. 

It was morning on the Going Merry, and you were cleaning up the wreckage that had been scattered along the deck in your last battle. The crew had gone up against some other pirates; it’d been late at night, and the attack had come suddenly, what you’d thought would be a peaceful docking turning combative quickly. 

You barely remembered the fight. One moment, the warning bell had sounded, and the next Zoro was rolling out of bed beside you, grabbing his swords and darting out of your bedroom before you could even register what was happening. The fight had gone in the Straw Hats’ favor, thankfully; Zoro, Luffy, and Sanji had fended off most of the threat, and you were back on the open sea, safe from enemies for at least a little while now. 

You let out a sigh as you swept shattered glass into a dustpan, shaking out the collected trash into a nearby empty barrel. None of the men usually bothered to start cleaning up—typical—so you’d pulled yourself out of bed as early as possible to get the ship looking a little more like normal. 

Zoro had left some corpses on the deck for you to deal with, and you’d had to toss them overboard, a grimace tugging at your lips as blood stained the white of your blouse. No matter. You’d finished sweeping, at least; all you had left to do was mop, right as everyone else was waking up. 

You filled a bucket with warm water and soap, and were just grabbing the mop from the closet when you heard footsteps. You glanced up, surprised to see Zoro heading towards you, one hand grasped loosely around his sword handle as always. “You’re up early,” he said, casual as ever. “Woke up and you were gone.” 

“Figured I should get a head start on cleaning,” you answered quickly, not meeting Zoro’s eyes as you dunked the mop into the bucket. His brows creased as he watched you start mopping, pushing the handle along the deck to wipe it clear of bloodstains. 

“How long have you been doing this?” Zoro asked, after a few seconds of delayed silence. You shrugged, dunking your mop again before going for another few swipes. “We can help clean too, you know.” 

“It’s the least I can do,” you protested. You moved past him, trying very hard not to meet his eyes—but Zoro didn’t let you pass, one hand going out to grab the mop rod and stopping you in your tracks. “What?” 

“What do you mean, least you could do?” Zoro asked blankly. 

“I mean—” you shrugged, muscles limp like your entire body was sagging you down. “You and the others were the ones to deal with the pirates, so I figured I could at least—”

Zoro still looked confused, brows pulled together, forehead taut with a frown. “I distinctly recall you throwing a pirate twice your size overboard. Unless I was imagining things.” 

You sighed. “Not what I meant.” You tried to push past Zoro again, but he didn’t let you, hand still tightly grasped around your mop handle. 

“Okay, what did you mean, then?” 

“Nothing. Will you just let me finish cleaning so there aren't blood stains all over Luffy’s ship?” You sighed again, even as you attempted to keep the sound inside—but you couldn’t help it. It was like there was an anchor stuck inside of you, pulling everything from your feelings to your body down, the weight of gravity tugging at your features. 

“Luffy’s ship?” 

You shrugged. “The Straw Hats’ ship. Whatever.” 

“Our ship,” Zoro said. There was a certain twinge of something in his words; still blankness, but laced with a dawning realization that you weren’t sure you liked. “You’re upset.” 

“Nope.” This time you really did manage to get free of Zoro’s grasp, yanking your mop out of his grip and starting back on cleaning the deck. The acrid smell of iron hit your nose as you scrubbed the dried blood off—you’d have to go back in later with a sponge to get all the cracks and crevices, but for now this would be okay. 

Zoro followed you, unceasing with his interrogation. “Yes, you are. I know when you’re upset, and you’re upset. What happened.” It was more of a statement than a question—Zoro didn’t often doubt himself, really, which was one of the many things that’d helped make you stumble into falling for him. “Was it about last night? You know the cook's just making fun when he keeps a counter, right? It doesn’t matter if he brought two or five more men down than you.” 

“It’s not about that,” you insisted. 

“So you admit you are upset.” 

You groaned, finally turning to look Zoro in the eye. He’d stopped walking, the dawning sun glinting hazey gold onto his skin in the early hour. There was still an overcast of blue from the night in the sky, and it made the heavens look ethereal, watery and glittering. 

“Come on,” he urged. “Just tell me what’s wrong.” 

“It’s really nothing you need to be concerned about,” you attempted, but your voice was weak now. Zoro stepped closer to you, gently pulling the mop out of your hands. Your fingers let go easily. “It’s silly.” 

Zoro gave you a look. “Out with it.” 

“I don’t know, I just—” your fingers clenched, like your hand was trying to find something to do now that Zoro had rid you of your mop. “Comparatively I just don’t do much. So I want to help out as much as possible.” 

“Who said you don’t do much?” 

“What?” 

“I don’t think I need to repeat myself,” Zoro said. He let the mop fall to the ground, arms crossing over his chest as he watched you. “Who said you don’t do much?”

“I mean, nobody. It’s just true.” You shrugged, distinctly uncomfortable with the way Zoro was looking at you—all attentive, like he was trying to strip you raw with his eyes, uncover whatever secrets might be hiding in the pores of your skin and the gaps of your teeth. “Luffy’s the captain, we wouldn’t be able to do anything without Nami, you and Sanji are the fighters, and Usopp’s everyone’s favorite. I’m just kind of… filler?” 

The more you spoke, the worse your words got, your tone turning more desperate as the sentences fumbled out of your mouth. Zoro’s eyebrows raised higher as you went on, and you flushed, red prickling all over your skin. 

“First of all,” he started, “Usopp is not my favorite. That’d be you. And—where are you getting this from?” 

You shook your head, trying to backtrack. “Nothing. Nowhere. It’s not that import—”

“Yes, it is, and we’re talking about it.” Zoro pulled a nearby barrel by the side of the ship, plopping himself down atop it and gesturing for you to sit. You didn’t, but you did move over to the railing, hands curling around the painted wood. “Speak.” 

“I have nothing to say,” you tried. Zoro just shot you an unimpressed look, and you squirmed. “Fine. I don’t know. I joined last, so I just figured… you were all kind of already set without me, right?” 

Zoro shook his head. “We’re a crew,” he said, voice strong but somehow still gentle. “You’re part of us for a reason. What, this entire time did you think you were—expendable?” 

You fidgeted uncomfortably, weight shifting from one leg to the other. “No.” 

“Don’t lie.” 

“Yes. No. I don’t know. Last night—I only got, like what, two guys? And you reacted way faster to the situation than I did,” you started, words flailing around on your tongue as they rushed out. It was indelicate, for certain, and you yourself couldn’t make sense of most of the words—but once you started, you couldn’t stop, even as they slurred together. “I was still getting out of bed and grabbing my weapon when you’d already dealt with half the enemy crew.” 

“Don’t compare yourself to me,” Zoro said with a shake of his head. “That’s not fair. I’ve been training since I was eight. It’s different.” 

You huffed out an exasperated breath, trying not to let your frustration get the best of you. “I can't help it sometimes. It’s a bad habit.” You loosened your grip on the ship railing, staring out at the golden clouds hovering over the sky.  “Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize,” Zoro answered. He didn’t say anything after that—giving you a space to talk, you supposed, in case you wanted to. But his hand did reach up to press against yours, pinky brushing against your finger as he held onto the railing beside you. 

“I guess I just always had these standards back at the village,” you managed out eventually. Your island had always been one of the more traditional places in the East Blue, and there were plenty rules and guidelines abound. One of the many reasons you’d left the place in favor for Luffy and the Going Merry, really. “So I just… always want to do more. It’s not that bad.” 

“Right.” Zoro’s pinky looped around your finger, now, holding it close in a soft kiss of the hands. You sighed. 

“My parents were kind of rough on me, I guess,” you tried, sneaking a glance over at Zoro’s face to see if it satiated his curiosity at all. His expression remained as steel as ever, so you just continued. “They wanted me to be the best I could. But their standards were too high, even when I was little.” You found yourself rubbing circles into the back of Zoro’s hand with your finger, more so to comfort yourself than for any other reason. “Just normal stuff, like being upset about my school grades or my combat training levels being too low. Nothing that terrible.” 

“But…?” Zoro asked, tilting his head up to look at you. You smiled, but the action didn’t reach your eyes—it was all mouth and jaw, cheeks lifting but eyes glinting with the same glazed stare. 

“It just affected me a lot, I suppose,” you answered. “Always trying to get better. Never satisfied. And I guess now—I don’t know. I don’t think I’ll ever be good enough.” 

“For?” Zoro asked. His voice was low, soft, all hollow and empty inside. There was a tinge of roughness lacing it, like he’d forgotten to clear his throat, and the scratch of his vocal chords had surfaced up along with the words. 

“Myself. My parents. Luffy. You.” Your lips tightened into a line. Vaguely, you could feel the warm pinpricks of tears starting at your waterline, and you tried to will them back, letting out a little laugh. “Everyone, I guess.” 

Zoro’s hand had come to hold yours fully, fingers woven in between yours, thumb pressed firmly against the joint of your thumb. Somehow, that one motion managed to force the last of the words out of you—all wet and soft, eyes glued fiercely to the horizon in fear of seeing what was etched on Zoro’s face. 

“We do arranged marriages back at home,” you started, trying very hard to keep your voice from trembling. it worked only marginally—there was a tiny quaver in your tone, but it was soft, not noticeable unless you were really listening hard. “And my mom used to tell me I’d die alone. Because I wasn’t pretty enough, or smart enough, or anything enough for any of the boys there.” 

“Oh,” Zoro said. It was quiet; barely a whisper. You tried for a wry smile. 

“I like helping, though. I don’t mind cleaning up or whatever. It makes me feel more useful.” You tried to tug your hand out of Zoro’s grip, but his fingers tightened, keeping you in place. A nervous laugh escaped your throat. “And I know I’m part of the crew and all of this is just silly. So it’s really fine—”

Zoro tugged your intertwined hands to his chest, causing you to stumble and glance down at him in surprise. His expression was nearly unreadable. It’d darkened, and there was a contemplative gaze in his eyes, lips parted with invisible words perched on his tongue. “Don’t do that,” he whispered, and your stomach dropped, the nervousness that had gathered inside during the conversation tightening up into a hall. “Don’t say it’s okay or that it’s not important. If it’s making you upset, then it matters.” 

“I guess,” you tried, and Zoro’s gaze lifted to fix you with a glare. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay, I just…” Zoro shook his head. “Look, whatever your parents used to tell you, whatever you have ingrained in your head—it’s not true. And there’s nothing wrong with wanting to do more, but… you don’t have to do it. You’re enough already.” 

Your gaze softened, lips falling open to say something, but Zoro wasn’t finished yet. “You shouldn’t come out here and force yourself to clean up just to make up for your—waste of space, or something. You’re not a servant. And you’re not wasting up any space. I think everyone would agree that you’re a very important and vital part of the crew.” 

“Thanks,” you whispered. Zoro’s hand was warm around yours, and you felt the threatening droplets of tears start to rise up at your waterline, ready to fall at any moment now. Zoro just nodded. 

“You’re a great fighter, and way smarter than what you give yourself credit for,” he said firmly. He raised your hand to his mouth, then, leaning over to press a feather-light kiss to your knuckles. “And the boys on your island have to be blind, because you’re pretty enough. You’re more than pretty enough.”

He whispered the last words, all soft and sacred on his tongue. “You’re beautiful.” 

That was enough to drive your tears over the edge. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to stop the flow as the warm sensation of liquid streaking down your cheeks began. Droplets caught in the crevice of your lips, and at the hinge of your jaw—Zoro brought a hand up to wipe them away. “Are you okay?” he whispered. 

“Yeah, I just, um.” You shook your head, sniffing. “Thank you. That… helped. I think.” 

Zoro bummed out his response. “Of course,” he said easily. “You’re my girl. It’s my job to cheer you up.” He kissed your knuckles again. “And you can talk to any of us. I’m not really the best at this, but everyone else…” he shrugged. 

“You’re doing just fine,” you assured him. Zoro nodded, tugging you down until you finally took a seat on a crate beside him. “I think it’s just been worse lately.” 

“If it makes you feel any better, I think you’re better than the waiter,” Zoro said. You just laughed. 

“I think you’re biased, but thank you,” you said. “Here, I, um, I promise I’ll let you know if I’m feeling down, I guess. If you don’t mind.” 

“Definitely don’t mind,” Zoro answered. This time he placed a gentle kiss on your neck, somewhere at the bottom near the back. “Leave the mopping for someone else. You’ve already done a lot.” 

“Okay,” you whispered, eyes fluttering closed as Zoro kissed the rest of the way up the back of your neck. He placed a final one right below your earlobe. With that, Zoro stood up, sweeping one arm under your legs and hoisting you up. You cracked open an eye to regard him with a blank look. “What are you doing?” 

“Bringing you back to my room,” Zoro answered. “You didn’t get much sleep tonight. And I doubt anyone wants to watch me kissing you on the main deck anyway.” 

That was fair enough reasoning, so you didn’t complain, letting him carry you all the way to his cabin and gently lay you down onto his bed. He leaned over to press a gentle kiss to your lips—you could still taste the saltwater from your tears from before. “Want me to stay?” Zoro asked. 

“You don’t have to,” you said automatically, and Zoro raised both his eyebrows. You let out a sigh. “Okay, I get it. Yes. Please stay.” 

“All you had to say,” Zoro said, shedding himself of his shoes and swords before leaning over the bed to watch you. He didn’t slip under the covers or anything, just propped an arm up on the mattress, kneeling beside the bed. There was tender silence for a few moments before Zoro spoke again. 

“I love you,” he said abruptly, voice rough but somehow still soft. Your heart beat too fast in your chest, ribcage squeezing in on the organ and making it skip. His hand slid along the mattress to find yours, and you took the offer, fingers clasping around his palm. 

“I love you too,” you whispered back. Zoe leaned over, then, the hand not intertwined with yours tilting your jaw over just so to allow him better access to your mouth. He kissed you full-on, tender but firm, mouth working against yours in a way that unraveled you entirely. Your grip on his hand tightened as he deepened the kiss, a soft sound emitting from low in your throat. Finally you broke apart, heaving for breath, exhales mixing together midair. An exchange of souls, you’d heard once, somewhere. 

“Come on,” you murmured, tugging Zoro closer to the bed so he got the hint. He slipped beside you onto it, turning your head again to meet you in another kiss. His hand drifted down to your waist, holding you securely in place.  

“I don’t think anyone should need us for a few more hours, right?” Zoro asked, and you laughed. He swallowed up the sounds with his mouth, tongue licking languidly into you as he rubbed delicate circles into the skin of your waist. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, and then he was kissing you again. 

You let him siphon the soul out of your lungs, knowing you were getting his right back. 

© halfvalid 2023

#roronoa zoro #opla roronoa zoro #opla zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #one piece live action #one piece netflix #zoro x reader

[fandom-fck-me-up]

me @ y/n when they do something i’d never do:

like babe this isn’t us ?? get it together

#random

[fandom-fck-me-up]

the bond between a girl and their favorite fictional man is both an unstoppable force and an immovable object

#random

[fandom-fck-me-up]

Bruce: Would you like something to drink? We have water, milk, juice, spiders, Dr. Pepper—

Clark: Spiders?

Bruce: Spiders it is, then.

Clark: No, that wasn't—

Bruce: *already pouring a glass of spiders*

#bruce wayne #batman #clark kent #superman #meme #funny #incorrect quotes

[fandom-fck-me-up]

right person, all the wrong times - anthony bridgerton

summary: you and anthony have been in love with one another from the moment you met, but it seems as though nothing will ever happen between you. after you catch the attention of another gentleman, he realizes perhaps it’s time to finally do something about his feelings pairing: anthony bridgerton x fem!reader word count: 7.3K tags: mutual pining, best friends to lovers, angst and fluff, period-typical topics (marriage is everything, gender roles, all that stuff), daphne being match maker as always, kissing, if i skipped anything please let me know. note: i started this show two days ago and i’m already halfway through season 2. i couldn’t hold myself from writing whatever this is and i thought i’ll share since it’s the longest fic i’ve ever written. english is not my first language so writing in a way that resembles the show was a whole challenge for me!

a reblog and/or comment really helps me out as a content creator so thank you in advance if you take the time to do either!

all masterlists | read on ao3

You and Anthony have been best friends for years now. Even when he’s a few years older than you, the two of you became inseparable shortly after knowing one another. No one seems to know or understand you quite like he does, and you’ve become the person he always turns to when he needs someone.

It happened just a few months after you were introduced into society. You were lucky to bump into him that night in Ms. Danbury’s ballroom, and after repeated apologies and quick introductions, you stayed with him for the rest of the event.

Keep reading

#anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x female reader #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x fem!reader

[fandom-fck-me-up]

Better Than Before

Summary: Bucky wants to erase every disappointing, unsatisfying experience you've had, starting with your first time. He plans on making sure this time is better than anything you ever had before.

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Reader

CW: Smut, Oral (fem rec), praise kink, hint of overstimulation kink, minors dni.

WC: 3.7k

AN: Beta'd by the lovely @flordeamatista.

❀Masterlist❀Roommate Masterlist❀Library❀

“You know that means you’re still a virgin.” 

His brazen remark coasts over the top of his bottle nestled in his right hand. Avoiding his perceptive gaze, you rest your head against his headboard and fight the urge to fidget across the sheets. God, you should have kept your mouth shut, should have known that he’d keep pulling on that thread until the truth came out, leaving you raw and exposed. 

Bucky wraps his fingers around your ankle, tugging once, twice. “None of that shit counts, you know that.” 

Maybe. 

Still, it doesn’t mean you know what to say or how to handle this—another tug interrupts your musings, instead your mind focuses on the feel of his hand smoothing over your ankle. A small, unworried part of you wonders why such rough, calloused fingers feel so good, so right on your skin. 

You shake the wayward thoughts off with a stern reminder that Bucky is your roommate–just your roommate. 

Not dropping your gaze from the TV across the room, you wonder if it would be easier to roll over and pretend to sleep until he gives up.

But this is Bucky.

He’s persistent.

And he’s firmly stuck on the whole orgasm thing. Or lack thereof.

And you’re in his room which makes escaping this conversation difficult. Freeing your ankle, he nudges your thigh with the end of his cold bottle, the wet condensation makes you flinch. 

“Tell me I’m wrong.” 

You’re not getting out of this. 

Sighing, you loll your head onto your shoulder, eyes flicking down to his. “Pretty sure that’s not how that works, Bucky. I’ve had sex.” 

He hums in his throat, dismissing your statement. He’s sprawled across his half of the sheets, one leg bent causing the end of his shorts to ride up, exposing his thick thigh. Your eyes drawn to the muscles flexing as he stretches. The low thrum of the tv swallowed by the deafening silence pulsating between you. 

Bucky takes a slow slip, polishing off the rest of his beer, intense blue eyes never leaving your face. The longer he stares, giving you that look, the warmer you get, heat fanning down your chest and settling between your thighs. You want to squeeze them together, needing to relive the ache unfurling inside you. A part of you knows if you do, he’ll know exactly what he’s doing to you. 

What he’s been doing to you for the past month.

It’s hard to tell the exact moment things changed between you and your roommate. But it's there. An unspoken thing that takes up more space than his hockey gear scattered across his floor. 

Maybe it was around the time he kicked your ex out after a particularly nasty fight or the night he held you when you finally got rid of the jackass. 

“C'mon plum, I know what you need,” he said, his eyes warm and empathic, not an ounce of pity to be found. He brought you to his room, gathered all two of his pillows and his blanket, wrapped you up, and made you watch every Fast and Furious movie he own, the two of you spent the entire night debating the physics of a branch being able to support a car until you fell asleep. 

The next week, you made him watch your favorite chick flicks. He retaliated with a series of horror movies that left you both uneasy. 

Tonight it’s John Wick. 

The low bass floating from the speakers goes unnoticed. You’re not sure how the conversation led to this point. A casual question about if you’re going out tonight led to you scoffing that you didn’t feel like being disappointed again, he wrangled the truth out of you so slyly that you didn’t realize what you were admitting to until your confession spilled out, splattering between you. 

 Too late to go back now. 

“Like I said.” A smile flits across his pink lips, his tongue peeking out to catch a wayward drop before it slips away. Your eyes follow the slow, languid movements, his lips parting again. “If you didn’t enjoy it, if you don’t cum so hard you can’t hear for a good five seconds afterward, it doesn't count. Therefore You. Are. Virgin.” His words are emphasized by a squeeze on your calf. 

There’s a finality to his words like he’s never been more certain of anything in his life. In his eyes, it's a goddamn travesty that your loser of an ex couldn't do the bare minimum of getting you off. 

He’s not wrong. 

It definitely felt like it at the time. A few hasty, uncoordinated thrusts, one was it good for you, already on his side and half asleep before you could even think to answer. It became a pattern after that, one that left you unsatisfied, wondering if it was your fault while investing in toys that almost made up for his lack of attention. 

Another cold nudge brings you back to the present. Raising your brows, you glance at Bucky out of the side of your eye. “What?” 

He looks at you, something heady and indiscernible in his deep blue eyes. It makes your stomach drop and twist. A lazy smirk pulls at his lips, stretching across his bearded face. 

“I could change that. I’ll be your first Plum.” 

 You must have misheard. You blink. Slowly. His smirk widens, the ya heard me evident in the way his gaze darkens. No, you did not. Turning your upper body, planting your elbow in the side of your pillow, you stare down at your roommate. “Huh?” 

“Huh, she says.” He chuckles softly under his breath. Bucky reaches behind him, his teal henley stretching across his broad chest, outlining the ridges of muscles hidden beneath, a hint of his dog tags peek through the top as he sets his empty bottle on the nightstand with a dull clack. He drops down, grabbing your pillow from under you and pushing it under his head. “You heard me.” 

Cheeky bastard. 

You inhale a shaky breath, glancing away from him. Your heart is beating too fast, you don’t think you can handle this conversation any longer. Bucky moves to his knees, the bed dipping under his weight. Smooth, cool fingers encircle your ankle again, his thumb sweeping back and forth. 

“If you want,” he starts the timbre of his voice, deep and smooth and casual as it sends a shiver down your spine, goosebumps prickling across your skin. “I’ll show you how you should be treated. How a real man fucks. I’ll give you a real first time and make it so good you’ll never think of anyone else but me again.” His hand lifts your leg, bringing you to his mouth, barely touching your calf but the warmth of his lips sinks into you like a tattoo. “If you let me.” 

“I-” Your eyes widen, his drop to your chest, rising and falling, your nipples tightening, showing through the thin cotton of your shirt. 

You want this. Everything in you wants this. 

“Please let me.” It's the please that breaks you. His voice laced with desire and hunger for you. Followed by a slow sweep of his lips across your skin, chaining kiss after kiss up your thighs. A silent mantra imprinted by his lips. 

Please. 

Please. 

He sets your foot back on the bed, sliding it up until your knee is bent. He moves up your body, his hands on either side of your stomach, kiss after kiss, easing your shirt up until he’s at your breasts. “Will you let me take care of you the way you deserve? Let me make you feel good.” 

You nod, swallowing thickly. 

The corner of his lips lifts. “Words Plum. Need to hear you say it.” 

“I-yes.” 

He lowers himself onto you, the warmth of his abs melts into your soft stomach, his erection presses into your skin, hard and heavy. Hands braced next to your head as he lowers his face until his lips are hovering over yours. “Words, Plum.” His voice travels across your skin, the slight brush of his lips teasing you. “Need to hear you say it. Say you want me. I’ll give you anything you, all you have to do is ask.” 

The deep blue of his gaze pierces through you, he grins when you tentatively place your hands on the small of his back. “I want–want you Bucky.” He doesn’t move, his brow lifts expectantly, a burst of heat rushes to your cheeks when you realize what he’s waiting for, what he’s making you wait for. “Please fuck me,” you rush out before your nerves get the better of you. 

“I’ve been waiting for you to say that,” he breathes out, his lips slamming into yours. A frantic glide of his mouth over yours, his tongue delving into your mouth.

 Bucky wasn’t lying, he’s been craving to discover if you taste as sweet as you look. He is not disappointed. It’s not enough to satisfy his need for you but it takes the edge off his hunger. 

His lips slot over yours, devouring you once, twice before slowly turning into something languid and sweet. Savoring your kiss, his hand slips down to the curve of your waist and he drags you into him. His erection hardening against the thin layers of cotton separating you from him. 

Kisses chained down your face, across the smooth column of your throat, lacing down your chest as if he’s mapping his way across your body. Each press of his lips is a landmark he intends on coming back to again and again. His lips enclose around one taut nipple, gently scraping it between his teeth before sucking it into his mouth, his fingers plucking at your nipple, rolling it between his calloused fingers. “Bucky,” you choke out, a flare of pleasure shooting straight to your clit.

He kisses the growing wet spot on your panties, twisting them to the side to see your pussy, glistening and dripping. “This for me?” He murmurs, his greedy gaze skating up to your face. “Knew you’d be pretty everywhere Plum.” His praise sinks into your veins. His fingers curl under the band of your panties, easing them down your legs, he tosses them over his shoulder. 

His eyes drop to your pussy. 

“Been dreaming about this, Can’t believe I’m about to taste you,” he curses under his breath. You barely hear him over the dull roar in your ears, you don’t need to though, not with Bucky staring at your cunt like he wants to eat you whole. So he does. No warning. No teasing–he’ll save that for next time. He licks one thick stripe up through your folds.

“Oh–Bucky,” you keen, voice cracking as your back arches off the bed, your thighs clamp around his head. 

His tongue is so warm and wet and oh god–fuck that feels so good–when he drags the tip of his warm, wet tongue around your clit in a dizzying circle only to flatten it and drag it up in one firm motion. 

You don’t know if you want to cry out or grab the back of his head and beg for him to do that again. 

You do both. 

His name jumbled and broken on your lips. our heels dig into his back and you fist his hair, twisting the soft strands between your fingers as you roll your hips, pushing your pussy into his wicked mouth. 

As good as it is for you, it’s even better for him. 

You taste so sweet–he knew he was going to be addicted to you the second he saw you. He’s going to make up for every lackluster experience you’ve ever had and replace every disappointing memory with the ones he’s going to create for you. 

Bucky is going to treat you the way you should have been. He’s been waiting for the opportunity to show you how good it would be if you were his girl. 

Bucky slides his hands under your ass, lifting you to his face. He groans your name, the vibration of his deep voice sends another surge of sensations through you. Two fingers slip inside you, curling and thrusting to the frantic rhythm of his tongue. Pleasure winds tighter and tighter around you, dragging you down even as it borders on too much. 

Buicky feels you clench around him, the sounds of your moans spurring him on, his eyes locked on your face, watching your expression as you fall apart. Your mouth falling open on a sharp cry, your body tensing as your orgasm spirals wildly throughout you. 

This would be enough for you but Bucky isn’t done. Not when he has more to give you. 

You feel the soft press of his lips on your pulsing clit and then he pulls back, cool air replacing the warmth of his mouth. His face is drenched, your slick clinging to his beard. He runs his thumb across his lips, licking you off of him with a debauched groan. Quickly getting rid of his shorts, his cock springs free, lightly slapping his stomach. "I’m clean but I can grab a condom if you want. Either way, I can’t wait to feel you around me.”

“I’m on birth control and clean too.” You glance down,  pausing at his hand wrapped around the base of his cock. “I want–” Bucky watches your eyes widen as he slowly strokes his cock, your gaze following his hand up his thick, hard length to the swollen tip shiny with beads of precum and he gets painfully harder. “I want to feel you. Just you.”

 “Grab the headboard,” he hoarsely demands. The second your fingers curl around the wooden frame, he’s tapping your sensitive clit with the head of his cock. Light jolts of sensations makes you whimper and he inhales sharply, eagerly anticipating all the ways he’s going to get you to make that sound again. “Ready for me plum?” 

“No,” you laugh out. You don’t think you’ll ever be ready for him. “Pretty sure you’re about to ruin me.” 

“Good, it’s only fair for what you’ve done to me,” he replies, pushing into you with a deep, sure stroke, filling you instantly. You’ll never forget the way his lips part on a quiet gasp, his eyes closing shut as your warm, tight walls surround him. 

Your own gasp echoes in the room. 

You are so full, so stretched, you’ve never been this full before, your lungs struggle to take in a breath. A slight burning spreads through you but it’s soon lost in the sensation of having him inside you. 

“Tell me when you’re ready,” he tells you, resting his weight on his forearms. “I’ll wait as long as you need.” 

He doesn’t move, holding himself above you. There’s no pressure, no worries that you’re taking too long or doing something wrong. The only way you know he’s affected is by the flush sweeping across his face, yet he doesn’t rush you, smiling down at you like he could wait forever. You swallow down the swell of emotion and taking a shaky inhale through your nose, you run your hands up and down his tattooed back, relaxing bit by bit around him until the sting fades, leaving only a faint pleasurable ache in its place. You tentatively rock your hips and–

Oh.

You do it again, taking more of him inside you.

Oh.

He’s so deep now. You didn’t think you could take him but now–now that’s all you want to do. 

“I’m ready.” 

Bucky eases out of you and immediately slams back into your pussy with a filthy, frantic swivel of his hips and you keen, unable to control the needy, indiscernible sound from spilling out. His pace escalates, and the wet slapslapslap of skin echoes in your ears. 

A steady thread of pleasure winds inside you.  

Bucky watches your face, waiting for you to tell him that he’s found what he's been looking for since his first stroke, his angle changing with every thrust. 

“C’mon, c’mon Plum, give it to me, let me have it, fuck, let–” he groans, then his swollen head grazes over a sensitive spot just right and your eyes roll back, a sob crawling up your throat. “There it is, that’s my girl.” His pace getting faster, driving his cock deeper into your pussy. “Gonna learn what you like, gonna discover everything this pretty little pussy needs, and give it to you.” 

Bucky bites your earlobe, groaning in your ear. “You want it fast and deep,” The bed creaking and groaning under your combined weights. He’s overwhelming your senses. Bucky is all you see. His cologne drifting around you. His warm, heavy weight on you. His soft, deep groans in your ear. 

You’re so close, you can feel it wrapping around the base of your spine, thick, hot pressure mounting higher,  threatening to pull you under again. “Yes yes,” you sob, grabbing his firm ass in your hands as he grinds deeper and deeper. “Fuck–”

“Mmmhm, don’t think I’m convinced Plum. Maybe you like it, slow and hard.” He pulls out until only the tip of him sits inside you, your walls clench down, trying to bring him back in

“Please,” you mindlessly beg, your fingers dig into his skin, desperately trying to pull him back down. No one has ever made you feel so incredible, you need him back inside you. You’d do anything he’d want right now. “‘m so close, please Bucky.” 

“Yeah, you are,” he says, a smug tilt to his tone. “You’re going to cum all over my cock, I promise plum.” He slides back in, inch by inch by inch, a languid, lazy roll of his hips, ensuring you feel each smooth ridge stretching your silken walls, brushing over that soft, sensitive spot. “Just tell me how you need it.” 

“I–shit, don’t stop,” you moan into the curve of his neck.

“I won’t. Not until you cum for me.” Bucky takes your hands in his, lacing his fingers through yours, the sweet gesture in dichotomy with the savage way he’s fucking you. “Gonna give you what you deserve plum.” 

As the last word leaves his lips, your orgasm crashes into you, and blinding hot pleasure takes over your body, searing through your veins as its pulses deep in your belly. 

Oh god, you get it now. It’s so good–he’s so good.  

More than you expected. Tears leak out of your eyes, rolling down the sides of your face. 

“One more,” breathed into the side of your throat, kissing your sweat-laced skin. 

“I don’t know if I—” 

“Yeah, you can. Don’t tell me you can’t when I can feel your pretty pussy gripping like she doesn’t want to let go. She needs this. Greedy little thing needs to cum again.” Bucky doesn’t slow down, without breaking his pace, he leans back and lets go of your hands, lifting your hips up. The sudden change prolongs your orgasm, another creeping up. “You got another for me.  Play with your clit” he hoarsely demanded, his gaze torn between watching your pussy swallow his cock, glistening with your slick juices and your beautiful face contorted with pleasure. 

“Good girl,” he praises when your fingers slide down your belly and sweep across your clit, fast circles that push you closer to your peak. “That’s my good fucking girl.

His hands slide up your back and he pulls you up until you’re sitting on his lap, your arms winding around his neck, you hold on dropping your forehead on his shoulder as he fucks up into your cunt. Bucky takes your chin in his hand, tilting your head back. “Look at me, let me see your pretty eyes.” 

You struggle to pry your eyes open, clenching down at the sight of his darkened gaze, only a thin rim of blue visible in his lust-blown pupils. “You’re going to cum for me. Just one more and you’re gonna make a mess all over my cock. Bucky brings your face close to his and he grins. “Those other ones were yours but this one is mine and I want it.”

 His voice, desperate and hoarse, tips you over the edge, only this one doesn’t slam into you like before, it creeps up on you, the knot unraveling slowly until you’re consumed. More tears spill out. A sob tears from your throat, and a litany of BuckyBuckyBucky rolls off your tongue. 

“I got ya, I got ya pretty girl. That’s it, knew you could cum for me. S’proud.” Biting his lip, his chest heaving as you grip him so sweetly, he doesn’t want to stop fucking you, doesn’t want to pull out. Bucky is already making plans for you, one that involves keeping you wrapped around him for the rest of the weekend. In his bed, your bed, on the kitchen counter, and a few times in the shower.

He lets go, dropping his weight onto you, fucking you into the mattress. Bucky takes your chin, turning your face towards him, kissing you, warmth filling you as he cums,  his hips jerking erratically once, twice. A small part of you preens—feeling him lose control is nearly as good as hearing him moan your name. Knowing you’re the one to do that to him is even better. 

Bucky rolls over, taking you with him. His large hands sweep up and down your back. "How was that?" he asks genuinely. 

“Incredible. That was–,” you blow out a breath, “better than I expected.”

He smiles softly. “Yes, you are, “ he murmurs, holding you close to his chest. “I had to go easy on you because it was your first time and all,” Bucky says, scrunching his nose. “Next time though, I won’t hold back.” 

Your brows furrow and you gesture at your still-joined bodies. “That was holding back?” Bucky laughs, the rich sound vibrates through your chest. “Wait. No–you were holding back?

“There’s a lot of things I’m going to do to you. That was just a sample of what you can have. You have no idea what I’m capable of.” The hopeful glint in his expression steals your breath. “You will though. If you want me, I’m all yours. All you have to do is say yes and I’ll take care of everything else.”

“Yes, Bucky.” You don’t hesitate, not even embarrassed by how quickly it rolls off your tongue.  It’s not every day that you have Bucky Barnes between your thighs and you’re not about to pass up the opportunity to be his girl. Crossing your arms across his chest, you look down at him and match his grin with your own. “But let's talk about this holding back thing. Because if that was you holding back, I’m pretty sure the next time is going to destroy me.” 

He leans up, his hand curving around your jaw as he kisses you again. When he pulls back, there’s a cocky smirk pulling at his lips. 

"Oh, I plan on it." 

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky x reader smut

[fandom-fck-me-up]

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ★ ، the batman (2022)

#the batman #the batman 2022 #Batman #battison #catwomen #robert patterson #battinson

[fandom-fck-me-up]

all the apple cider and no more haunted houses

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader

summary: you and bucky barnes have a love-hate relationship—you love him and you believe he hates you—but when your friends insist on going to the scariest haunted house attraction in the area, the experience ends up forcing your real feelings for each other out into light

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, semi-public sex (in a truck), dry humping, dirty talk, daddy kink, praise kink, light degradation, biting/marking, pet names, lot of emotions, enemies to loves, reader has an anxiety attack

word count: 11.1k

a/n: this is one of my halloween stories that i published last year on my ao3, but since i didn't have tumblr at the time, i'm posting them here now that it's spooky season. i think this was one of my first times writing enemies to lovers and i really loved how it turned out. even almost a year later it's still one of my favorite fics i've written, so i hope y'all enjoy!

-

“Are you sure I can’t just wait for you guys outside?” you asked, a whine working its way into your voice despite your best effort to hide your simmering anxiety. You looked at your best friend Yelena and her older sister Natasha with wide, pleading eyes as you stood in line for one of the scariest haunted houses in the state. When they both ignored your puppy dog eyes, you wrapped your arms around yourself, the chunky sweater you wore doing little to protect you from the crisp autumn wind blowing through the fields. Kicking the ground with your boot, you tried not to shiver in your short skirt—you’d stupidly forgone tights—but it was a near thing.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” Yelena promised, knocking her shoulder with yours. Your best friend and her sister had been smarter. Yelena wore black jeans, a cropped t-shirt and a thick yellow flannel jacket to combat the autumn chill, while Nat had on dark blue jeans, a black t-shirt and a green army-style jacket. “I’m sure if you’re really scared, Bucky will hold your hand.” The blonde waggled her eyebrows at you while Nat snickered.

Something fluttered in your stomach at the thought of holding hands with Bucky Barnes—it was ridiculous how the idea still got a reaction out of you, even after all the years you’d known him—but you kept your face blank as Yelena and Nat both watched you closely. You’d never admitted your crush on Bucky to anyone, let alone your best friend. Annoyingly, Yelena could read you too well and she loved to tease you about your infatuation with Nat’s friend. But you still stubbornly refused to admit it.

So although you hoped with all your heart that her suggestion would become a reality, you forced yourself to make a disgusted face, ignoring the flash of triumph in Yelena’s green eyes. “Bucky would rather chop off his arm than hold my hand—he hates me,” you pointed out, reminding your best friend of the biggest reason you knew hoping for anything more with Nat’s friend would be in vain. Unable to talk about Bucky without the sting of disappointment and rejection piercing your heart, and not wanting it to show on your face, you looked around at the crowded area where you waited in line for the haunted house.

You squinted against the afternoon sun, which was high in the sky, washing the fields and orchards and various red wooden buildings in bright light. Thanks to the chilly breeze, it was the perfect autumn day, which meant everyone had had the same thought as you and your friends and decided to spend the day at the fall attraction.

All around you, groups of people milled about, some joining the long line for the haunted house while others walked past the gigantic barn that housed the spooky attraction and continued on to the rest of the farm and its attractions. The haunted house was just one of many at the Barton Family Farm. There was also a corn maze, a pumpkin patch, an apple orchard, a hay ride through the fields, and a petting zoo for the kids. But although Barton’s boasted plenty to do, the haunted house was the farm’s biggest draw—people came from all over the state to go through it. Barton’s haunted house had a reputation for scaring people so badly they needed to be escorted out by staff, there were multiple exits throughout in case people wanted to bail.

Barton’s haunted house was, of course, what attracted your friends, but you were more excited for pumpkin picking and apple cider donuts. Through a lot of pleading and begging, Yelena had managed to talk you into going through the haunted house with her, Nat and Nat’s friends who were set to meet up with you at any moment. Still, you were reluctant.

Another shiver racked your body and you tightened your arms around yourself as you turned back to your friends. “You know I hate haunted houses, why can’t I just meet you guys at the pumpkin patch or something?” you asked again, the whine in your voice more obvious as your anxiety and fear spiked the closer you got to the front of the line.

“Oh no,” a mocking voice said from behind you. “Is the little baby scared of a haunted house?”

You whirled around and came face to face with Bucky Barnes, his ice blue eyes practically sparking with glee at your discomfort. His full lips were curled up into a cruel smirk set into his scruffy, stubbled jaw. Despite yourself, you sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of him. He was just so damn hot, it wasn’t fair that he hated you so much.

Bucky and his best friend Steve Rogers pulled up next to your group and before you could stop yourself, your eyes darted down Bucky’s body. Despite how stubbornly you avoided talking or thinking about your crush on him, you were helpless when he was right in front of you. You didn’t want to, but you couldn’t stop yourself from noticing the way his chest filled out the gray and blue layered shirts he wore, and how his shoulders looked particularly broad in his black leather jacket. Your eyes trailed over his dark wash jeans and dark boots before you remembered yourself, forcing your eyes away from Bucky entirely.

Perhaps it was a little childish, but your way of dealing with Bucky—since Nat was always inviting him, Steve and their other friend Sam Wilson to hang out with her, Yelena, and you—was to ignore him. It had the double benefit of keeping up the appearance that you didn’t have a crush on Bucky, and it seemed to frustrate Bucky to no end. You never understood it. He didn’t like you, but he didn’t want you to ignore him either. You hated that his contradictory behavior only made you curious to understand him, instead of turning you off.

“Be nice, Buck,” Steve warned his best friend as he greeted Nat and Yelena with hugs. He wrapped you up in his arms last, your face squished into the cream cable knit sweater he wore over his own broad chest. Steve squeezed you tight, making you wish—not for the first time—that you had a crush on him instead of his grumpy best friend.

“Barnes wouldn’t know how to be nice if it bit him in the ass,” you sneered as you stepped back from Steve, wrapping your arms around yourself again to fend off the autumn chill. It felt colder without Steve’s warmth and you tamped down on the sudden wish to have Bucky’s arms wrapped around you to keep you warm.

“You think about my ass a lot, doll?” Bucky snarked, the pet name rolling of his tongue like an insult. His smirk grew into a full-blown grin and his blue eyes heated.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think Bucky was flirting with you, but you shoved that idea aside. Bucky didn’t flirt with you. He mocked you and teased you and did seemingly everything he possibly could to make it clear he didn’t like you. So why did you still like him—it was a question your foolish heart didn’t have an answer for. Instead of giving him the satisfaction of reacting, you looked away from Bucky, ignoring him.

“Knock it off,” Steve scolded, smacking Bucky upside the head. Yelena and Natasha laughed as Bucky’s expression collapsed into a frown while you pressed your lips together to hide your smile.

Bucky shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans and Nat asked Steve where Sam was as you all shuffled forward with the line. Distractedly, you listened as Steve explained Sam had had to help his sister with something. There were only a handful of groups left between your friends and the door; panic crawled up your throat, making it hard to breathe. All of a sudden you realized that not only were you about to subject yourself to being terrified by strangers, but Bucky would be there to witness just how easily scared you were. Dread churned with the anxiety in your stomach, creating a nauseating mix.

Turning to your best friend, you tried to keep your voice low as you spoke so no one overheard. “Lena, please,” you begged, using the nickname you’d given her when you were kids so she’d know how serious you were. “Can’t I skip the haunted house?”

Yelena’s face fell. “You promised we’d do this together,” she said, shooting a furtive look over her shoulder at Nat, Steve and Bucky, who were laughing about something. “You know I hate being alone with my sister and her friends—it makes me feel left out.”

“So come with me to get some apple cider instead,” you urged in a vehement whisper, linking your arm with hers so it might look less suspicious that you and Yelena had your heads bent so close together. Not that Nat wasn’t used to you and Yelena whispering together, you were best friends after all.

Shaking her head, Yelena glanced over her shoulder again. “You know Bucky won’t let either of us hear the end of it if we chicken out now,” she argued.

You pressed your lips into a thin line as you looked at your best friend. You knew Yelena didn’t care about Bucky’s teasing as much as you did, but you weren’t sure why she was so adamant about you going through the haunted house. 

Natasha’s laugh rang loudly behind you, making Yelena look back at her sister with love clear in her green eyes and you suddenly realized what was going on. Yelena’s hero worship for her older sister was nothing new to you, and you guessed she was more worried about Nat’s teasing than Bucky’s. You’d long dedicated yourself to helping Yelena live up to the pressure she put on herself to be cool enough for Nat. So if that meant putting up with a little haunted house anxiety and being scared, then it was the price you’d pay for your best friend.

With a dramatic sigh, you squeezed Yelena’s arm tighter in yours so you were inseparable. “Fine,” you relented, giving your best friend a weak smile. “But you’re buying me hot apple cider after this.” Yelena shot you a wide grin before she was distracted by Nat linking arms on her other side.

“You ladies ready to get scared?” Natasha asked in a raucous voice, like she was trying to drum up excitement. Yelena whooped loudly while all you could muster was a half-hearted cheer as fear roiled in your stomach. Steve threw a casual arm around Natasha’s shoulders, ruffling Yelena’s blonde hair a little. She ducked away as much as she could without breaking away from her sister, shooting Steve an annoyed look. He didn’t see it though, too busy reading the rules and warnings for the haunted house that were posted next to the door.

“Don’t forget,” Steve said as your group stepped up, ready to be the next ones let into the barn. “If you get too scared, there are emergency exits along the way.” He shot you a look over your friends’ heads and your face heated, shame climbing up your throat. Your shoulders tensed as you looked away from his kind blue eyes, feeling humiliated that everyone knew how scared you were of a haunted house.

“Yeah, doll,” Bucky started, the mocking way he said the pet name making it clear he was talking to you.

Before you could stop yourself and ignore whatever he was going to say, you looked back over your shoulder. His eyes were bright and intent on you—probably excited to see what reaction he’d get out of you, you figured. You were determined to give him nothing.

“Just look for the bright red exit signs,” he said in a fake nice voice. “If you need help, let me know and I’ll point you in the right direction—that is, of course, if you even make it to the first emergency exit.”

Fighting the instinct to show how much his words hurt you, you turned back forward. You bit the inside of your cheeks to stop yourself from showing any kind of reaction, even with Bucky unable to see your face. Still, Yelena saw something in your expression.

“Shut up, Bucky,” your best friend snapped, glaring at the man over her shoulder.

Your best friend’s anger lit a fire in your heart and you raised your chin in defiance. You would make it all the way through the haunted house, if only to spite Bucky Barnes and prove to both him and yourself that you could do it. With your newfound courage, you threw a glare at Bucky over your shoulder, but the way he was looking at you took you by surprise.

Bucky’s blue eyes were dark with interest as he took in the determined expression on your face. As you watched, the corner of his mouth curled up into a smirk. The look on his face had something hot and needy sinking deep into your core, but before you could analyze what it was—and rationalize away the way Bucky looked at you in that moment—the worker at the door ushered your group forward.

The man, dressed like a farm worker covered in blood, pulled the door open and Steve stepped in first. Squaring your shoulders, you put on your best brave face as you followed your friends—but you held onto Yelena’s arm so tight you wondered if she’d lose circulation in her hand. Fear clawed in your stomach, making your heart beat wildly in your chest, as you stepped over the threshold.

Once Bucky followed you through the door, the worker shut it and you were plunged into darkness. Even with the sun shining brightly just outside the door, the dark antechamber was completely pitch black. You bit your lip against a startled scream, surprised at the loss of light. You felt a hand at your lower back and stiffened before realizing it was Bucky. Based on the warmth radiating just behind your shoulder, you could tell he stood close and, despite how much of an asshole he could be, having him close helped to ease some of the fear and anxiety making your heart batter against your ribcage. 

Ahead of you, Steve must’ve found the door to proceed through the haunted house because it cracked open, letting weak yellow light spill into the antechamber. A moment later, you were tugged along by Yelena and Bucky’s hand fell from your back. Immediately, you missed his solidness and warmth.

The Barton Family Farm’s haunted house had a themed story, something about serial killer farm workers who murder people for trespassing in their fields by luring them into the barn. The story seemed to be an excuse to decorate various areas of the barn as torture chambers, with severed limbs and fake blood decorating every surface. You kept your face mostly buried in Yelena’s shoulder, with only one eye peaking out as people dressed like deranged farm hands jumped out at you and your friends.

When you passed by the first emergency exit sign, the red neon making a blood-drenched scene of a man hacking up a body to feed to his pigs all the eerier, pride eclipsed the anxiety for a moment. But then you moved into the next portion of the haunted house and the fear returned in full force.

You and your friends were forced through a narrow corridor, the wooden walls pushing in on either side and making you feel claustrophobic. To make matters worse, hands reached through holes in the wall, grabbing at you and your friends’ clothes. Your heart pounded in your throat, as you felt cornered, like a mouse caught in a trap just waiting to die. Anxiously, you pushed against Yelena, trying to force your friends to go faster, but in your moment of distraction, a hand grabbed at your skirt, making you scream and push harder. In the back of your head, you knew you were being a little silly. It was a haunted house, but the danger and the fear felt real.

At the end of the tight corridor, you and your friends stumbled into a large room made to look like a normal barn, with stalls along the side. Nothing appeared immediately wrong with it, which made your anxiety spike harder. You backed up, bumping into Bucky. His chest felt solid behind you and for just a moment you reveled in it. Then Steve began leading you and your friends through the room and Yelena tugged you away from Bucky. Fear was making your heart beat wildly, your breath coming in short, desperate pulls as you prepared for another jump scare.

When your group reached the center of the room, five deranged farm hands appeared out of the woodwork, all carrying threatening looking farm instruments as they rushed you and your friends with loud battle cries. You, Yelena and Nat all screamed, and even Steve let out a startled shout, jumping apart when the men ran toward you, breaking up your linked arms like an awful game of red rover.

Your panic took over and you ran to the side, realizing too late you’d maneuvered yourself into one of the fake stalls. Actually cornered, your heart beat against your ribs like it was trying to escape. You turned to run, and were met by three of the men blocking the entrance of the stall. A panicked shriek fell from your mouth when they stepped toward you in unison, backing you up against the wall. Tears sprang to your eyes and started leaking down your cheeks as panic clawed at your throat, making you feel like you couldn’t breathe. Your breaths were short, sharp gasps for air, but you felt like you couldn’t get any into your lungs. Your gaze went fuzzy through your tears.

“Hey assholes!” a voice shouted over the taunting and the jeering of the men. Blinking away your tears, you saw Bucky barreling through the line of farm hands, shoving one into another to make room for him to get to you. “Can’t you see she’s had enough?” Bucky wrapped a protective arm around your shoulders and your arms immediately went around his waist, clinging to him as you wobbled on unsteady legs. Bucky started to lead you out of the stall, but the men tried to block your path. “Get out of my fucking way,” Bucky spat, shooting them a glare so scary they shrank back. 

Bucky pulled you tighter against his body as he led you through the room. Your heart was still beating wildly in your chest, your breathing still short and panicked. You buried your face in Bucky’s chest, sobbing against his shirt as your whole body shook. You weren’t sure how you even stayed on your feet, but you couldn’t think past the fear and panic and certainty you were going to die.

After a few minutes, Bucky tugged you through a door and you felt cool, fresh air swirl around your shaky legs. The autumn breeze blew through your sweater and made you shiver harder. Your feet stumbled over grass as Bucky pulled you along, but you couldn’t think about where he was leading you. The only thing that registered was your fingers ached and only then did you realize you’d been gripping the lapels of Bucky’s jacket so hard the zipper dug into your palms, leaving marks.

Slowly, you became aware of chatter around you, the sounds of car doors opening and shutting, people talking and laughing. Still, your shoulders shook uncontrollably as anxiety pulsed through your veins and you clung harder to Bucky. He smelled safe, like woodsmoke and something earthy like vetiver. The sounds of the farm and haunted house grew more distant as Bucky kept walking.

Finally, you came to a stop and the sound of a truck door opening next to you pulled your attention away from the way your heart raced in your chest. Opening your eyes for the first time since the haunted house, you glanced around and found Bucky had brought you to his old red pickup truck. He’d parked in a corner of the lot that bordered a couple cornfields. There weren’t any people around, the other cars’ owners back at the farm having fun.

“Up you go, doll,” Bucky murmured, boosting you up onto the driver’s seat, facing him as he stood next to the truck cab. His brow was creased with concern as he frowned at you. It wasn’t until Bucky shrugged out of his leather jacket and settled it around your shoulders that you realized you were still trembling. You weren’t sure if it was the cold or your anxiety, but you pulled it tighter, relishing the warmth and his smell.

It wasn’t enough, though. Before you could think better of it, you fisted Bucky’s shirt in your hands and pulled him closer, shifting to the edge of the seat and spreading your legs so you could wrap yourself around him. You clung to him tightly as you cried quietly into his shirt.

Bucky tucked your head under his chin and looped his arms around you under his jacket, one hand running up and down your back soothingly. “You’re OK,” he murmured in a low voice that sent warmth curling through your limbs, chasing away the anxiety and adrenaline. “You’re safe, I’ve got you.”

After what seemed like a long time, but was probably only a few minutes, the panic and fear started to drain out of you. Unfortunately, it was replaced by embarrassment as the full extent of the situation hit you like a brick. You hated that Bucky had seen you at your worst—scared to the point of having a panic attack. All over a stupid haunted house.

You squeezed your eyes shut against the wave of humiliation as it washed over you. There was no way Bucky was ever going to let you live this down. And to make it worse, you were still clinging to him like a scared little baby, just like he accused you of being. That reminder was enough to make you desperate to rebuild the walls you’d erected to keep Bucky from seeing you as weak—or worse, as someone who wanted him and his comfort.

As covertly as you could, you wiped at your eyes with your fingers, trying to clear away the mess of makeup your tears had created. Once you’d fixed your face as much as you thought possible, you pulled back from Bucky, a mask of indifference on your face, though it was wobbly at best. Pulling his jacket from your shoulders, you shoved it against his chest, pushing him away so you could put some distance between your bodies.

“Well you must be thrilled,” you said in a prim, sarcastic tone. You kept your gaze fixed on his chin, unable to meet his eyes. He took the jacket from you and tossed it over the back of the truck’s bench seat.

“What?” he asked, sounding genuinely confused, though you couldn’t be sure without looking at him fully, which you refused to do. So you just jutted your chin out defensively, staring at the scruff on his jaw.

“I proved you right, Barnes,” you explained meanly. “I’m a little baby who got so scared in the haunted house I had to be escorted out through an emergency exit.” You crossed your arms over your chest and looked away through the windshield of the truck, blinking rapidly to keep your tears at bay. The sun had dropped lower in the sky, painting the cornfield in a golden hue.

“You think that’s what I really think about you?” Bucky demanded in an angry tone, but there was something else in your voice, something you couldn’t name. “Seriously?”

Your frustration grew to a boiling point, enough to give you the courage to finally look at him. His blue eyes were blazing with irritation and, if you weren’t mistaken, hurt. But you pushed that aside because there was no way Bucky could be hurt by your words, you were simply telling the truth. “You literally called me a baby!” you pointed out. “It was the first thing you said to me when you got here!”

Bucky rolled his eyes so hard his head tipped back in annoyance. “You really are going to be the death of me, I swear to fucking god,” he bit out around clenched teeth, his voice harsh.

You let out an indignant screech. “What did I do?” you shot back, meeting his ice blue eyes with your best glare. “Literally what did I ever do to you to make you treat me the way you do?”

Letting out a frustrated growl, Bucky shoved his hands into his short brown hair, tugging on the strands as he stepped back from the truck and turned away from you like he could barely stand to look at you. He only gave you a momentary reprieve, though, before he whirled back and jabbed an accusing finger in your direction. “You ignore me!” he accused in a restrained shout, clearly trying to keep his voice down despite his annoyance. “You won’t even look at me unless I’m being mean to you.”

“Are you kidding me!?” you shrieked indignantly, not even bothering to have the same restraint as Bucky. You didn’t care if you drew a crowd, not that it was likely with how far away his truck was parked from the main farm grounds. “You ignored me the first night I met you,” you seethed. “I asked you how you met Nat and you literally grunted and walked away from me!”

As soon as the words left your mouth, you pressed your lips closed to stop yourself from saying more. It already felt like you’d said too much, which was confirmed by the slack look on Bucky’s face. Horror washed over you as you realized you’d probably just basically told Bucky about your crush. You remembered the night you met, you remembered the exact conversation you’d tried to have with him. He’d have to know how you felt about him after giving away that detail.

In an effort to save face, you let yourself blurt out the first thing you could think to say. “So maybe I ignored you after that, but you deserved it!”

Bucky’s eyes blazed to life as he stepped up to the truck, crowding into your space, his hands resting on the top of the cab as he leaned into you. You wanted to shy away, afraid of your body’s reaction to him being so close—already, you felt a warm thrum in your core and your legs twitched like they wanted to spread for him—but you refused and instead held your ground.

“Fucking hell, that’s what this is about? I wasn’t ignoring you, doll,” Bucky said in a low, harsh voice. His blue eyes sparkled in the afternoon light, his stare so captivating you couldn’t look away. “I was fucking tongue-tied because I thought you were the prettiest girl I’d ever met.”

The admission hung heavy in the air between you and Bucky, the tension between you two crackling with energy. Your heart squeezed excitedly in your chest, happy to accept him at his word, but your brain was slower to trust. “What?” you asked in a tight voice as you tried to breathe through your shock and stop yourself from getting too excited.

“You are so fucking pretty you make my head spin,” Bucky said, his hand sliding against your jaw and cupping your chin delicately in his palm. “And if I have to be an asshole to get you to look at me, then I’ll be a fucking asshole,” he explained. His thumb grazed softly over your cheek, his blue eyes reading your expression like you were a language he wished to learn.

It was too much. You and Bucky had known each other for years, you’d been ignoring him at group outings and parties for years, he’d been sniping at you and provoking a reaction out of your for years. You simply couldn’t wrap your mind around the possibility he had feelings for you.

So you settled on a different explanation, one that seemed much more plausible. Righteous anger burned through the delicate hope in your heart, but it felt safer, more comfortable than the scary prospect of having to admit you liked Bucky.

Placing both hands on his chest, you shoved Bucky back and away from you. “Are you seriously messing with me right now?” you demanded accusatorially, already having decided he was. “You’re really such a fucking asshole, Barnes, to stoop this low.”

For a moment, Bucky looked too stunned to speak. He stared at you with a blank look for so long, doubt started to creep in, souring your stomach. But then a fire lit in Bucky’s blue eyes, burning through his icy gaze and threatening to take you down with him in the blaze. Before you could realize what he was doing, he closed the distance you’d created, his hands wrapping around the sides of your face, holding you still as his lips descended on yours.

Bucky brushed a soft kiss against your lips, just ghosting against your mouth before nipping your lower lip in a teasing bite. The sting made you gasp and he took advantage of your parted lips to seal his mouth over yours, swallowing down your moan at the feel of his rough stubble and gentle lips. He pressed closer, deepening the kiss until it felt like he was determined to devour you and was simply starting with your mouth.

Bucky’s kiss was heady and all-consuming, your brain blissfully free of doubt and questions and confusion. All you could feel were Bucky’s soft lips and expert tongue. Everything else fell away as you sank deeper into the kiss, letting yourself melt in his hands. Bucky kissed you like he was tempting you to surrender your soul to him and with the press of his lips, and the slide of his tongue, you were more than willing to risk it all.

When Bucky pulled away, it took you a moment to recover, your eyes blinking open dazedly, eyelashes fluttering. You found Bucky hovering close like he couldn’t bear to be too far away from you. His own blue gaze was hooded and a soft happy smile was on his full lips. Slowly, Bucky started to straighten as if wanting to give you space, but you fisted your hands in his shirt collar and tugged him back down, kissing him with the same fervor he’d shown you.

Bucky made a surprised sound that was muffled against your lips, but then he was sinking back into your kiss, his mouth letting you take control. You slid your hands up and into his soft brown hair, arms wrapping around his neck as you held him close, unable to stop yourself from trying to devour him as much as he had you.

As distracted as you were by the kiss, you felt Bucky’s hands smooth over your back through your sweater until he reached your ass. His big hands dug into the leather truck seat to grab you firmly and drag you to the edge. Your legs spread for him, wrapping around his waist as you pressed yourself flush against his broad body. Your core met a hard bulge in Bucky’s jeans, drawing a hiccuping gasp from you that made him grin against your lips.

“Believe me now, baby?” Bucky rasped and you didn’t have to see his face to know he was smirking, the mocking lilt of his voice gave away. But though you’d heard Bucky use a mocking tone plenty of times before, there was a warmth in it now, almost a purr. “D’you believe that I’ve wanted you for years?” He rolled his hips against you, pulling a moan from deep inside you at the feel of his jeans-covered length rubbing against your slit through your panties. “D’you feel how fucking hard you make me?” he asked, his voice taking on a sharp growl that shot straight to your clit, making heat surge through your body and flood your core.

“I believe you, Bucky,” you said, but deep in your mind you knew it wasn’t the truth—or, at least, the full truth. It’d take longer to really, fully believe him, but you wanted to and that was the first step. So you pushed your doubts and insecurities aside for the moment as he rocked his hips again, making you squirm on the edge of the truck seat, trying to rub against him like a cat in heat. Even through your clothes, he was so hot and hard against your damp, swollen center. It made you dizzy, how much you needed him.

“Good girl,” Bucky praised in a gruff voice, kissing your temple. His hands clutched your ass tighter, his fingertips digging into your soft flesh as he positioned you just right so he could dig his bulge deeper into your panty-covered slit, pushing between your folds to grind against your clit.

The praise from Bucky’s lips felt so good it made tears prick in your eyes. You never thought you’d hear him say anything so sweet to you, and you loved it so much you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from begging him to say it again. But that was too pathetic, even for you, so instead you wrapped your arms around Bucky’s neck and tipped your head back, moaning into the truck cab, the sound reverberating through the metal and leather. You humped against Bucky, matching his rhythm, the stimulation making you soak through your panties.

Bucky dug his hands out from under your ass, skating them up your sides and under your sweater, pushing it up until your tits were bared to the chilly autumn air. Your nipples instantly pebbled and Bucky groaned at the sight of them poking through your bra. He bent down, sucking one of your nipples into his mouth through the thin lace. When he bit down gently on the sensitive nub, you cried out and rocked harder against his cock. “That’s it, baby,” he mumbled against your chest, his lips grazing along your skin as he moved to the other nipple. “Grind your sweet little pussy on daddy’s bulge,” Bucky encouraged you in a voice as rough as the gravel under his boots.

Your inner walls clenched at what Bucky called himself and you rolled your head up to look at him through slitted eyes. He caught your gaze as he sucked your tit, letting it pop from his lips so he could grin shamelessly up at you. His blue eyes raked over your face, taking in your reaction to what he’d called himself.

You’d never called anyone you’d hooked up with daddy, but for some reason it felt right with Bucky. You wanted to test it out, see how it’d feel on your lips. Something told you it’d feel dirty in a delicious way. But you bit your lip, still shy around Bucky, still uncertain.

He seemed to read your thoughts on your face, biting your nipple gently and laving it one last time before he dragged his head up to press his forehead against yours, letting your sweater drop back down. He kissed you, slow and sweet, his tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that matched his hips thrusting against your center. When he pulled back, he was breathing just as heavily as you. “Gotta get you nice and wet so you can take daddy’s cock, right baby?” he asked, his heated blue eyes meeting yours and holding you captive.

More wetness flooded your pussy at his dirty words, and at the way he made you feel safe in his arms. He’d saved you from the haunted house, he’d pined for you just as long as you had. He was proving you could count on him, making up for all those years of being an asshole, you just had to decide to trust him. It didn’t seem like it should be so easy, but you wanted to trust him. So you did.

“Yes, daddy,” you answered in a sweet, breathy voice. You’d been right, it did feel deliciously dirty to call Bucky daddy. The way your tongue and lips formed the word alone felt naughty, sending more heat curling through your already swollen and tingling pussy.

“Oh fuck,” Bucky groaned when you called him daddy, scrunching his eyes shut as his hips stilled. His bulge was pressed so tightly against your core, you swore you could feel him throb in his jeans. “You’re so fucking hot, you’re gonna make me come in my pants,” he accused, opening his eyes only wide enough to furrow his brow in a half-hearted glare.

You couldn’t help yourself, Bucky just looked so silly, trying and failing to glare at you while he tried not to come—you giggled. The sound was pure and sweet as it tumbled from your lips. A wide, happy grin spread across your face to match the delighted sound.

Bucky’s jaw went slack and his blue eyes rounded as he witnessed you at the happiest he’d ever seen you and, for the first time, it was because of him, not in spite of him. Before your giggle had died completely, Bucky was smothering you with kisses. He peppered them across your lips and your cheek and your nose and your eyelids—any bit of your face he could reach while you tried to bat him away. His treatment only made you giggle more and try to squirm away, but he banded his arms and held you to him.

“Bucky, stop!” you squealed, leaning back to try to escape. He pulled back, breathless as his eyes raked over your face, relaxing when he saw you were just out of breath from giggling. When you opened your eyes, you caught Bucky staring down at you, affection written plainly across his face, etched into the lines of his eyes and the curves of his mouth.

As you both simply sat there, staring at each other, you watched as doubt creeped into Bucky’s expression. “You want this, right?” he asked in a tender, rumbly voice, staring you directly in the eye as he watched for any sign of hesitation.

A soft smile curled the corners of your mouth. “Bucky,” you started, pausing to gather your courage. With tentative fingers, you brushed his brown hair back from his forehead, eyes focusing on your hand so you wouldn’t have to look at him while you confessed. “I’ve had a crush on you since that first night, I was just too scared to tell anyone—especially you.”

Bucky winced a little when he heard the truth. He knew he’d been an asshole to you for too long to deserve anything less, but he recovered quickly. He ducked down, kissing your sweetly, an apology on his lips. When he pulled away, he voiced the words he should’ve said a long time ago. “I’m sorry for being an idiot and ignoring you that first night,” he said, dropping a quick kiss on your lips when you tried to interrupt him. “And I’m so fucking sorry for being an asshole every day since then.” He sighed against your lips, like he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to get the chance to kiss you, which is why he did it again. “I swear on my fucking life, baby, I’ll never make you feel like anything less than the prettiest girl in the world ever again,” he promised against your lips, sealing it with another kiss.

You kissed him back, matching the vehemence in his words and his lips. When you finally pulled apart, you giggled softly. “Just please, no more haunted houses,” you begged jokingly. You smiled into his skin, dragging your mouth along the scruff of his jaw, feeling it rasp against your swollen lips. You felt the side of Bucky’s mouth curl into a smile, enticing you back to his lips.

“No more haunted houses,” he promised, pressing a kiss to your lips. Bucky’s hands digging under your thighs was your only warning before he used his grip to haul you further into the truck cab, your ass sliding across the bench seat. “But I am going to fuck you in the parking lot of this haunted house,” he said, a mischievous grin on his face as he climbed up into the truck after you. He pulled the door shut behind him to keep out the autumn chill and the distant sounds of the crowded farm.

“Bucky!” you shrieked as he covered your body with his, pressing you into the worn leather seat of his truck. His smell surrounded you, not just because he pressed close to you but because it was embedded in ever fiber of the truck. It felt like you were being cocooned in Bucky and you didn’t want to leave, but you still felt obligated to protest. “Our friends will be looking for us,” you pointed out, but you sounded half-hearted even to your own ears, especially as you parted your thighs for Bucky to slip between.

He ducked his head, kissing up your neck as his hips settled into the cradle of your thighs. Of their own volition, your knees climbed his sides, shifting until the hard bulge in his jeans pressed directly to your aching core. He chuckled when you let out a breathy moan despite your protest.

“Baby, I’ve wanted you for years,” he murmured in between kisses, tilting your head to the side so he could suck on the skin beneath your ear, drawing another moan from your lips. “Fuck our friends, I can’t wait—I need to be inside you, baby, please,” he mumbled, dragging his lips across your throat so you could feel his need spoken into your skin. It sunk down deep inside you, to your bones, your marrow, convincing you of his desire with every breath.

In response, you rocked your hips up, grinding your heat against his bulge. A broken groan stuttered from Bucky’s lips, making you smile. Your need for him was equally insatiable and you gave up any pretense of protesting when he begged you. “I’m all yours, Bucky, take me,” you whispered, dragging his face to yours and slanting your lips against his in a heated kiss. “Fuck me, daddy, please, I need you,” you begged in a desperate voice.

Bucky groaned low in his throat at the sound of you begging. “Such a desperate little slut for daddy, huh baby?” he asked in a sweetly patronizing tone, so much like the way he used to speak to you but so, so different. And when you looked up at him, his face was filled with affection.

Skimming his hand up your thigh, Bucky reached under your skirt, pushing it up so it bunched around your waist. His fingers hooked in your panties, and he pulled them down as you lifted up. He sat up enough to maneuver you in the small space to free one ankle, letting your panties dangle from the other as he undid his jeans and pulled his dick out.

Your eyes were glued to the thick cock Bucky pumped in his hand. He was girthy, with veins decorating the side and leading up to his broad mushroom tip. Drool pooled in your mouth at the sight of him, straining for you, precum dripping from the head. Your pussy clenched hard, greedy for Bucky’s cock as you reached for him.

Bucky grinned at the hungry look on your face, pushing you gently back down on the bench seat and pushing your sweater up so he could see your tits. He groped at your soft flesh, tugging on your nipples until your eyes were fluttering closed and moans were falling out of your mouth. Bucky bent over your body, planting a hand on the door above your head so he could hover over you. “Condom?” he asked.

You caught his blue gaze and held it as you shook your head. “No,” you answered firmly. “Want you bare.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Bucky froze for a moment, going so still you could’ve sworn he stopped breathing. “You’re on birth control? You’ve been tested?” he asked in a tight voice like he was forcing the questions out.

You giggled softly, the sound more seductive than cute and you wondered for a brief second where it came from. But then you took stock of Bucky poised above you, his cock so hard in his hand it had turned an angry red color as it leaked from the tip while his eyes and lips were pinched tightly closed. You gave it a long moment before you put him out of his misery—call it a little bit of payback. “I have an IUD, I’ve been tested since my last partner, I’m all good.”

Bucky’s eyes were still pressed shut, but he let out a long breath. “I’ve been tested too—I’m good,” he forced out. When his eyes finally opened, his blue eyes blazed, the intensity of his gaze burning into you, threatening to consume you alive—and you’d happily let it. “Gonna take my cock raw, baby?” His voice was a rasp like the metal grate containing a fire. With his grip on his cock, he slapped the thick head on your clit before rubbing his length between your folds, coating himself with your desire.

You let out a gasp at the feeling of him torturing your pussy. “Yes, daddy,” you answered breathlessly.

“Good thing you’re on birth control, because I’m not fucking pulling out,” he bit out in a harsh tone that sent shivers skating down to your core. His gaze flicked to yours, checking in, and you nodded to let him know you were good with what he was saying and doing. A grin spread across his face as he returned his attention to his cock teasing your pussy. “I’m gonna fill up your tight little cunt with my come,” he promised, nudging your hole with the wide tip of his dick.

“Please, daddy,” you begged, reaching your limit with his teasing. Your hips raised in the air to try to take him into your pussy, but Bucky backed off, sitting back on his haunches. When you reached for him, he moved his hand from the door and threaded his fingers through yours. Placing a kiss to each of your fingers, he stared down at you like he couldn’t get enough of the sight of you spread out beneath him.

“I love it when you beg, baby,” he said finally. “Makes me wanna give you the world.” An impish grin pulled up the corners of Bucky’s mouth. “But you’ll have to settle for my cock—for now,” he teased, leaning down over you again, pressing your clasped hands against the seat next to your head. With his other hand, he lined his cock up at your entrance and he breathed hard as he teased you just a little bit more. “So wet for me, baby, such a good girl for daddy,” he murmured praises just before he pushed inside.

Bucky let out a long, deep groan as his cock sunk deep into your pussy, feeling your wet heat clutch at his hardness. The stretch of his thick girth stole the breath from your lungs as he slid in to the hilt in one steady thrust. He paused there, giving you both time to adjust. “Fuck,” he choked out the whispered curse, pressing his forehead to yours. “Fuck, baby, your pussy feels so fucking good gripping my cock.”

You tilted your head up for a kiss, pressing your lips to his as you pulled him closer with your legs, rocking up against him. “More, daddy, please—need you, need more,” you begged against his mouth, your breaths mingling until you didn’t know where you ended and he began. You didn’t know how you could ever get enough of this man. In such a short time, he’d made you feel safe and loved and you felt like you were cracking apart, opening yourself up to him. His sweet words and gentle touches had awoken a ravenous hunger in your heart and you wanted him closer, you wanted to consume him and be consumed in return.

Giving you what you asked for, Bucky pulled his hips back, dragging his cock along every sensitive inch of your cunt, before slamming back inside. His breathing was harsh in your ear as he let out stuttering moans, almost drowning out the sounds of his hips smacking against yours, his balls hitting your ass. “So good, so good, baby, so fucking good for daddy,” he chanted against your check, his breath hot on your face.

And yet, it still wasn’t enough for you. Your face pressed into Bucky’s neck, lips sucking on his skin until you knew you were going to leave marks, too far gone to care as your tongue darted out to taste him and soothe him. “Daddy—daddy, need you, more, please,” you begged, knowing you weren’t making any sense. Your legs locked around his waist, booted feet hooking behind his thighs so you could draw him deeper until he was fully seated in your cunt and he couldn’t pull out more than an inch.

“Fuck, baby, fuck,” Bucky groaned, his sweaty forehead dropping to your shoulder. “Is this what you needed, sweet girl?” he asked, his free hand wrapping around the back of your neck and wrenching you away from where you were sucking hickies into his throat so he could look in your eyes. “Need to be pinned down with daddy’s cock buried balls-deep in your cunt?” He settled his weight almost entirely on top of you, watching as your eyes went hooded with delight, a dazed smile curling your lips. “D’you need daddy to mark you up, baby?” he asked, ducking down and nudging the collar of your sweater to the side so he could suck your skin between his teeth until you were both sure he’d leave a mark. “D’you need daddy to take you, hard and rough and filthy?” he demanded a moment before he sank his teeth into a spot toward the back of your neck right on the edge of your hairline.

A sharp cry fell from your lips as Bucky bit you, but it dissolved into a moan when he pulled back and licked the spot. Words escaped you, your lips forgetting how to do anything but kiss and moan and whimper and whine for Bucky. Your head felt hazy, like you were buzzed, but all you were drunk on was Bucky’s cock and the dirty words pouring from his mouth.

“Fuck, jesus fuck, that’s it, take it baby, take it,” he groaned into your ear, rolling his hips against yours in tight movements, grinding into your cunt and clit until you were a panting, needy mess beneath him. “Love seeing you fucked out and cock drunk for me, baby,” he huffed as his chest heaved with his heavy breaths. “Such a perfect little slut for daddy, aren’t you baby?”

All you could do was whimper and nod, trying to keep your eyes open so you could look into Bucky’s blue gaze as he leaned up and looked down at you. He watched as pleasure contorted your face, delighting in the way your jaw dropped open when he hit a particular spot deep inside you.

“Good girl, good girl,” he mumbled, brushing his fingers over your sweaty forehead and dropping down to kiss your lips. He nuzzled his scruff against your cheek like he couldn’t get close enough to you.

You understood the feeling. Your fingers gripped Bucky’s hand still laced in yours, the other threading into his soft brown hair while your heels dug into his strong thighs, keeping him locked against your body. If you thought you could endure letting him go, even only for a moment, you would’ve begged him to rip your clothes off so you could feel his skin against yours. But you couldn’t even fathom untangling your bodies in that moment.

“My perfect girl, you feel so good,” Bucky murmured, trailing his lips to yours and kissing you deeply, thoroughly, possessively. “Need you to come for me, baby, need you to come on my cock,” he muttered, picking up the pace of his slow grinding until he was rutting into you as much as your legs would let him. “Fuck, I can’t stop, baby, ‘m gonna come.” He grunted and groaned, the sounds of his pleasure and his words filling the truck cab. “Come on daddy’s cock, baby, come for daddy,” Bucky rasped as he pounded his cock deep in your hole, grinding his pubic bone against your clit with every thrust, sending you careening toward the edge. “That’s it, that’s it, be my good girl, baby, please,” he begged.

The desperation in Bucky’s voice and the way his cock pummeled a spot deep in your pussy that had your back arching into him, grinding your clit on him, pushed you over the edge. You clutched his fingers in yours, nails digging into the back of his hand, desperate to be anchored to him as it felt like you were free-falling through pleasure. Pressing your face into the soft cotton covering Bucky’s shoulder, you muffled a scream into his shirt, sobbing your release as your cunt rhythmically clamped down hard on his cock.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, that’s it baby, that’s a good girl,” Bucky praised, rutting into you harder, fucking you through your orgasm as he chased his own. “You’re squeezing me so tight, baby, gonna make daddy come,” he mumbled, his free hand digging between your body and the leather seat to grip your ass.

His fingers dug into your soft flesh so hard you were sure he’d leave bruises and that thought only sent more warmth curling through you, joining the aftershocks of your orgasm. “Please, daddy,” you begged, your mouth finally remembering how to form words. “Fill me up with your come—need it, need you,” you whined, squirming beneath him.

“Fuck—fuck,” he grunted, thrusting hard and pinning you down to the seat with his hips. “Take it, baby, take my come,” he bit out through gritted teeth as you felt him start to come deep in your pussy. You moaned when you felt his cock twitch inside you, his come filling your warm hole. “Good girl,” he panted, as he thrust a few more times, shallowly, until he was spent. Bucky collapsed on top of you while you reveled in the feel of his come coating inside you. “So good for daddy, baby,” he praised, turning his head enough to kiss your cheek.

Your arms and legs felt heavy and loose as your full body relaxed, drifting in the aftermath of a mind-blowing orgasm, feeling sated and happy. Running your fingers through Bucky’s hair, the short strands soft against your skin, you hummed in happiness. Unable to stop yourself, you planted little kisses on his neck. He made a contented sound in his chest in response, his thumb sweeping over the back of your hand.

After a few minutes of recovering, Bucky sat up and brought your hand to his mouth, kissing it while he stared down at you, love and affection burning bright in his blue eyes. “What’re the chances I can convince you to let me take you home now so we can do that again?” he asked, a playful smile curling his lips.

You bit your lip to stop yourself from immediately agreeing. You wanted to spend time with Bucky and get to know him in ways you’d only previously dreamed—not just with more sex, but being able to talk to him without the weight of both your anger and hurt hanging around your necks. But the last you saw your friends, you and Bucky were bailing on the haunted house, and you knew you should check in with them. Plus, you’d been looking forward to all the other autumnal fun Barton’s Family Farm offered and you’d be damned if you left after just the haunted house.

“But I want apple cider and donuts,” you said, pouting up at Bucky, widening your eyes to exaggerate your puppy dog look.

Bucky immediately caved, unable to resist giving you whatever you wanted, especially since it was easily within his power. “I’ll buy you all the apple cider and donuts you want, baby” he promised, ducking down to give you a sweet kiss. When he pulled back, though, he had a greedy look in his eye. “But then you’re coming home with me, yeah?”

A grin bloomed across your face. “Yeah,” you agreed easily and Bucky gave you an answering smile, like it was a natural reaction to seeing you happy.

As Bucky righted himself, stuffing his cock back into his jeans and zipping them back up, it occurred to you that you’d never seen him so relaxed, and you didn’t think it had to do with the sex you’d just had. When he looked up, he caught you staring at him.

“What?” he asked, a little uncertainly. His fingers reached up to smooth over the burgeoning marks on his neck. “Are the hickies too noticeable.”

Shaking your head, you sat up and looped your arms around his neck. “No—well, yes, but that’s not what I was looking at,” you said. At his raised eyebrow, you went on. “You’re so handsome,” you said in a fake dreamy voice, a little bit of teasing in your words. Bucky rolled his eyes but didn’t try to pull away, just smiled down at you fondly, brushing the backs of his fingers over your cheek. He waited you out long enough that what you really wanted to say finally rolled off your tongue. “You’re happy, right?” Bucky’s brow furrowed in confusion but before he could answer, you continued. “Because I’m happy—this might be the happiest I’ve been in a long time and if you’re going to take me back to our friends and pretend like nothing happened, I need to know now.

A troubled expression was on Bucky’s face by the time you stopped talking. “Hey, no,” he said, when you finished. “I’m happy—I told you I’ve wanted this for years,” he reminded you, ducking his head down so he could look at you face to face. “I’m not gonna be that asshole again to you, ever,” he promised, his eyes searching yours like he could root out all the insecurity and squash it. “If I need to spend the next couple months or years proving that to you, I will, OK?”

Stupid tears welled up in your eyes but you blinked them back and gave Bucky a watery smile, your heart feeling like it could burst you were so happy. Bucky leaned in and kissed the apples of your cheeks, first one then the other, before dipping down to kiss your lips. By the time he was done, your eyes were dry. “Ready to get back out there?” he asked and you nodded.

With gentle hands, Bucky used some napkins from the glovebox to clean you up as well as he could, then helped you fix your clothes. He took you by the hand and led you out of the truck. When you hopped out, you shivered in the autumnal chill, immediately wrapping your arms around yourself to ward off the cold. Bucky noticed and reached back into his truck to grab his leather jacket, helping you into it before kissing you once more. You smiled against his lips, grabbed his hand and tugged him back toward the farm.

It didn’t take long to find your friends—they were standing near the hot apple cider stand, holding paper cups of the steaming beverage and sharing from a cardboard dish of cider donuts. Yelena was the first to notice you and Bucky walking toward the group, your hands linked and you wearing his jacket. She turned to her older sister, pointing a finger in Natasha’s face as she screeched, “I told you! I told you it would work!” Cinnamon sugar spewed from the blonde’s mouth as she yelled and she didn’t even bother to wipe it off her chin before turning to Steve, who had his hand up for a high five, slapping her palm against his.

The corners of your mouth pulled down into a confused frown. “What’re you talking about Lena?”

But Yelena was too busy executing an elaborate victory dance to respond, so Steve chimed in with an explanation. “Yelena has been determined to make you guys admit you have feelings for each other—”

“That you love each other,” Yelena butted in, finally done with her dance. She passed one of the paper cups she’d been holding over to you and you wrapped both your hands around it, basking in the warmth while Bucky slid behind you, looping his arms loosely around your waist. Yelena’s sharp green eyes watched it all.

“Yeah,” Steve muttered shaking his head at his friend’s little sister. “Anyway, she had a plan that we go through the haunted house and you’d get scared and Bucky would swoop in and protect you,” Steve finished. “Nat didn’t think it would work,” he added almost as an afterthought.

“You’re both too fucking stubborn,” the redhead said, shrugging unapologetically, but her eyes and smile were warm as she too didn’t miss the way Bucky touched you so easily. Your face heated, realizing both your friends had probably already surmised you’d slept with Bucky.

“So let me get this straight,” Bucky started slowly, his eyes fixed on his best friend, completely unaware of the knowing looks Yelena and Natasha were giving the two of you. “You deliberately tortured my girl just to prove a point?”

Yelena squealed and looked at you with wide, excited eyes when Bucky called you his girl, almost drowning out the rest of his sentence. You couldn’t help the goofy grin plastered to your face in response, nor did you want to. Yelena raised her eyebrows in silent demand for more information, and you even caught Nat giving you the same look. You shot them both a look that said you’d tell them later.

The boys were completely oblivious of your exchange with your friends. “Well she wasn’t technically your girl yet—even if you’ve had a thing for her for a couple years,” Steve pointed out, his face twisting up like he was fighting to keep the guilt out of his expression.

You felt Bucky tense behind you and craned your neck to look up at him, taking a sip of your drink. He’d tilted his head to the side and narrowed his gaze at Steve, anger simmering in his blue eyes. Even though he was facing off with his own friend, his gaze held more ire than you’d ever seen directed at you. If you thought about it, Bucky had usually had a kind of pained look on his face when he’d said those mean things to you. Sadness swept over you at the thought of all the time you’d wasted being jerks to each other. Unable to hold yourself back, you snuggled into him.

Your movement caught Bucky’s attention and he finally looked away from Steve, his face shifting before your eyes from a glare to an expression filled with affection. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and turned back to your friends with a much more relaxed look. Reaching out, he plucked a cider donut from the cardboard dish, holding it in front of you until you took it.

You took a big bite of the sweet pastry and groaned in happiness. Against your ass, you felt Bucky’s cock twitch in his pants and you had to hide your smile behind another bite of donut.

“Semantics,” Bucky said in response to Steve’s comment, a smile on his lips as he watched you eat your donut happily. “Anyway, thanks to you all, I made a promise to my girl and I plan to keep it.”

“What promise?” Yelena asked, curiosity lighting her green eyes as her gaze bounced back and forth between you and Bucky. Your best friend was practically gleeful, but you knew it wasn’t just because she had been right and her plan had worked, you could see in her face that she was happy for you. As you sipped the hot apple cider she’d bought you, you realized you’d already forgiven her for the deception.

“Well actually it was two promises,” Bucky amended. You looked up at him in confusion. “I promised her all the apple cider and no more haunted houses.” Bucky leaned down, your lips bumping clumsily against each other as you both struggled to stop smiling long enough to kiss. But then Bucky’s tongue licked some of the cinnamon sugar from your lips and you had to choke back a moan as he kissed you possessively right there in front of your friends.

“Get a room,” Natasha jeered at the same time Yelena whooped and Steve clapped obnoxiously. You laughed against Bucky’s lips, pulling apart, warmth burning in your cheeks.

That wasn’t the last time your friends teased you and Bucky that night, but you were both too happy to care too much. Bucky couldn’t keep his hands off you. Whether he was wrapping an arm around your shoulders, linking his fingers with yours, or squeezing your butt as discretely as possible, he was always touching you. He kept it up through all the fall activities—the corn maze, the pumpkin patch, and another round of apple cider and donuts.

And then at the end of the night, Bucky took you home and showed you again and again how happy you made him. Over the following days and months and years, he proved to that you could trust him to never be mean to get your attention again—and you showed him you’d never ignore him or your feelings for him. Bucky showered you with love and affection until the memories of you ignoring him and him being an asshole to get your attention were replaced entirely with happy ones.

He also kept his promises, taking you back to Barton’s Family Farm every year for all the apple cider and donuts you could eat—but always skipping the haunted house—kissing the sugar and cinnamon from your lips until you let him take you home.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #enemies to lovers #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes smut

[fandom-fck-me-up]

Vampire Bucky - (2023)

Done for the Twitter meme : "Advertise your account with one image"

#bucky barnes #vampire #vampire bucky

[fandom-fck-me-up]

Bellllaaaaa hiiii:)

I’m hooked on biker/bartender bucky(even tattoo artist bucky) with fucking Tats right now and I’d totally love if you could maybe write him and chubby/plus sized reader having a flirty relationship, maybe they’re like a fling or something. She works at his bar/tattoo shop, whichever au you pick, and they’re just fucking flirty and so naughty together lol

Smut is always welcomed!!

Thank u bby in advance<3 mwahhh🥺💋

about how it started..

pairing: bartender!bucky barnes x curvy!reader

warnings: 18+ only. pining. flirting. smut. a little tiny hint of voyeurism/exhibitionism. if i’m missing something pls lmk!

words: 3.1k

notes: thank you, mickey, for sending this and sorry it took so long! i kind of wanted to incorporate more mention of his tattoos but i felt like i kept screwing it up so i kept it very vague - i’m sorry. but i hope you like this! i really love the idea and i’d love to do more with them in the future, too (including more of his tattoos too 🥴), so thank you, thank you, thank you!! 🥰

also this gif isn’t necessarily the bucky i was picturing but the visible tattoo feels right so whatever 😌

i hope you guys enjoy this! thank you in advance for reading and reblogging. as always, feedback and comments are always welcome and so appreciated! 🖤

You know you should be checking tables right now. You know. But goddamn if you can’t take your eyes off of the brawny, blue eyed, six foot something beauty that is Bucky Barnes.

You’re leaning against the far end of the bar, eyes fixed on him with no plans of trailing anywhere else.

He’s making another Sex on the Beach for the less than subtle, leggy, bleach blonde who’s been fawning over him since she got here. When she and the other college girls showed up, seeming to have already been pregaming, you knew tonight wouldn’t be uneventful.

You could obsess over the fact that the twenty one year old, who looked like she stepped right off a runway, was currently pushing her chest out and twirling her perfectly styled hair as she continued rambling on and on to Bucky, but his disinterest was clear to you as he kept a polite smile and entertained her as he finished the drink.

That, and because you had no right or reason to obsess over who was flirting with him and when.

Right?

You pushed the thoughts away as you admired Bucky’s profile. The way some of his hair had fallen out of his bun and hung around his perfectly sculpted face. How his brilliantly blue eyes shone still through the dark strands. And god did you envy his perfectly shaped nose. Your eyes fell to his lips as he smiled at something the girl said, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to care, you were so caught up in the beauty of it. He gave her the drink before he tucked the loose hair behind his ears.

You watched as the girl held out a twenty with a sultry smile and a wink before Bucky took it with a small laugh as she sauntered off back to her friends.

He put it in the cash box and then pushed up his sleeves as he took the time to count out how much the bar had made so far tonight.

You swear your mouth went dry as his tattoos were on display now. The dark ink that told story after story lining his forearm, and though you couldn’t see them right now, led all the way up his strong arm only added to the endless list of things that made him attractive. The artwork was mesmerizing. Just like him.

“You just gonna stare at me your whole shift, sweetheart?” he says to you without looking over, a smirk playing on his lips.

You take in a breath before pushing off the bar and walk over to meet him where he stands.

“Who says I was staring at you?” you question and lean over just slightly to glance at Torres who was pouring shots at the other end of the bar.

Bucky turns to follow your gaze and gives a laugh when he sees who you’re referring to.

“You and Torres, huh?” he plays along, smirk never faltering. He finishes his count and tucks the box back under the bar before he turns fully to you, blocking your view of the younger man completely, not that you cared.

Bucky walks into you, backing you up until you’re forced into the dead corner of the bar. You nearly stop breathing when he leans into you, his cologne invading your senses, his warmth surrounding you as he keeps you trapped between him and the bar, his thick arms on either side of you. Your lips part on an inaudible gasp when his lips brush against your ear.

“He know I was guts deep inside you last night? How you were screaming my name, begging me not to pull out? So fuckin’ desperate to be full‘a me,” he reminds you as his hands find your waist and he squeezes your softness before pulling you flush against him and letting his hands slide down to your ass. “How many times did you come again? I think I lost count,” he taunts as he leans over you and gropes you shamelessly.

You can see out past his shoulder as he nearly nuzzles into your neck, your eyes growing heavy with desire as your lips stay parted in heated awe.

Your eyes meet the blonde Bucky had just served as she looks on in a bit of a stupor before blinking and turning away with a hint of a blush warming her cheeks.

“Watch it, Barnes. You’re gonna lose out on tips if you’re not careful,” you warn playfully, if not a bit breathily.

When he starts kissing your neck, your knees become unsteady as a warmth starts to grow in your tummy.. and lower. Your hands latch onto the front of his shirt in an effort to stay steady.

You’ve noticed he’s been getting more brazen every day, more teasing and touching when he knows full well people can see, and the fact that he really doesn’t seem to care sparks a bit of hope that maybe this could grow into something more than what it started as.

But as Bucky nips and then gently kisses your pulse point, all thoughts fly right out the window as your main focus is solely on not melting into a puddle right then and there.

“Don’t care,” he says against your delicate skin, placing another kiss to your neck before you push him back just slightly. “What?” he asks as a half smile adorns his face when he stands up straight again, looking down at you.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish right now,” you say as you hold his smoldering gaze.

“You think I won’t fuck you right now?” he challenges, his seriousness sending a thrill up your spine.

You let out a nervous, disbelieving laugh as you push him to turn around. “I think you have some patrons waiting for your attention,” you say, ignoring the desire burning deep within at his words.

He sucks his teeth as he walks back over to the lively area of the bar, but not before eyeing you with a look that promises he isn’t done with you tonight.

You watch him back before spinning around and coming out from behind the bar to start checking tables.

—

You’re leaning over a newly emptied table close to the bar when you feel his heavy gaze on you.

The low cut scoop neck of your top already offered a generous view of your cleavage, but as you’re leaning over to wipe the table down, you’re sure he can see right down your shirt. You hide your smirk as you walk around the table and make a show of leaning over once more, your tight black skirt that hugs your tummy riding up your thick thighs as you do. You’d forgone underwear under your opaque black tights and wonder for a second how much he can see as you bend further over the table.

You don’t have much time to wonder as suddenly Bucky is right up behind you. You stand up against him, your ass brushing against his crotch. His hands are on your skirt as he adjusts it back down for you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks, voice low and husky.

“Cleaning a table,” you answer innocently as you stay where you are, enjoying the feeling of his large hands on your wide hips and his solid chest at your back.

“Yeah? Cuz from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re purposely being a little tease.”

“Me?” you say in faux offense, turning to face him. “I’d never. Just doing my job, boss.”

He pushes you back against the table just slightly, “So, you’re telling me you haven’t been thinking about how hot it’d be if I came up behind you, ripped your tights open and fucked you stupid right here on this table?”

You swallow hard as you feel yourself growing wet at the scene that plays out in your mind. The bar is near empty as you’re both getting ready to close up but the idea of Bucky taking you right here and now, onlookers be damned, has heat creeping up your skin.

“Say I have. What are you gonna do about it?” you whisper wantonly, eyes swimming with lust.

A sinful growl escapes him as he presses himself closer to you. You can feel his growing bulge against you and it takes everything in you to not let out the whimper that threatens to slip past your lips.

Joaquin left twenty minutes ago after him and Bucky served last call, so it’s just you two and the lingerers who are slowly making their way out.

“What am I gonna do about it?” he repeats as his hand comes up to hold your chin. He leans down, face to face with you as he continues headily, never taking his eyes off yours, “I’m gonna fuck you stupid. Right here. On this table,” he breathes each sentence before he finally takes your lips in his. It’s gentler than you expect as your eyes flutter shut and the sound of the entrance door closing behind the last patron signals that you’re alone now.

You sigh into his mouth before you pull him closer, the kiss growing more heated with each moment that passes.

You let Bucky ruck up your skirt as your hands fumble with his belt before you start working on his button and zipper. You stop him for just a second, grabbing his hand, “You rip ‘em, you buy ‘em,” you tell him, earning a grin from him.

“Deal,” he says before easily tearing your tights and turning you around, forcing you down against the table.

“No underwear, huh?” he taunts as he rips your tights even more, his thick fingers wasting no time in playing with your wetness on full display for him.

Your legs are spread as you moan at the delightful feeling of his fingers pushing into your sex, opening you up for him as he scissors his fingers inside your tight heat before curling them the way he knows you like.

“Fuck, Bucky, please,” you whine as you clutch onto the table, pushing your hips backs and trying to fuck yourself on his hand.

“Jesus, fuck, you’re perfect,” he swears before landing a stinging slap to your ass and pulling his fingers out. He quickly tugs down his jeans and frees himself from his boxers, his erection hot, heavy, and throbbing.

“Make me so fuckin’ hard, you know that?”

You only mewl in response as he runs the head of his cock through your folds, teasing you. He doesn’t have as much patience as he normally does, though. He’s been thinking of you nonstop since you left his apartment this morning. Been wanting you close again from the second you left his bed.

He knows this was just supposed to be a fun fling, but from the first time he kissed you, he knew he was done for. He knew he’d only want more.

And he was right.

He wanted all of it with you, not just sex. He wanted to spend his days cuddling you in his bed, watching movies, talking about nothing; hell, he even had to stop himself from texting you the other day to see if you were busy when he had to go get groceries because he wanted your company.

He was hooked on you completely.

But this “fling” was your idea and he didn’t want to run you off with the idea of commitment so soon. So for now, this would have to do. And who was he to complain about the nights he got to spend flirting with you, teasing you, taking you apart only to put you back together in his arms come morning.

He’s pulled from his thoughts as the head of his cock catches along your slick entrance, a hiss emanating from him as you gasp at the feeling.

He slowly lets himself push in, deeper and deeper until his hips are flush against your ass and he’s filling you completely.

Your soft moans urge him on as he begins to fuck you, the sound of his hips slapping against your ass filling the quiet of the empty bar. As he starts to thrust harder, the squelching noises of your fucking grow louder and louder as you moan without care, your hips hitting the edge of the table over and over with his every thrust.

His hands frame your waist as he holds you tight, rutting ever deeper inside of you, his cock hitting your g-spot repeatedly as you whine and gasp in pure pleasure, the coil in your belly tightening with each glide of his cock along your walls and every nudge against your g-spot. Bucky slips a hand down and finds your puffy clit, circling it as he feels you getting closer, your walls squeezing him tighter and tighter.

Your toes are curling in your shoes as your feet arch and slip against the floor when the muscles in your legs and core tighten and strain as your walls clench down on his thick cock and your orgasm hits you hard.

In the same instance, Bucky growls as the swinging of the entrance door sounds. You don’t even bother to look up as you’re lost in the euphoria of your high.

“We’re closed,” Bucky barks, his hips never faltering as he continues to fuck you while your eyes screw shut in overwhelming pleasure.

You vaguely hear a fumbling apology and the door closing once more as Bucky buries himself inside of you, leaning over your bent body and rutting into you as his groans and moans tumble heavily from his lips. With one more thrust, you sigh breathily as you feel him spill inside of you.

The weight of his body on top of yours is a comfort you can’t help but revel in as he holds you still and gets all of his release out, your velvety walls milking his cock as he fills you with his hot come.

He’s breathing heavily as he comes down from his orgasm and gently pulls his cock out of you. You instinctively press your legs together, your thick thighs making it easy. You push yourself up off the table after a moment and turn around, fixing your skirt as you do.

“Fuck,” you breathe under your breath happily. “Maybe lock the door next time?” you suggest playfully, “Or, at least turn the ‘OPEN’ light off.”

“Next time?” Bucky says with a raised brow and a smirk as he fixes his pants. “You like getting fucked in the bar that much?”

“Well, you did say something about fucking me stupid.. And not that that was bad at all, but, I’m not feeling very stupid right now.”

He licks his lips as he takes you in, taking your hands in his and tugging you close. “Why don’t you come home with me and I’ll get you there,” he says smoothly.

“That’d make it three nights in a row,” you say, a little unsure. “You sure you wanna risk it? I might not wanna leave.”

“I might not want you to,” he says, surprising you by how soft and sincere his voice is.

You meet his eye and swear you could drown in the glimmering blues as he smiles that schoolboy smile. You let out a shaky, nervous laugh.

“You fallin’ for me, Barnes?” you tease playfully - just a hint of hope laced in your tone.

He surprises you again as he takes hold of your chin, peering deep into your eyes, before he brushes his nose against your, his lips inches away from your own as you breath each other in for a second.

And then he kisses you.

Soft, yet firm and as you lose yourself in it, a deep yearning for Bucky that you’ve kept down from day one rears her head once more.

You part for a second to breathe before you crash your lips into his again, pulling him closer to you by the front of his shirt.

Your tongues glide against one another as he slips his in expertly before kissing you deeply.

He lets his forehead fall to yours as he parts from you.

You're breathless as he wears a nervous smile you’ve never seen on him before.

“Say I have. What are you gonna do about it?” he repeats your earlier taunt, trying to hide his anxiousness as he waits for you to respond.

You suck your lip as you consider him, biting back the smile threatening to take over your face.

“I’d tell you that, maybe, I’ve fallen for you, too,” you admit shyly, looking up to see his cocksure smile back in full force, just the way it always is.

“Then I’d tell you to take me back to your apartment,” you say, leaning into him for another sultry kiss. “So you can fuck me stupid,” you breathe against his lips, “as many times as you want.”

You nearly squeal as you're taken off your feet in the next second, Bucky’s strong arms holding you securely as you wrap your own around him.

“That I will happily comply with,” he says, kissing you hotly as you smile into it. You pull away just slightly to speak.

“We didn’t finish closing,” you laugh.

“Don't care,” he says, kissing you again as he easily walks to the bar, holding you with surprising ease that you aren’t sure you’ll ever get used to before he sets you down. “We can do it tomorrow,” he excuses, grabbing his keys from behind the bar and flicking the lights out. You grab your jacket and bag from the shelf you kept them on and follow behind Bucky as he locks the doors, escorting you out and to his car.

Before you get there, he turns on you, both of you stopping in your spots.

“We really doing this?” he asks, wanting to make sure this is really what you want, too.

You smile and nod.

“Yeah,” you whisper.

He lets himself smile in return.

“So I can call you mine, now?” he asks, grabbing your hand, pulling you to him.

“I’d be good with that.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“You sure? Cuz once we make this official, I’m gonna let everyone know. I might never shut up about it.”

You can’t help but laugh at how excited and proud he sounds. “I think I’m okay with that,” you smile up at him, meeting his lips in another kiss before he leads you to the car and opens the door for you to get in.

You know you’re okay with that. It’s what you’d been hoping for from the first time you’d kissed, for this to lead to something real, something more. Now here you were.

He wanted to officially call you his, and Bucky was finally, truly yours.

#bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky barnes x plus size!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x curvy!reader #bucky x plus size!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes smut

[fandom-fck-me-up]

Gelato

Best Friend's Brother!Aemond Targaryen x Reader (Modern AU)

Summary: Helaena isn't home, but her little brother is more than happy to entertain you instead.

Masterlist

Word Count: 8.6k.

I dont know why it's this long. I tried to make it shorter. This is my cross to bear.

Rating: Explicit/18+ (warnings below the cut)

Warnings: MINORS DNI, smut, fluff, recreational drug use, smoking, language, penetrative sex, titty suckin, oral (f receiving), fingering, hand jobs, high sex/sex under the influence, praise, dirty talk, hair pulling, creampie, very light degradation, light hand kink, overstimulation, aftercare, all characters are 21+

A/N: this monstrosity is my apology for disappearing again.

based on two anon requests for hand kink and modern!aemond ft. overstim 🤭

sapphire seas update is up next, followed by the final part of titty point.

also obligatory psa: if you smoke weed irl (I do, in moderation) please be careful and know your limits. If you haven't smoked before and want to, make sure your first time is with people you know and trust in a safe environment.

and don't buy weed from randos, okay? okay.

now back to business:

porn!

As always, reblogs and comments are massively appreciated! <3

In your life since beginning high school, there has always been one constant: your best friend, Helaena Targaryen.

She was in theatre with you your Freshman year, her being one year older than you, working on costumes. You were an awkward fourteen-year-old with glasses and no social life, but the second you'd shown up to the stage crew informational meeting, she'd taken you under her wing. 

She sewed, and you painted sets, the two of you spending long hours after school working together, even when there was no rehearsal. Those nights turned into more casual hangouts, girl's nights, and trips to the mall until Helaena was, well and truly, your best friend in the world. 

Your friendship didn't stop when she left for university while you stayed in your hometown to finish high school, nor when you went off to undergrad too. Staying in contact with her was easy–Facetime calls, daily texts, and sporadic road trips to visit one another between academic breaks bridge the gaps you feared might form in your relationship over time. 

Now, a few years later, you're both back in your hometown for the summer. Hel has graduated and is moving on to a Master's Degree program in the fall while you still have a year of university left. For the next few months, though? Your days are slow and spent in the Targaryen family's pool, and the nights–occasionally–smoking a joint or two and watching shitty B movies in their living room. 

There was just one hiccup in your idyllic, lazy summer:

Helaena’s younger brother, Aemond. 

Back in high school, he'd been shy and quiet–painfully so. He was in the chess club and never went to any school events if he could help it. When you would come over to Helaena’s back then, you'd be hard-pressed to see him even once per visit–he holed up in his room, curtains drawn, computer brightness jacked all the way up, and headphones settled firmly over his ears, narrow, skinny shoulders hunched over his keyboard.

He was different now. 

At his core, he was the same Aemond he'd always been, you supposed, but the rest of him? Not so much. 

He'd shot up like a beanpole toward the end of high school, all gangly limbs and achy joints from how quickly he'd grown. Now, three years of university later, his body had caught up with his height. He was more filled out–lean-muscled and broad–and carried himself with a straight, almost elegant posture that radiated confidence. 

When you'd seen him for the first time this summer, you’d nearly choked on your spit in shock. He'd flicked his gaze to you, turning toward the tiny gasp you'd made, an annoyingly self-aware grin crawling over his lips. 

Suddenly, he was far more present than he'd been in years past, coming out to do laps in the pool while you and Hel were sunbathing or occasionally joining the two of you in the living room during your movie nights. 

You were annoyed by it, you would admit, but it was not for any legitimate reason. 

No, the source of your aggravation was how distractingly hot he'd become. It was humiliating how attracted to him you were, and you know that your efforts at hiding it are weak at best.

With a sigh, you pull your keys from the ignition and gather your things from your car to head inside. Helaena hasn't texted you back about your plans for tonight, but going to the Targaryen’s house was practically an everyday occurrence, so you figured you'd just find her when you got there. 

You're puzzled when Helaena is nowhere to be found on the first floor and head upstairs to check her bedroom instead. You've just stuck your head into Helaena's room when you are called to by a low, familiar voice down the hall.

“Hel is with Mom for the weekend,” Aemond is leaning on the top of the door frame of his room, one arm stretched above his head to hold on to the dark wood. “A retreat with our church–no phones allowed.”

“Damn it,” you sigh, shifting your bag. “I guess that's on me for not checking in with her. Thanks, Aemond. Sorry to bother you,” You turn to go downstairs and back to your car, but you stop short when Aemond speaks up again. 

“We could hang. You and me, I mean,” he suggests. “I know where Aegon keeps his weed, and I'm not exactly busy right now, so…” shrugging, he trails off, eyeing you with uncertainty. 

Internally, your wheels are spinning in pure panic, your mind racing, trying to formulate an intelligent reason not to put yourself in a room alone and high with Helaena’s stupidly sexy brother, but all that comes back is static. 

You're nodding before you think twice, a warm smile overtaking your expression. “That sounds like fun, yeah.”

He grins, and just like that, any misgivings you have about your choice vanish into thin air. You can't help it–he looks too fucking pretty when he smiles. 

“Great, just give me a minute to find his stash,” he steps out of his room toward Aegon’s. “You can wait in my room–I've got a balcony,” he shares the last bit sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. 

You let out a low, teasing whistle. “Daaaaamn and you've been keeping it to yourself all this time?”

Aemond waves you off with a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he slips into Aegon’s room. “Didn't want Hel and her friends to monopolize it,” he calls over his shoulder, amusement evident in his voice. You snort and walk into Aemond’s room, peering around curiously, eager to snoop. 

He has a massive desk with dual monitors–of course, he does–and a high-backed chair pushed underneath. It’s shocking how clean and put-together his room is, given the whole gamer vibe he had going, but you aren’t complaining. You’d seen enough dark navy sheets with a single pillow and laundry-strewn floors to last you a lifetime. 

Dropping your bag, you sit on the foot of his bed, letting your eyes trail around the room, drinking it in. Adorably, he has a few family photos on his desk–a group photo of him and his three siblings and a picture of his mom fastening a bicycle helmet under a much smaller Aemond’s chin–as well as a small, circle frame also containing a photo of a younger him, though in this photo he grins broadly showcasing a missing tooth, his thin arms flung around the neck of a large dog.

You rise, walking to the desk to pick up the picture for a closer look, recognizing the dog as the Targaryen's old Great Dane, Vhagar. You’d never met her, but based on what little Helaena had told you, Aemond had a special bond with her and was devastated when she passed. 

“Found Vhagar, did you?” Aemond’s voice hums from over your shoulder, making you jump. “Sorry,” he smirks at your reaction, not looking sorry in the slightest. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you grumble, hand pressed to your chest above your hammering heart. He reaches around you nimbly, plucking the picture frame from your hands. 

“Hm,” he sighs affectionately, setting the fanny pack in his other hand–presumably swiped from Aegon–on the desk. “This was summer vacation back when I was nine,” he tells you. “We used to travel out to Driftmark for a week every summer with our extended family. Vhagar, naturally, had to join us.”

Your face softens, the gentleness with which he talks about the dog tugging on your heartstrings.

“I wish I got to meet her,” you murmur, “she seems like a very good girl.”

“Very,” he agrees, setting the photo back down and sitting, unpacking Aegon's little bag meticulously–a baggie of weed, two nearly spent lighters, a massive green metal grinder, and a pretty sunset orange and yellow blown glass pipe.

“So,” you sigh, sitting on his bed and making yourself comfortable as he places two large nugs in the grinder with his long, nimble fingers, “were you not invited to the church retreat?” 

Aemond snorts in amusement, fitting the two metal pieces of the grinder together and twisting, and you find your gaze drawn to his hands–the turn of his wrist, the faint outline of veins against the backs. 

You wonder what those hands might feel like on your body. 

On your hips. 

On your–

“Women's only retreat,” he clarifies, voice shaking you from your thoroughly embarrassing train of thought. His gaze darts between you and his task. “I didn't qualify, apparently.”

“Poor you,” you joke, hoping he doesn't notice your staring or quickened breaths. “I'm sure you're devastated not to be included.”

“Crushed,” his voice drips with good-natured sarcasm, opening the bottom of the grinder and using a quarter to scoop a generous amount of weed into the glass bowl. “I don't know how I'm gonna recover.”

You snicker, sitting up eagerly as he gathers the packed bowl and one of the lighters, rising from his seat to move to the balcony. Outside, the sky is darkening, the last fading rays of sunlight sinking beneath the horizon, illuminating the porch and the wicker outdoor sofa that sits pushed against the wall. Following behind him, you sit on one end gingerly, Aemond at the other. 

He holds the pipe and lighter out to you. “I would be a bad host if I didn't give you the first hit,” he explains with a crooked little grin, his fingers brushing yours when you reach to take them from him. His touch is warm, and even though you shouldn't, you can't help but long for more. 

You take the bowl. “Cheers,” you hum, hoping you don't seem as distracted as you feel, and flick the lighter to take a hit. 

Inhaling the thick, strong-smelling smoke, you pass the pipe back to him, breathing it down. 

“I hate smoking bowls,” he comments, raising it to his lips, eyeing it distrustfully. “They always hit so rough.” In spite of his verbalized distaste, he takes a long pull, breathing in deeply. 

You take the pipe back from him, grinning in amusement. “Some people like it rough.”

You mean it as a joke, you really do, but he doesn't laugh. Instead, he cocks his head, watching you take a second hit, smirking. 

“Do you?” he asks after a few beats, taking the bowl back from you. 

The question catches you off guard, and you lean over, coughing into your elbow, unable to control it this time as the smoke you'd inhaled burns at your throat. 

“Do I what?” you manage through gasps.

“Let me get you some water–” Aemond rises quickly, frowning at you in concern. “I'll just be a second, okay?”

“No–no,” you manage to take a shaky breath, a few stray final coughs escaping as you dab at your eyes, teared up from the fit. “I'm fine–I'm good, just–can you repeat–what did you just ask me?”

Aemond raises his eyebrows at the veritable word salad that just exited your mouth, his lips curling upward. He takes a second hit before answering you.

“I asked if you like it rough.”

Your cheeks burn, and you deflect by grabbing the bowl again, frowning at how entertained he was by seeing you flounder. You take a hit, your mind working agonizingly slow to formulate a reply as you breathe in the smoke. 

“Well?” he prompts, taking the pipe back for a third hit, his eye remaining on you as he inhales.

“Sometimes,” your inhibitions are crumbling under the heavy weight of your high. “Sometimes though, I like it real slow–lets you feel everything.”

Aemond breathes in sharply through his nose, and you swear you can see his eye growing hungrier as he watches you.

“What do you prefer?” you ask, lifting the bowl again, enjoying how the tips of his ears turn red now that the spotlight is on him. 

“And we're still talking about smoking, yeah?” he taunts, slouching down on the couch and letting his legs splay out wide, his knee bumping against yours. The contact, brief as it is, sends a sharp pang of arousal through you, crackling like electricity, nearly making you gasp aloud. 

“Of course,” you lie, passing the bowl back to him. “What else would we be talking about?” 

His lips twitch, and in place of an answer, he accepts the bowl, inhaling another deep pull and letting the smoke billow from his parted lips, then breathing it back in through his nose. 

The thick blanket of your growing buzz dulls your focus, and you’re distracted by his cheap smoke trick, watching him in glazed-over entertainment. 

“Show off…” you mumble playfully, pulling a face. “We get it–you smoke weed.”

He grins, his slightly reddened eye dragging over you, the bowl still smoking in his hands. 

Those damned hands. 

“D’you have any smoke tricks then?” he asks, the tip of his tongue peeking through his lips as he wets them.

“No tricks…” you admit, a dangerous idea taking shape in your head as you reach to take the pipe and lighter once more. Glancing between him and the nearly-spent bowl, a slow grin overtakes your features. You feel warm, floaty, and lightheaded from how much you've smoked, and you put your half-formed plan into action before you can think twice.

“Have you ever tried shotgunning before?” you ask the question slowly, the words dragging, extending longer than they should–or perhaps that was just your stoned brain fucking with you.

“What?”

“When you're smoking. You know, like when one person inhales the smoke and goes mouth to mouth with the other person and blows the smoke into their mouth?” you explain dubiously, cringing internally at your description of the act. 

“Oh,” Aemond seems caught off guard by your explanation, though his expression swiftly morphs into amusement.

“Are you suggesting that we…?” he trails off, a smirk slowly overtaking the curve of his mouth. You can only stare back, your heart in your throat. 

“If you're game,” you reply as evenly as you can manage. “It's fun.”

Aemond purses his lips, lazily dragging his glazed eye over you, contemplating the offer for a beat before he nods, his gaze dropping momentarily to your mouth so quickly you almost don't see it.

Your lower gut tightens involuntarily, a tiny warm ache twisting between your legs as he looks up to meet your eye again. It's as if he can read your mind, the languid, crooked grin spreading over his face making him seem as though he knows every thought in your head just by looking at you. 

Suddenly feeling very exposed, you drop your gaze back to the bowl in your hands, raising it to your lips.

Pulling the smoke into your mouth, you lean back, inhaling a bit more to suck it down properly, and set the bowl aside, glancing to meet his gaze again. Rocking forward on your knees, you tilt your head, one hand reaching up to cup the line of his jaw almost tenderly. He follows your lead, leaning in with his lips parted, dangerously close to yours, and inhales as you exhale, breathing in the smoke you blow out. 

Your lips brush against his delicately, innocently at first. Then, he chases you when you lean back, a large, firm hand curling around the nape of your neck to pull you in, his pursed mouth brushing yours a second time. You gasp softly at the contact, but before the sound is fully formed, he pulls you into a deep, slow kiss. 

His free hand curls around your hip, pulling you on top of him so that you're straddling his waist. You shift to make yourself comfortable, the intoxicating wet heat of his mouth on yours making your core tighten. 

It feels fucking good kissing him like this, his lips moving enthusiastically on yours, his tongue teasing its way into your mouth curiously. Your hands curl uselessly against his chest, fisting at the wear-softened material of his t-shirt.

“Wait–” you gasp, breaking away with an audible, soft smack, blinking rapidly. He frowns up at you, concerned.

“This is wrong,” you whisper, chest heaving. “We shouldn't do this–you're my best friend's younger brother–” You breathe unevenly, eyelids fluttering as his lips tip up into a smirk, and he leans in, mouthing at your jaw lazily.

“Mm,” he sighs, tracing hot, wet kisses down your neck, “You don't think so? I disagree.”

You clench your teeth tightly, trying to stifle the whimpers building in your chest, “We can't–”

“Oh, but we can,” Aemond purrs, nipping at your ear with a grin you can feel pressed to your cheek. “I'm single. We're both adults. If you want me, we most certainly can.” 

He draws back, grinning at you with a hazy eye, and another rush of heat flutters to life in your core. The attraction you felt for him, debilitating as it was normally, is amplified due to the weed you'd smoked.

Now? 

You felt like you were on fire, your body aching for his. 

“Well?” Aemond prompts, squeezing your hip with just enough pressure to remind you that he's there. “What do you say–walk away and pretend this never happened, but never know if your friend's kid brother could fuck you better than you've been fucked in your entire life? Or would you rather answer that question?” 

His smirk broadens, and you cannot help but let your eyes stray to his lips, so curved and pink, his cupids bow sharp, lower lip pouted, begging to be kissed. 

In truth, you'd mind had been made up the second you agreed to stay here with him and smoke. With the long-standing tension between you and Aemond and the notable absence of Helaena from your plans, it was only a matter of time before one of you cracked. 

He leans toward you, the tip of his nose tickling yours, his hazy eye trailing over your face lazily. His lips curl at the corners, thoroughly pleased by your wordless reply. Carefully, he edges his mouth closer and closer to yours, his lips a breath away from your own. 

It is you that closes the gap, one small hand curling against the edge of his jaw and pulling his face to yours. In your blissful, addled state, his kisses are almost addictive–warm and all-consuming to the point where all you can think is that you need to keep kissing him. 

A faint chuckle rumbles in his chest at your enthusiasm, but he returns your affections in equal measure, hands grasping at your curves. He shifts on the couch to lie on his back, tugging you with him, keeping you straddled across his waist. He grins up at you knowingly, as if to say, 'I told you so', the soft shock of white hair he sports pooled around his head where he lays. 

“Shut up,” you mumble, refusing to meet his pleased eye, instead ducking to seize him in another deep kiss, the soft noise of your lips meeting making your core pulse, soaking your panties with your slick. 

“So demanding…” he mumbles against you between kisses, grasping at your hips to grind you down against him. You inhale sharply, feeling his rapidly stiffening arousal below you, hot and wanting through the shorts he wears. 

A tiny whine rises in the back of your throat, and you can feel his self-satisfied smirk against you, preening at your reaction. You want to wipe that smug look off his aggravatingly handsome face.

Grabbing the back of his neck, you kiss him furiously, rolling your hips against him as a means of revenge. Your vengeance is greeted by a deep, pleased hum that borders on a groan, Aemond's chest vibrating against you from the noise. 

“You never answered my question,” he says breathlessly, his hand gripping the base of your head lightly to draw you down against him, dragging his mouth from yours to kiss at your throat, your collarbone, the top of your shoulder. “Do you want me to fuck you, baby? Want to take my cock right here, out on this balcony where anyone could see you?”

Your lips part, eyes wide with shock and want, and you choke on your response.

“Hm?” he presses you, though his voice is lazy, heavy from the weed.

“Yes,” you almost whisper your answer, body trembling in anticipation. 

Satisfied with your answer, he shifts, using his uncontested upper hand to flip your positions, maneuvering you so that you are beneath him. His hips cant down into yours, almost unconsciously chasing your warmth, the friction of you moving against him. 

“Good girl,” he purrs into your ear in approval, leaning in to drag his teeth up your neck, nipping at the tender skin, greedily leaving his marks behind. You can do nothing except whimper, squirming beneath his touch and mouth, greedily chasing his attention with your body in any way you can. 

Your mind is hazy, and the only half-coherent thought you can manage is a desire for Aemond, for more of his warm hands, his dizzying kisses. He is everywhere at once, caressing and undressing both of you and yet it is not enough–you ache for more, desperate to have him closer, closer. 

You need him

When you try to vocalize this need, all that trickles out is a soft, desperate whine as he pulls your shirt over your head, cupping one bare breast in his palm, his mouth surging hungrily to engulf the other. His tongue caresses the delicate peak of your nipple, flicking it with the tip, experimenting to see what pulled the best sounds from you. 

Aemond's mouth is hot–deliciously so–and the warmth radiates throughout your body, making your head spin. You think you're moaning, but you're not certain–your voice sounds too far away to be your own. He trails to your other breast, rutting his hardness against the apex of your thighs, humming in pleasure at each little sound you make. 

He removes his lips from your chest reluctantly, releasing your nipple with a soft ‘pop’ before he leans back to yank his shirt off. 

Humiliatingly, you can feel your core clench at the sight of his bare torso, and you take your lower lip between your teeth, observing him through heavily lidded eyes. Being high has made you so much wetter than usual, and your pussy aches, desperate for friction. To be filled.

“Fuck,” you whimper, watching as he tugs off his shorts, crawling back on top of you in nothing but his boxers, tented by his obvious arousal. 

He stares down at you, his gaze ravenous, and you reach for him, pulling him to you, bucking your hips toward his. To your relief, he seems all too willing to give you what you want and pulls your shorts and panties down your legs in one go. The cooling evening air blows against your exposed, soaked folds, and you whimper, moving to close your legs to shield your warm center from the cold. 

You are stopped dead by Aemond placing a hand on your knee and pushing it back open, his fingers trailing up your inner thigh to cup your dripping sex. His palm is massive, covering your pussy easily, and one slim finger dips experimentally between your folds like he's checking to see how wet you are. 

A soft mewl escapes you, and you furrow your brows in a wordless plea, your chest heaving with eager, shaky breaths. 

“Poor baby,” he coos sympathetically, his voice slow and lethargic like his words are stuck in molasses. “You're desperate, aren't you? You want my fingers in this hot little pussy?”

“Please, Aemond–” you all but whine, the apex of your thighs throbbing with insatiable, nearly painful want. “Please fuck me; fuck me with your fingers--I need it so–”

You cut yourself off with a low, long moan as he buries first one, then two fingers inside your clenching entrance, working them with an expertise that steals the breath from your lungs. He watches his fingers disappearing inside you again and again, a faint, appreciative growl rising in his throat at the sight.

“Fuck, you're so warm,” he groans, his eye flicking back to your face, half-lidded and lusty. “Gonna feel so good around my cock–so fucking good–”

You arch up from the thin cushions below you as he crooks his fingers curiously, stroking and searching the front of your walls until he finds the spot that drags a breathy cry from you.

“There we go…” he mumbles half to himself, biting his lower lip appreciatively. “Seven, you look so pretty like this.”

He lowers his thumb, circling your sensitive little bud in unison with each plunge of his fingers, the pleasure in your core growing from small ripples to all-consuming waves, searing hot and euphoric.

“Aemond–Aemond–” you gasp out his name again and again, your thigh muscles beginning to tremble under his insistent touch. He huffs, pleased with your reaction, and leans forward to kiss you, deep and dirty, eagerly consuming every little sound that tries to creep past your lips. 

“Feels good?” he breathes against you, his fingers not faltering in their devastating pace. With a distant whimper, your hips jerk against his hand, each wet sound from him finger-fucking you seeming to echo in your ears, unbearably erotic and intense.

“S-so good–” you manage to choke out, your hazy mind just barely aware of the hot coil in your lower stomach twisting tighter, only realizing what that meant when you start cum, shaking beneath him as your pussy gushes around his digits, the sloppy sounds of your cunt fading behind the roar of your blood in your ears.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmurs, kissing your neck languidly, freeing your lips so that you can breathe. His fingers slow, easing you through your orgasm. “You look fucking hot when you cum, you know that?”

He doesn't wait for you to reply, instead sliding his fingers from you and sitting up, the comforting weight of his body against yours snatched away. 

“C’mere,” he hums, pushing down his boxers with one hand and reaching for you with the other, “Come sit on my cock, yeah?”

With a soft whimper, you take his hand, letting him pull you over to him, glancing down as he frees his hardened length from the confines of his underwear. His long, pale fingers curl around the base, and he pumps it in his hand, grunting softly whenever his thumb brushes his sensitive slit. Watching him stroke himself, you wet your lips with the tip of your tongue, shameless in your observation, his barely-there noises trickling through your hazy mind, stoking the desperate heat between your legs and leaving you aching for him again. 

“Condom?” he asks thickly, gazing at your bare breasts unabashedly. You shake your head, the idea of taking him raw simply too delicious to pass up. 

“Not if you’re okay skipping it–I’m on the pill and clean.”

His smile broadens in delight, “Fine with me–I’m clean too,” he murmurs, catching your hips and spinning you, tugging you down against his lap. “Turn your back to me–that's it,” he guides you to rest on his thighs, your knees draped over his legs, spreading you open with your back to his chest, your soaked cunt and bare breasts exposed to the night air.

He grasps your hips in his broad, warm hands, lips pressed to the nape of your neck as he urges you up to your toes, angling you to sink his long, thick cock inside your wanting pussy.

“Oh, that's good–” he gasps out as you push your hips back, pressing the swollen head of him into you, easing his length in, all the way to the hilt. A ragged sigh of relief tears past your lips when he's finally seated within your velvety warmth, the soft, swollen tip of him bumping against the same rough patch he'd bullied with his fingers. 

Aemond is well endowed, to say the least, and you can feel it stretching you out, the heat of his cock pulsing through you deliciously. It's been so long since you felt so full, and your drug-addled brain is screaming for more. To get well and truly fucked the way Aemond promised he could. 

His lips move sloppily against your neck as you adjust to his size, and he breathes sharply whenever your hips rock even the tiniest bit. Beneath you, you can feel his muscles trembling from how tense they are, fighting the impulse to fuck into you with abandon and instead letting you set the pace. 

It's all too much and not enough and the same time, and you let your head fall back into Aemond's shoulder with a whimper, not realizing that you've started moving yourself up and down his cock until he growls out a curse into your ear, his fingers tightening where they hold your waist. 

You keep fucking yourself on his length, with more purpose now, your hands reaching behind you to cling to his torso, using his body for leverage. Every drag of his cockhead against your sweet spot sends chaotic, fierce sparks dancing up your spine. 

You can barely focus on anything except Aemond.

His breathing, rapid against your cheek; the slapping of your ass against his thighs each time you took him inside fully–it overwhelms you. 

Possesses you. 

It feels so impossibly, catastrophically good, burying his cock in your dripping cunt over and over and over until your legs are shaking. 

“Fu-hah-uck…” he groans, lips dragging over your flushed skin, fluttering eyelashes tickling your temple where his face crushes to yours. “You feel so good…so good…so…” he trails off, mumbling his praises under his breath like a mantra. You cannot help how your body responds to him, your pussy fluttering around his heavy shaft and a weak, desperate whine clawing its way from your throat.

One hand steals between your legs, the pads of his fingers zeroing in on your aching clit, massaging it steadily. Planting his feet on the ground, he begins to meet your thrusts, half-snarled huffs leaving him as he pounds up into your hot, wet cunt and the slick sounds of your fucking rise in volume, skin on skin and sticky arousal echoing through the dark, summer air. 

Each swipe of his fingers against your bud feels like he is kindling a fire deep in your belly. It’s so mindlessly divine that you scarcely care that your legs have begun to burn, begging you to stop. The heat growing in your gut contradicts that impulse entirely and spurs you on, weak moans filtering through your gritted teeth, your head lolling back against him. 

His hand, still on your hip, slips up the front of your body, over your stomach, groping at your bare breasts lazily, a guttural sigh of appreciation trickling from his lips as he squeezes, caresses, his thumb worrying the hardened peak of one nipple then the other, almost teasing you toward a second orgasm. 

“You like this, don't you?” he growls, thrusts not faltering, his cock twitching inside you as you clench around him. “You like being all spread out for me, out in the open where anyone could see,” he delivers a light swat to your clit before resuming his intent circling. 

You only moan in response, your mind too cloudy to formulate anything further.

“Yeahhh, you do,” Aemond mumbles, continuing his train of thought despite your lack of reply. “Too bad for them–I've always been bad at sharing–fuck–”

He cuts himself short as, all at once, the tension in your body relaxes, then draws back in tight as you cum again, clamping down on his cock with a choked groan, nearly doubling over in his lap. You only manage to stay upright because of his hands between your legs and on your chest, holding you in place as you shake above him, your fingers digging into his torso fiercely, trying in vain to ground yourself. 

“There it is,” he hums, stilling his hips against yours, though he continues stroking your tender bud, dragging out your pleasure until you’re twitching against him, stunted little gasps escaping your lips against his neck in ragged puffs.

“Aemond–Aemond, fuck, please–too much–” you manage to whimper, sighing in relief when he stills his fingers. He presses a delicate kiss on the back of your shoulder, hands settling back on your waist. He shifts his hips slightly, resettling himself, the movement unwittingly nudging your sweet spot and making you tighten around him, a sharp gasp tumbling from you. 

“Hells…” Aemond groans against your skin, breathing labored, cock still achingly hard. “I'm trying to be gentle with you, baby, but you squeezing me with that tight little pussy isn't making it easy–shit, stop clenching–feels too good…”

“Don't be,” you goad him, the aftershocks of your orgasm ebbing, leaving you still desperate for more. 

“What?” He sounds half incredulous, but you know he understands what you mean by how his fingers tighten against you. Still, you indulge him and elaborate.

“Don't be gentle,” you croon, turning your head so that your lips brush his, the light contact sending a pleasant chill up your spine. “Fuck me. Hard.”

He stills, and you think perhaps you’ve said something wrong, but then he’s bodily lifting you from his length with a growl, rising to his feet. “Go inside and get on my bed–ass up,” he pinches your chin between his fingers, his bloodshot eye dark with unbridled lust. “If you want to be fucked, it's gonna be on my terms..”

Your center throbs with want, desperate to be filled again as you stare up at him, doe-eyed, nodding in submission. Unsteadily, you trail back through the glass door into his room, positioning yourself on his bed as comfortably as possible. Your cheek and breasts press against the cool, silken sheets, your hands curled loosely by your head, and you rest on your knees, thighs spread, ass in the air, presenting yourself to him, your body thrumming in anticipation. 

“Seven fucking Hells…” Aemond curses upon seeing you as he enters, the now emptied pipe in one hand, both of your clothes bunched in the other. He sets the bowl aside and tosses your clothes on the floor, moving toward you purposefully. You cannot help the flood of desire that courses through you at the sight of him, lithe muscles rippling beneath the porcelain of his skin, his heavy cock still shiny from your release.

He sits on the bed behind you, one leg folded before him, the other out straight, hanging off the edge. He grabs a handful of your ass in his large, firm hand and squeezes, spreading you open to his eager gaze. Groaning in appreciation of what he sees, he shifts behind you, his other hand grasping the other cheek. 

Without warning, you feel something hot and wet against your folds from behind, trailing its way up and down your slit–his tongue, you realize. You let out a pathetic mewl of surprise at the sudden contact, though that shock almost immediately gives way to careless surrender as his tongue flicks at your pearl with toe-curling intensity. 

Your mouth hangs open in mind-numbing bliss, the ministrations of Aemond’s mouth on your cunt re-winding the ball of pleasure in your belly. 

You think you might be drooling onto the bed, and you know you're dripping down your thigh, but you're so high and fucked out that you couldn't possibly care less. Not as long as he keeps plunging his tongue inside your needy pussy just like that, his fingers finding their way back to your bud, rubbing intently, urging you toward the edge until you're cumming, cumming so hard your breath catches in your throat. Your body seizes, then shakes, a low, animal sound tearing from you as Aemond hums in approval from behind. 

“That's my girl,” he sighs, smoothing one hand up from your tailbone to the nape of your neck and back down again, his palm a soothing pressure on the notches of your spine. You sigh in appreciation of his gentle touch, one corner of your mouth turning upward lazily in response to his praise.

“That's it–here, lie down on your stomach, baby…your legs look like they're gonna give out any second,” he squeezes your hips, then your thighs, easing you down. Your legs are trembling from the exertion, as he said they were, but you'd not paid any mind to it through the heightened haze of pleasure that engulfed you moments before. 

You lie there for a beat, catching your breath as Aemond stands, disappearing briefly before returning to his bed. There's something in his hand, but you barely notice it through your fogged-up mind, and he lowers himself above you, his stiffened cock nestled against the plush curve of your ass, his firm body moulding to fit your soft one. 

“Can you handle more?” he murmurs, his words and tone tender in spite of the fact that he's presently rutting up against your rear with lazy rolls of his hips.

“Mmm,” you hum unintelligibly, rocking your hips up and back to meet his, chasing any semblance of friction he'll give you.

“Use your words,” he coaxes, pressing a kiss between your shoulder blades, the soft, sticky sound of his lips against your sweaty skin sending a thrill to your center, pushing you to cobble together a reply if only to get him to touch you, fuck you more. 

“Yes,” you rasp, voice wobbly, “I can handle more–I need more–”

Aemond tuts, placing another kiss at the base of your neck. “Greedy girl… you want to cum again, huh?” he reaches down with one hand to angle his cock inside you from behind, letting out a sharp huff of fulfillment as he slides back inside your warm, velvety walls. 

“Yes–hah–I do, I need it,” you babble helplessly. “Please, Aemond, I need you–you fuck me so good…”

With a snarl, Aemond gives in to your pleas without hesitation, thrusting deeply, taking care to go slow to prolong your pleasure. This angle lets him hit the sensitive little patch inside you with ease, rebuilding that deep, primal blaze inside you, your spent nerves crackling back to life despite how much you've already taken.

It feels impossibly better from this new angle, and you can do little besides gasp weakly in ecstasy, your eyes rolling back, losing yourself in how perfect he feels inside you. 

You're hazily floating towards another orgasm when Aemond's hips slow without warning, thrusts growing shallow. 

“Go out with me?” he breathes in your ear, lips tickling the top of it. 

“Wha–?” you slur, confused by the sudden change in his demeanor.

“Go out with me,” he repeats, more like a command this time, giving his hips a sharp snap against yours, making you cry in pleasure. 

“Aem–” you're trying to answer him. Tell him that you want that more than anything. “Aemond–fuck me–” you whine, fingers balling against the sheets, your eyes squeezing shut as you teeter dangerously close to the edge. Each purposeful thrust jolts your body forward against the mattress, his slim hips slapping audibly upon you, the contact stinging pleasurably.

“Ah ah ah…” he slows his pace, chuckling darkly at the noise of frustration you make as he cruelly snatches you back from the precipice of euphoria. Your skin prickles unpleasantly at the denial, and your cunt throbs, deep and desperate, forcing a faint, choked sob to rise in your chest. 

“You don't get to cum until you say you'll go out with me,” he says matter-of-factly, continuing to thrust–far too slowly for your taste but giving you enough to keep you desperate and wanting. 

“Fuck, I'll go out with you–of course I'll go out with you,” you promise raggedly, trying to push your hips back in search of more friction. Truly, he does not need to hold an orgasm over your head to get you to say yes to a date, but it's weirdly erotic that he does, and you clench around him unconsciously, a low, husky moan stealing from Aemond's pretty lips in response. 

“Hm…” he considers your reply, leaning down to press his body to your back, “I don't know if I believe you'll remember–here–” he reaches for what he'd carried with him to the bed–your phone, you realize, “Next Friday, 8:00, I'm taking you for dinner–put it in your calendar.”

“Aemond?” your brow furrows in confusion as he places the phone in your hands. He slips one arm around your waist and buries his opposite hand in your hair, hauling you up so your back rests on his chest again. 

“Write it in your calendar,” he repeats roughly, fucking up into your desperately fluttering pussy, “so I know you won't forget.” You whimper, the pain of him pulling at your hair going to your core, a fresh flood of wetness dripping from you down his thick cock. 

With a ragged cry of frustration, you scrabble at your phone with clumsy fingers, finally managing, against all odds, to navigate to your calendar. With a pleased snicker, Aemond tightens his hold on your hair and body, anchoring you in place as he continues to fuck you faster and harder, making it impossible to think, let alone type. 

“Aem–mond–” you plead uselessly, your eyes rolling back as his hips piston against yours, the hand holding your phone falling limply at your side. 

“Baby…” he coos, chastising you and slowing his pace at once, “don't be a bad girl now, finish typing–c’mon, you can do it…I know you wanna cum, sweetheart…I'm gonna make that pussy feel so good–you just need to do what I tell you.” 

Doggedly, you do as he says, lifting your phone again, sloppy thumbs managing to select the correct day and time. 

‘Aemond dinner 8’ is all you manage to fill in, but judging by his satisfied grunt and the renewed fervor of his thrusts, that is enough to placate him. Your phone tumbles from your hand onto the bed, and he lowers you back down to your stomach, fucking into you with a renewed feral intensity that forces a series of blissed-out sobs from you.

“That's my girl,” he snarls in your ear like a beast, and you can feel your ass ripple each time his hips slap against it. “See, that wasn't so hard, was it?”

You can only moan in reply, the sound fading into a gasp as you succumb to your pleasure for the fourth time, your abdomen contracting tightly, muscles twitching as you cum. Mercifully, Aemond slows his movements as you ride out your high, though you can hear him chuckling distantly behind you, seeming entertained by how easily he can make you fall apart. 

He pulls out of you slowly, and you mewl in protest, hating the emptiness he leaves you with. 

“Shhh…” he murmurs, moving his hands to grab your hips and turning you on your back. You gaze up at him blearily, your legs splayed wide and chest heaving. He trails his fingers from your knee up to your thigh, his roughened fingertips on your soft skin making you shiver in delight. “You think you can cum for me one more time, baby?” he tilts his head in question, grip tightening against your leg.

“Please–” you whine at the prospect of another orgasm, equal parts eager and apprehensive–you crave him still, utterly insatiable but at present, your thighs tremble so badly from the pleasure he'd coaxed from you that you doubt they would support your weight. 

His smirk spreads wider, delighted with your answer, though he still hesitates as he moves back between your legs. “I need a yes or a no,” he presses, reaching down to cup your cheek. 

Even though he's still very obviously stoned, there is no mistaking the genuine care in his eye as he regards you, patiently awaiting confirmation despite how achingly hard his cock is, poking at your backside. The look on his face makes your heart lurch, but you don't dare dwell on that fact. Instead, you place your hand atop his and, peering up at him, you nod again before biting out a one-word answer:

“Yes–”

With a soft groan, he bends to your plea almost immediately, reaching down to align the slick-soaked head of his cock with your weeping entrance, pushing back inside your warmth in one smooth roll of his hips.

“So good–Gods–” he half-mumbles, his jaw ticking as it clenches in ecstasy. You mewl out half-formed thank-you’s, grappling for any part of him you could reach, settling on grasping at his forearms fiercely, vaguely cognizant of him hissing in pain and pleasure as your nails bite into his flushed skin.

“Please…fuck me,” you beg breathlessly, too far gone to give a shit if you sound pathetic or not. You couldn't care. Not now.

“Seven, you look so fucking cute…all fucked and desperate…” Aemond grits out between harsh drives of his hips, his pale fingers denting the flesh of your thighs from how he's gripping them. “Begging for my cock–ha–like a little slut,” he continues, and you cannot stop the way your body reacts to the degradation, your cunt tightening like a vice around his cock, eliciting a string of curses from him that you barely hear over your thundering pulse. 

Aemond leans down, catching your lips in a punishing kiss, his mouth hot and hungry against yours, and you slide your hands up his lean arms, grasping at his muscled shoulders. 

You don't think you can handle cumming a fifth time–it's too much, feels so good it hurts. But you're getting close again. 

Fuck you're getting close again. 

It burns, the pleasure he gives you, swelling in your stomach and licking its way down your limbs, leaving you gaping up at him, brows scrunched together, too deep in your growing euphoria to do anything except take it. The intensity of it all makes tears form at your waterline, and you let out a cracked wail, bucking up into him as he returns his thumb to your bud, circling with the aid of your humiliating wetness.

Aemond’s forehead is drawn in concentration, his cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink, lips parted as he pounds into you, whispering half-bitten praises. “Tell me whose pussy this is,” he growls, dipping to mouth at your neck, decorating the tender skin with little bites that are sure to bruise. “Who's making my baby cum so much she can't take it anymore?”

A few stray tears trickle from the corners of your eyes, trailing toward your temples, and you can feel yourself slipping closer and closer to your peak. You want to be good, want to answer him, but all that comes out when you open your mouth is a garbled moan, your eyes rolling back in bliss.

“Oh, baby…” he coos in artificial concern, “What is it? Is my cock too good for you to answer me?” he curses, feeling you tighten around him. 

“Aem–hmm–m’gonna…gonna–” you're trying to warn him as your pleasure nears its crest, slurring and babbling uselessly. 

“There's those words,” he praises, breathing ragged. “We'll have to…work on you…using them when I fuck you--but that's alright, isn't it? You want to be a good girl for me…I just…have to teach you how–hells, you feel good–” 

He lets out a snarl into your neck, and you whimper by way of reply, arching up against him, your sensitive, pebbled nipples pressed to the heat of his chest, making you sigh. 

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he all but purrs, kissing you sloppily, grinning against your lips when you whine in the affirmative. “Cum for me baby, that's it–make me proud…” he coaxes, and with two more swipes of his thumb on your clit, you’re falling apart, the coil of heat in your stomach springing free and consuming you whole. 

It’s devastating–your mouth hangs open silently, every muscle in your body seeming to go taut at once, limbs tingling, mind utterly blank. The euphoria momentarily incapacitates you, and you’re only able to shake violently below him, almost in pain from it all. When you finally make a sound, it’s a sharp, guttural cry that barely sounds human, your body contracting as Aemond just keeps fucking you.

“Holy fuck…” you hear him groan distantly, slowly becoming aware of a gush of liquid trickling from you, soaking his cock and dripping down your ass onto the sheets below. “So fucking perfect–shit…” his head drops heavily against your shoulder, his hips stuttering erratically until he spills himself inside you. Hot spurts of his cum fill you up, drawing another pathetic little noise from your lips as you ride out your highs together. He whispers filthy things in your ear–what he plans to do to you next, how pretty you look with his cock inside you, how long he’s waited for this. 

Finally, you float back down to earth, your mind foggy, very much still high, but a bit more aware now that your heartbeat is slowing back down. Aemond stays buried inside you for a beat, his lips pressed to your throat, shuddering breaths tickling you. 

When he withdraws his softening length, he sits back on his haunches, spreading your folds with two fingers and inhaling sharply at the sight of his cum dripping from your swollen pussy. 

His eye trails back up your body, a smug grin taking up permanent residence on his lips. With a hum, he kisses your knee, still bent and trembling at his side, and moves around it to lay beside you, pulling you into his arms securely. 

“I’ll get you cleaned up in a minute,” he mumbles, pressing his lips to your shoulder. “Just let me hold you for a bit, yeah?” You don’t respond verbally, instead nestling further into his embrace, face tucked into his chest in contentment. Another kiss lands atop your head, and you preen under the attention, your fucked-out body grateful for the affection in the afterglow of your orgasm. 

“You know,” you huff when you finally manage to regulate your breathing, tilting your head to gaze at him, “if you wanted me to go out with you, you could have just asked.”

Aemond laughs at that in earnest, his eyes crinkling at the corners from how wide his smile stretches as he gazes down at you. He brushes a strand of hair, stuck to your forehead with sweat, away from your face, petting your hair once, twice, three times. 

“Did you not enjoy my method? It certainly seemed like you did,” he teases, his eye glowing with repressed laughter. “Oh, fuck, don't stop!” he pitches his voice up in what you assume is supposed to be an impression of your voice. 

“I do not sound like that!” you protest vehemently, swatting at his chest lightly, your face on fire.

“Fuuuuuuck, pleaaaase–” he continues in an overly wanton wail, tightening his arms around you with a soft chuckle as you pout at his teasing, trying with little success not to relax into his embrace. He only pulls you closer, smiling broadly against your neck, his chest thrumming with a soft laugh that makes your stomach flip pleasantly. 

“Don’t make me regret saying ‘yes’ to that date,” you warn, no real threat present in your voice. “If you’re too mean, I might purposefully ‘forget’ and stand you up.”

That has an effect on him. 

With a displeased grunt, he shifts, positioning himself above you again, his eye narrowed in playful anger, a large hand grasping your hip. 

“You wouldn’t,” he challenges. 

“I might!” you giggle, squirming beneath him. 

“Hm. Well, in that case…” Aemond’s hand trails down, back between your thighs, the pad of his middle finger brushing your sensitive clit, grinning when you let out a little gasp, “I suppose I’ll have to refresh your memory then.”

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#modern aemond x reader #modern aemond targaryen x reader #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #aemond x reader

[fandom-fck-me-up]

Barbie book illustrations transparent png

#transparent #barbie

[fandom-fck-me-up]

win you over | bucky barnes

bucky x fem!reader

warnings: adult content minors dni (mxf intercourse, dirty talk, bathroom sex??) swearing, mentions of death, guns, slight mention of ptsd

a/n: special shout-out to @everybirdfellsilent // @kyberblade bc as always u hype me up and now i’m posting this. HOPE U ALL LIKE IT!!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Bucky? You nearly ready?” He hears your voice outside his door, and nearly trips over with how fast he moves to let you in. When he swings it open, your eyes take their time, travelling his suited figure up and down. “Damn. You clean up nice.”

“You don’t look too bad yourself.” He manages, seeing the thin material shaping every curve of your body. “Good thing I can throw a punch. Might be beating off more than Hydra agents with you in that dress.”

Keep reading

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky x reader #bucky smut

[fandom-fck-me-up]

Mean It

Summary: You and Bucky get trapped overnight in the safe house after a mission. Everything should be okay, except he's your ex and thanks to his carelessness, the situation gets a little more complicated.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Word count: 7,887

Warnings: Smut (sex pollen, slightly dub-con only due to the circumstances but both parties are consenting, fingering, vaginal penetration). Swearing. Angst with a happy ending. (18+ only please).

A/N: This is my submission for @saiyanprincessswanie 2.5k follower challenge. I chose the trope sex pollen. Congratulations, Missy!! You deserve all the love and all the followers. You are truly such an amazing person. Anyways, hope you enjoy this! It was my first time writing sex pollen so hopefully it isn’t awful 😅 Happy reading! 💜💜

A blur of white crystalline flecks swirls against the dark backdrop of nightfall, a taunting dance as you watch through a small window of the safe house. Staring dumbly, you helplessly watch as thick layers of snow blankets over the wooded area. On any other given night you’d find the scene beautiful, mesmerizing even, but not tonight, because this is not how things were supposed to go.

The mission was supposed to take a few hours. A simple in and out plan; get the intel and anything else seemingly worth of value, engage only if needed, and get home. Getting stuck overnight at the safe house was not part of the plan, but it seemed Mother Nature had other ideas when she decided to conjure up the biggest snow storm Eastern Europe has seen in years.

“Fuck me,” you grumble with a sigh, hands perched on your hips.

“As you wish,” a voice from behind replies in a teasing tone.

The comment elicits another sigh, a deeper one this time, full of frustration at the situation and annoyance for who you’re stuck with. Turning on the ball of your foot, you shoot daggers at your partner before rolling your eyes.

Bucky laughs at your exasperation, and it only spurs his teasing on more.

“Could be worse,” he muses, kneeling down in front of the old fireplace. He quickly gets to work on placing a few logs in the center, dousing them with lighter fluid and igniting a match. The room is instantly bathed in a warm, yellow glow.

“No,” you remark sternly, “It cannot be worse. This is my literal nightmare.” Each word is punctuated with the rough shrill of velcro coming undone as you walk away from the window. The sound slices through the air, along with the clicks of buckles before you remove your tactile vest completely and toss it harshly onto the worn couch in the middle of the room. “And to top it all off, tonight is date night.”

“Oh, date night?” Bucky asks in a mocking tone, complete with a faux puppy-dog pout.

Your leather gloves are ripped off your hands and slammed onto a small table by the couch, evidence of your dwindling patience. “Shut up.”

“What?” He chuckles, clearly enjoying the irritation emanating from you. “I just don’t understand what you see in the guy.” He casually walks over to the wooden dining table that sits off to the side.

Another ice cold stare, irritation hardening your jaw and the corners of your eyes. “Enough.”

This time, Bucky rolls his eyes and mumbles something under his breath you don’t quite catch. He turns around to begin sorting through the documents the two of you recovered from the Hydra base.

Gently chewing on the inside of your cheek, you take a moment to watch him and wonder how the two of you ended up here—and you don’t mean snowed in and trapped in a safe house for the night.

The bitter wall of resentment that’s been built up between you over time has left you emotionally drained and, if you’re being honest, deeply hurt. It wasn’t always this way, though. At one time, Bucky was your sole source of all things love and happiness, but he’s always known exactly what buttons to push.

Being partners stuck in a safe house is one thing. Being exes and stuck in a safe house is a whole different ballpark.

You now wish you would’ve agreed with Steve’s initial hesitancies to send you and Bucky on this mission alone, despite your reassurance you’ve both managed to maintain a professional relationship. Which is true.

Flashbacks to the earlier mission attest to that—your seamless fighting styles and communication haven’t been affected by the fallout of your relationship. Each mission is completed smoothly and efficiently with as little damage taken as possible. If only the two of you managed to figure out how to make it work outside the field, too.

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice brings you back to the present, “are you gonna help me with this? I”m not doing all this paperwork by myself.”

“Yes, I’m gonna help,” you grumble, marching over to him and snatching the paper he holds. “I want this done before we leave so we don’t have to worry about it when we get back.” You plop down into a chair, pulling out a Stark tablet from one of the black duffle bags, and begin the tedious task of documenting the details of the mission.

“And why is that?” Bucky questions nonchalantly, taking the seat across from you. “So you can go see what’s-his-face the second we get back?” He leans back in the chair, interlacing his fingers and placing his hands behind his head.

“You know his name,” you reply flatly, not even bothering to spare him a glance.

“Oh, right, Todd.”

“Tom.”

“Whatever.”

Finally, you look up to him from the tablet you hold. “What is your problem with him?” You ask, frustration lacing around the syllables, but there’s a hint of genuine curiosity hidden between the words.

“No problem,” Bucky replies smoothly with a shoulder shrug. “I just don’t think he’s good enough for you.” He holds your stare, daring you to look away as he speaks with conviction.

There’s a slight quirk to your brow, a sardonic laugh falling from your lips at his words. “What? And you were?”

Bucky’s hands fall to his lap, a tight clench growing in his jaw as he sighs deeply through his nose. He holds your gaze for a moment longer, serious and slightly sad, before he drops it to the table and responds, “Let’s just finish this.”

An hour or so passes, and you’re only halfway through the post-mission reports. You’ve silently cursed Steve for sending you on this mission only once or twice, but you’ve lost count of the times you’ve cursed SHIELD and their repetitive documentation. Bucky, in his typical fashion, has been minimal help with the true detailing of the mission happenings; usually only offering elaborate recalls of his super human abilities.

“You did not take down five Hydra agents with one bullet,” you comment evenly, continuing to type and ignoring his false recounts.

“Sure I did,” he responds. He sits back in the small wooden chair, propping his feet on the table as he tosses a small vial in his hands. “You were looking the other way.”

You suppress an eye roll, placing the tablet onto the table. “Stop fucking around before you break something,” you snap, fed up with his uselessness.

“Will you relax,” he replies calmly. “I’m not going to—“ but the rest of that sentence gets stuck in the back of his throat as he overshoots a toss and misses the glass cylinder.

It all happens in an instant—the vial catches on the tips of Bucky’s fingers, both jumping to your feet, yelling to not let it break. But as the vial crashes to the floor, the red liquid inside spilling onto the aged wooden floorboards, it feels like time slows to a complete standstill.

Silence settles over the cabin then. The faint crackling of the fire is the only noise as you and Bucky stare in shock at the small pool of scarlet. Waiting for something, anything to happen, but nothing comes.

“What the fuck, Bucky?!” You cry, the sound of your voice slicing through the thickened air. “What is wrong with you?!”

“It was an accident!”

“I told you to stop and look what happens! Why don’t you ever listen to me?!”

“Will you just re—“

“Don’t,” you retort, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Do not tell me to relax. We have no clue what was in that vial and now it’s all over the floor, and probably seeping into the air as we speak.” A gasp falls from your lips, slipping through a shaky hand that covers them, as panic begins to settle in. “Fuck, Bucky, we don’t know what was in there! What if it kills us?!” Your eyes grow wide, tears brimming at your lower lash line.

He sighs heavily. “Sweetheart, please take a deep breath. We’re not going to die.”

Any other time the pet name would’ve had you stopping, tossing a snide, and probably hurtful, remark at him to not call you that—that he can’t call you that anymore. But in this moment, it falls on deaf ears, and you unknowingly ignore the squeeze in your chest his terms of endearment always elicit.

“You don’t know that!” You feel a tear slip down your cheek and you step away from Bucky and the stain, beginning to pace in front of the fireplace. “Fuck, this is so bad.”

“Everything is going to be okay,” Bucky begins, reaching for his coat and sliding his arms into the sleeves. “I’m gonna go get the hazmat kit from the Quinjet, and I’ll clean it up.”

Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, you look to him and nod.

“I’ll be right back.”

You watch as he slips out the front door, a gust of icy wind sweeping through the small living room. Instinctively, you wrap your arms around yourself in an effort to warm yourself and calm your nerves.

Bucky returns not even five minutes later with a hard, black case. In an attempt to save yourself from any of the harmful effects of the liquid, you remain on the other side of the room, and allow Bucky to clean up his literal mess. He removes his coat and places a mask over his face before slipping on a pair of rubber gloves. From inside the case, he pulls out a few microfiber towels and spray bottles. With your thumbnail lodged between your teeth, you anxiously watch him work in silence.

“Okay,” Bucky sighs, dropping the last towel inside a black bag. “It’s all cleaned up.” He gives the floor one last spray before taking the trash bag to the front door and tossing it outside. Then, he turns to you. Concern colors his features, crinkling his brow and softening the corners of his eyes. “Are you okay?”

Still in a slight state of shock, you can only nod, eyes wide in worry.

“Do you feel okay?” He presses, slowly walking towards you.

You quietly nod again.

When he gets about a foot away, he places two large hands—one warm, one cool—on your upper arms. A gentle squeeze from both to ensure you’re still with him, his eyes searching yours. “Y/n,” he tries, “tell me you’re alright.”

Blinking several times, you can feel traces of rogue tears trailing down the skin of your cheeks, but then you’re nodding your head and taking a deep breath. “I’m…I’m okay.”

His hands don’t move, and you would never admit it, but his touch has always been a source of comfort for you. Even now, when you no longer can seek him out for it. With one final squeeze to your arms, Bucky drops his hands to his side and he lets out a breath.

“Maybe we should call it a night.”

Bucky turns to walk back over to the table to begin collecting the files and tablet, sliding them into a bag. A weight still sits on your shoulders, your feet like lead, holding you in place by the fire. It heats your legs; the warmth seeping through the fabric of your tact pants, and it would be unbearable, except, you’re more concerned with the heat spreading from within.

“Y/n,” Bucky softly calls out to you, “bed?”

“Ye—yeah,” voice sticking, you clear your throat and try again, “Yeah, bed.” Without giving Bucky another glance, you sweep a shoulder against him. When you reach the door to one of the bedrooms, it shuts with a definitive slam.

On the other side, you stand with your back against the wooden slab, chest heaving as you try to ignore the obscure feeling that something is off. Instead, you kick off your boots and crawl into the bed. Normally, you would’ve whined and complained about the hard mattress and scratchy sheets, but your mind is miles away from this small cabin. It isn’t until you hear the distant sound of the other bedroom door closing that you attempt to get some sleep.

__________________________________________

It’s hot. So unbearably hot.

Your shirt and tact pants were discarded hours ago, leaving you only in your underwear and tank top; the blankets kicked off soon after. Even with the single window open in the middle of a snow storm, your body is still on fire. Sweat soaked through the thin sheets, dampening the fabric an uncomfortable amount. And as you continue to toss and turn, limbs thrashing from discomfort, you realize the sheets aren’t the only thing that’s damp.

You tried to ignore it. Tried to forget and tell yourself that’s not what this is. But as the minutes ticked by and your body grew hotter and hotter, the aching between your thighs screamed at you that this is definitely what you so desperately wished it wasn’t.

A fucking sex tonic.

Of course the one vial Bucky had to fuck around with consisted of a serum designed to make its recipients sexually aroused beyond reason; a feral experience until the ache is satiated.

You almost had enough sense to chastise yourself for not recognizing it sooner. The serum was only a myth until Steve and Nat found remnants of it on a mission a few months ago. Bruce was able to run some tests on it, and the findings even made the Hulk squirm.

But your mind is clouded with unquenched desire, the ache between your legs radiating into your lower abdomen now. A throbbing cramp has you curling over into the fetal position, a weak sob wracking through you as you press your face into the damp pillow, willing it all to stop.

From what you can remember of Bruce’s presentation, your options are very limited. You could wait for the serum to run its course, with the small chance it won’t send you into a pain induced coma. You could try to satiate the need yourself, but he warned this could also have a counter-effect, making the pain so unbearable you end up in a coma anyways. Or, and really what seems to be your only option, you engage in coitus.

Another cry rips from your lungs, the piercing pain continuing to uncomfortably pulsate under your skin, as you realize the only person who could help is the last person you would want to ask. Instead, you have a brief moment of lucidness and you allow your stubborn nature to take over.

Slowly, you shift to lay on your back, tears slipping out of the corners of your eyes and trailing down your temples. With a shaky hand, you slide it under the elastic of your underwear in search of some relief. The fabric, damp and tacky with your arousal, brushes against your knuckles, but the second the pad of your middle finger touches your swollen clit, a sharp sting shoots up your body. It rips you apart, like a knife stabbing mercilessly at your insides and slicing you open; punishment for not doing what the serum is designed for.

A pitiful whine falls from your lips followed by a cry. It’s the only thing you can do as you roll back onto your side, pinching your legs together. The lust induced fever reaches unbearable heights, your consciousness waning when a new prickling sensation of needles all over your body takes over. It immediately has you resenting your stubbornness.

Then, a rough, almost desperate, knock breaks you from your thoughts. Through your delirium, it takes you a moment to gauge if it was real or not. But when you hear it again, you deduce it wasn’t a hallucinated side-effect of the serum.

On trembling limbs, you manage to get out of the bed. As you stand upright, you take a moment to grasp the nightstand. Dizziness swirls around your head, the room spinning as you attempt to discern up from down before taking the five, agonizing steps to the door.

With great effort, you turn the knob and pull the door open. On the other side, Bucky appears. Through blurry vision you can see he’s drenched in sweat, too. His long hair sticks to the sides of his face as a sheen of sweat glistens off his forehead. A flush like a blooming rose stains the shiny skin across his chest, reflecting off the moonlight as it rises and falls in rapid motions.

He clenches his hands into fists, but overall, he seems in a bit more control of his body than you, most likely in due part to the other serum that flows through his veins. But when you meet his gaze, there’s a burning, untamed desire spiraling in the depths of blue, blowing his pupils wide, and you realize his control is holding on by a feeble thread.

Seeing him ignites a new fire within you, and it takes you back to before. To a time when things were simple, and there were no defensive walls between you. To a time when you called him yours.

It forces you to let your guard down, and you nearly fall into his arms, whining, “Bucky…”

He catches you, scooping you into his arms and carrying you back to bed. Gently, he lays you atop the drenched mattress, his sinewy figure hovering over yours. He’s close, so close, and that fact alone is enough to make you lightheaded.

A blinding wave of lust crashes over you when you’re hit with a scent that you can only describe as him; musky with a hint of spice. But there’s a trace of something tangy you pick up on, and when you glance to the bulge in his boxers, you know it’s his arousal. The thought induces an uncontrollable throb to pulsate through your core, its effects rippling with pain and you cry out instinctively.

Bucky can only stare at you as he assesses the situation. He’s in his own world of discomfort, you’re sure of it. He can smell you on any normal given day, so you can only imagine what kind of restraint he’s using in this moment when his senses are in overdrive.

“Sweetheart, please tell me you didn’t try to touch yourself,” he pleads when he realizes how much agony you really are in.

Sobbing, you can only nod. A pattern of crescent moons indent into the clammy skin of his back as you dig your fingers into it, an attempt to hold onto something to ground yourself and take the pain away.

He lets out a sigh, one you think is mixed with slight frustration at your refusal to never ask him for help and genuine concern over your wellbeing.

“Please,” you cry again. “Help me.”

Biting through his bottom lip, Bucky can taste copper. His hands clutch at the sheets on either side of your head. The whirs of his left arm fill the heated space as it incessantly grinds from tension; the muscles of his right arm almost bulging out of their flesh confines. A rush of conflicted emotions scatters over every inch of his face; desire, guilt, a tortured sadness, love.

He wants to help you. Hell, he needs help himself, but even through the fierce blaze of pain his body is going through, his moral compass remains strong, and he doesn’t want to make you do anything you would regret.

“I don’t want…I can’t…” he stammers. “You’re with somebody else.”

“Bucky, I don’t give a fuck about that!” You scream, finding your voice through the pain. “If this doesn’t stop soon, I’ll kill you myself before this fucking serum can do it.” Sweat continues to build along your hairline, beading and dripping. Gripping his face, you hold him an inch away to ensure he hears you loud and clear. “I need you.”

The remaining shreds of hesitancy and decency Bucky clung to instantly flies out the open window, catching in the freezing wind and lost to the blizzard. With a firm hand, Bucky reaches behind your neck and crashes his lips to yours. The cool metal of his hand alleviates some of the feverishness, a brief moment of respite, but it’s the feeling of his lips moving against yours, the knowing of what’s to come, that brings you most relief.

A light brush of his clothed erection against your leg has Bucky on the verge of crying, skin crawling with need. His symptoms started after yours, he deduced by the looks of your state when you answered the door, but it doesn’t mean he’s in any less anguish. Everything from the angry red tip of his cock to the sensitive skin around his sac aches in the most unpleasant way.

Leaning closer to you, Bucky rests his chest against yours, only feeling slightly satiated as his body begs for more. But the pressure has you pulling back, sucking in a pained hiss through clenched teeth.

“It hurts,” you whine, eyes scrunched closed in hopes to mentally will the pain away.

Bucky glances down to your covered torso. Through the thin fabric of your tank top, he can see your peaked nipples straining against the white cotton. Without another thought, he slides his hands underneath and removes it one quick motion. In the next, he swirls his hot, wet tongue over one bud before encasing his lips around it, gently sucking at the needy flesh.

“Ahhh!” You cry breathily.

Desperate fingers tangle in his sweaty locks, pulling at the scalp as he tends to one breast then the other. The ache in your abdomen is beginning to subside, but it’s still not enough. Instinctively, you start bucking your hips up to meet his.

“I need it, please. I need you,” you whine into the top of his head, taking a deep breath as his delicious pheromones continue to invade your senses.

Stopping his motions, Bucky brings his lips back to yours for another bruising kiss. His flesh hand immediately begins to descend over your stomach, slipping under the hemline of your panties. He feels how wet you are; how incredibly, impossibly wet you are, and his cock jumps in his boxers at the feel of your warm arousal covering his digits.

This time when your clit is touched, there is no shooting pain, only a blooming sense of relief, and it sends a wave of goosebumps over your entire body. A choked moan sticks in your throat, tears welling in your eyes and spilling out.

“Yes,” you sigh.

Fingers still twisted in his hair, Bucky tends to your neck with sloppy kisses, the short hairs of his stubble scratchy against your skin. Small ripples of satisfaction pulse through your core at Bucky’s continued ministrations, the squelching sound of two thick fingers moving in and out of your heat condenses the heavy air. But it only lasts a few minutes before your body is burning up again; twisting your insides and reprimanding for not giving it what it needs.

“Bucky.”

Releasing the hold you have on his hair, your hands trail down his sides to his lower abdomen. The bristly hairs below his naval tickle your palm as you slip a hand under the elastic of his boxers. His cock is achingly hard when you wrap your fingers around it, thick and heavy, velvety soft in your hold. It’s the hardest you’ve ever felt and you wonder how he’s been able to restrain himself for this long. Gently, you sweep your thumb over the weeping tip, his pre-arousal hot and sticky.

A guttural groan, deep and pained, erupts from his chest, reverberating against the skin of your neck. Bucky shudders on top of you, body going slightly limp as he allows himself to bask in the brief moment of respite. God, he missed being touched by you.

“Please.”

Finally, Bucky picks his head up. His eyes are wide, a crazed, animalistic look glazing over the usual calm ocean blue, but there’s a flash of concern that cracks through.

“Are you ready? I don’t wan—“

“Yes, I’m fucking ready,” you grit out. “Now stop acting like you aren’t also dying for this and fuck me already.”

In a blur of heady movements, Bucky removes his boxers and rips your panties off, leaving you both stark naked together for the first time in a long time. Settling between your thighs, Bucky lines himself up at your entrance, your core already throbbing in anticipation. He easily sinks in, a chorus of moans breaking out when he passes the threshold, the first sense of real relief you’ve both felt all night.

When he bottoms out, it's the fullest you’ve ever felt. It’s an unexplainable feeling that has you wanting to claw your skin off at how amazing the sensation is; the ache almost satisfied.

Bucky nearly collapses on top of you. Also momentarily blissed out from the euphoric sense of relief, his forearms catch himself just before he crushes you with his weight. You’ve always been tight, but this, this has his toes curling and fingers gripping desperately at the headboard, willing himself to keep it together and not manically drive into you.

“Fuck,” he groans, and you can feel his body trembling against yours.

Nails dig into the slick skin of his lower back, pulling him into you briefly before demanding, “Move.”

Without having to be told twice, Bucky lets go and retracts his hips before relentlessly pounding into you. A scream rips from your lungs, and you think you could be on the verge of passing out. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes around the room, blending with muffled grunts and strangled moans.

“Always so tight,” Bucky groans against your open mouth. “So good for me.” He peppers kisses over your face, wiping a gentle hand over your forehead to remove some of the sweat that’s built up before using it to cradle the back of your head.

Your body is alight with a tingling desire, tuning you into every minute feeling; each veiny ridge of his cock drags against your silk walls, the coarse hairs at the base tickling your slick folds each time he reaches the hilt, a delicious full pressure filling you up. It creates a burning friction that has you already clenching around him, and your only reaction is to bury your face into his neck, nipping at the flesh there.

Bucky growls, his chest vibrating against yours. Blindly, he reaches for your right thigh with his metal hand, hiking it high over his hip. The new, deeper angle has you pulling your mouth away from his neck to blissfully cry out. The springs of the cheap mattress continuously prod at your lower back as Bucky shifts his weight to increase the force of his thrusts.

Above you, Bucky is teetering on the edge of losing all control and giving in to the innate primal urge clawing its way out, begging to be released. But the super soldier serum allows him to keep one hand on the wheel, and he’s grateful for that. At least one of you can keep a semi-level head in this situation—one that he’s to blame for. As he watches you, though, squirming under him from uncontrollable need, feeling you clench down around him over and over again, whimpering in a blissed out daze, his willpower is faltering.

With every rough snap of his hips, he feels you getting closer, the tip of his cock repeatedly hitting the sweet spot inside you. He’s mindful to not leave any marks; a partly coherent piece of him still aware enough to not leave any physical traces on you of this god awful event. The vibranium grip he has on your thigh loosens.

He’s careful to not leave a mark, but he lets you. From the bruising kisses already purpling on his neck to the harsh red lines scratched down his back, he lets you. And he silently curses the serum’s rapid healing effects, knowing he’ll only have these reminders for a short while. To remind him when you were his again, even if it isn’t in the way he wanted, he could still fool himself.

Two trembling arms snake around Bucky’s neck, your quivering thighs tighten against his hips. There’s a new throbbing ache, a building soreness, between your legs, but this time, it’s welcomed. Your insides begin to twist, the chord of pleasure straining for release.

Bucky momentarily frees your thigh from his hold to slip his metal hand between your sweat covered bodies. The typically cool metal is hot against your swollen clit as he rubs generous circles over it, pushing you closer to the edge of euphoria.

“Don’t stop,” you pant against the shell of his ear. “Please don’t stop.”

It takes only a few more rapid thrusts before your skin begins to prickle with the sensation of pins and needles. A contradiction of pain and pleasure emanating from your core, overwhelming you as the chord snaps and your entire body engulfs in flaming elation. It ceases your breathing, has your eyes rolling into the back of your head, vision blurred and whited out.

“Fuck, yes!” You cry out between strangled sobs, arms and legs securing firmly around Bucky.

Tightly clenching around him, Bucky nearly chokes on air, the tightest you’ve ever been, and he’s determined to reach his own release. His skin is on fire, body blazing with need and his rational mind slips as he finally gives in. Viscously snapping his hips into you, he’s so close he can almost taste it. A wild rush courses through him, egging him on and clouding his mind.

“My best girl,” he pants by your ear, face buried in the pillow you rest on, “my only girl.”

He continues to pound into you, his thrusts faltering every now and then when he feels a fluttering aftershock of your orgasm. “Love you,” he breathes between nips and kisses along your slack jaw, one hand gripping the back of your neck, the other gripping onto the underside of your thigh again, “so much.”

The words dissolve into the mist of your sex fueled haze and they’re quickly forgotten about as you blindly agree you love him too. He bites down gently on the skin of your shoulder, a feral growl reverberates through his entire body as he releases inside you, and he forces himself in as deep as he can go. So much for not leaving any marks.

The two of you stay like that for a moment, bodies trembling and hearts thundering wildly in your chests, competing against one another as you come down from the intense high. Like a thick fog, the lustful intoxication of the serum dissipates, clearing your minds and allowing the harsh reality of the situation to settle in.

A chill fills the room, a breath of wind spilling in from the open window, causing you to shudder beneath him. It’s the only thing you can really feel as a numbing after effect consumes you.

Bucky feels you slightly shaking and lifts up, letting go of your thigh and you let it limply fall to the mattress. Resting on one hand, Bucky uses the other to grip the base of his cock, slowly removing it from inside you. You both watch as he reappears covered in your mixed juices. Pained hisses cut through the silence when he’s fully out, taking a piece of you with him; or maybe it’s one he’s always had. An uncomfortable emptiness leaves you feeling hollow in more ways than one.

Then, Bucky is looking to you. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” He searches your eyes for any indication that you’re in any form of discomfort.

You don’t respond; only stare blankly up at him for a moment before sliding your legs out from under him and gently push off the bed. Silently, you gather your clothing that was discarded in a feverish state of pain and desire, not even bothering to take the time to search for your underwear Bucky carelessly threw somewhere. As you move around the room, the warm stickiness of his spend begins to trail down your inner thigh, hastening your effort to get cleaned up. Without another glance in his direction, you slip out of the room and into the bathroom across the hall.

Cool, refreshing water cascades over your skin, simmering the boil of surging emotions inside. Anger at Bucky’s carelessness; guilt at cheating on your partner; and confusion at the newfound adoration you thought was buried long ago, when you and Bucky decided it was no longer working between you.

It’s difficult for you to discern when your feelings towards Bucky started blossoming again. You could easily brush it off as a lingering side effect of the serum—a slight emotional attachment to the person who took your pain away. But you know it’s so much more than that. If anything, tonight has brought to light all the feelings you’ve been trying to suppress for far too long.

Moments of catching yourself staring longer than you should; being secretly excited when assigned on missions together, despite outwardly protesting your discontent for the situation; nights spent wondering about the what ifs and could have beens.

The raging storm of confusion elicits a deep frustrated grumble. Slipping your head under the running water, you pray for it to help make sense of everything swirling around inside it.

The pipes squeak and groan as you cut off the water, drying off and redressing. But before you slip your shirt back on, you catch sight of a reddened mark on your right shoulder in the mirror. Grazing light fingers over it, you harshly bite down on your bottom lip to stop the threat of tears. Quickly, you drag your shirt over your head and cover it up, trying to forget that Bucky had been yours once again, if only for a moment. But there’s still a dull ache throbbing between your legs, radiating up into your chest and clamping around your heart, and you pull on every fiber in your being to not cry at the thought of it.

Opening the bathroom door, you peek out into the hallway, searching for any sign you’re not alone. When you don’t see one, you step out but stop before going back into your room.

The door hangs open, a clear view of tangled sheets and a fading imprint on the mattress the only remaining signs of what just occurred. The ache slightly intensifies the longer you stare at it. Instead, you opt to sleep on the couch in the living room.

The fire burned out hours ago, the room only illuminated now by the bright moon hanging outside the window. Laying on the couch, a numbness settles over your body, glassy eyes staring at the pulsating glow of the small pile of embers. Only a few minutes pass before you finally cave, crumbling into yourself as you allow the new wave of internal pain to take over, and you cry.

__________________________________________

A soft weighted sensation stirs you from your sleep the next morning, and you have to quickly reach out to stop the blanket that covers you from slipping onto the floor. Gripping it, your brows knit together as curious eyes scan over the fabric. You don’t recall getting the blanket at any point during the night, and you slowly sit up to place it on the cushion beside you.

The front door opens, and you snap your head in the direction to see Bucky’s large figure appearing in the room, stomping his feet to rid his boots of snow. Instinctively, your eyes squint from the brightness of the sun reflecting on the whiteness outside, raising a hand to shield it. When Bucky catches sight that you’re awake, he stops his motions and stares at you.

His cerulean eyes are always brighter in the morning, something you remember from before, but no longer allow yourself to bask in. This morning, however, they’re a sad shade of grey; dull, puffy, and slightly red around the rim. A flicker of remorse flashes across his features as he notices your own disheveled state.

He uneasily clears his throat, dropping your gaze to remove the gloves from his hands. “The Quinjet is all packed. I figured you’d want to leave as soon as possible.” He clutches both gloves in one hand, looking to you once again. “I’m ready when you are.”

Blinking away the tears that burn the back of your eyes, you nod your head. “Okay.”

Almost like a hangover, you’re still a bit lightheaded from the after effects of the serum and your night of crying, wobbling a bit when you stand on two feet. In hopes to steady your equilibrium, you press the base of your palms into your eyes, taking a few deep breaths.

“Are you okay?” Bucky softly asks, voice ripe with worry.

“I’m fine.” The words scratch their way out, your throat sore from crying.

Without another word, you collect your belongings and rush out to the Quinjet, leaving Bucky to follow behind you. Settling in, you choose to sit as far away from him as possible, your skin already crawling at the prospect of sitting in an uncomfortable silence for the next four hours with your ex-boyfriend.

Your ex-boyfriend who you reluctantly had between your legs no less than eight hours ago.

The faint throb returns, constricting your chest, and you shift to turn away from him. Even from the pilot’s seat, you can feel Bucky’s stare burning through you. You shift again, curling your legs up and tucking an arm under your head in an attempt to get comfortable enough to hopefully fall asleep, and ignore the awkward tension brewing between you.

Once you’re finally back at the Compound, you can’t get off the Quinjet fast enough. As you land, Bucky rhetorically tells you he’ll finish up the rest of the post-mission paperwork, ensuring you won’t have to worry about it. You only nod before leaving him alone to retreat back to your room.

Five long days pass in a blur.

Nat came to check on you soon after you returned home. You internally debated telling her what happened, but the more you tried to keep it to yourself, the more it ate away at you. Once the initial shock wore off, she insisted you go to the med lab to get checked out, and then asked what you were going to do now.

You could only answer honestly when you said, “I don’t know.”

You knew you had to talk to Tom. The thought alone created a rock of dread that sat heavy in your stomach, but it was nothing compared to the thought of having to talk to Bucky.

It’s on the sixth day you finally manage to muster up enough courage to talk to the man you’ve been avoiding for almost a week. You haven’t seen Bucky since you returned home, mindful to keep your distance and you’re sure he tried to keep his, too. A few times you heard him coming and going from his room, and you think there was one night he lingered outside your door before he decided against coming to you.

The sound of his door closing breaks you from your thoughts, head snapping in the direction of the wooden barrier currently between you. Gently chewing on the inside of your cheek, you ponder for another moment before you ultimately decide to just get it over with, rip the metaphorical bandaid off and be done with it. Standing up from the chair you sit on, you take a deep breath and go to him.

Hesitantly, you raise a fisted hand to his door, knocking softly. You wait, your fingers wringing together as anxiety curdles in your stomach, and you almost turn to leave, but the door suddenly whips open. Bucky stands before you with a slight dip in his brow, eyes uncertain as he regards you, waiting for you to speak.

“Um,” you begin, voice low and shy, “can we talk?”

He remains silent, stepping to the side to open the door for you to enter. You falter, taking a step before second guessing if this is even a good idea, and you almost run back to your room until you stop yourself. Stop being dumb.

Bucky closes the door once you’re inside, and you’re suddenly hyperaware of the fact you’re alone with him once again when he turns to face you. Goosebumps prick at your skin, the anxiety twisting your insides that much more.

“How are you?”

The weakness of your voice has you internally wincing. You’ve been with this man countless times before, fought with and against him, and all of a sudden you’re a fragile mess before him? No, you’re stronger than that. Pulling your shoulders back, you raise your chin as you wait for him to respond.

“I’ve been better,” he replies evenly.

You slowly nod. “I assume you went to see Bruce,” you begin, and continue once he confirms, “and I assume everything was okay?”

He nods.

“That’s good.” You pause to rub your lips together, crossing your arms self-consciously over your midsection. “I told him the tonic took a few hours to take effect, so he thinks it might’ve been old.” Another pause before you sarcastically add, “Still potent once it starts working.”

Pinching his lips together into a thin line, Bucky doesn’t say anything. You notice the dull blue of his eyes, reminding you of the sad, stormy grey they were the morning after in the safe house.

Swallowing thickly, you briefly look away as your brain scatters for something else to say. With your mind distracted by other things, and in your haste to get this whole ordeal over with, you gave little thought to what you would say to him. You open your mouth to say something, what—you aren’t sure—but Bucky beats you to it.

“I really am sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean for any of that to happen.”

There’s a sadness that pulls at the corners of his eyes, a sincerity in his voice, but his words flip a switch inside you. No longer a lost, fragile mess, red begins to cloud your vision, anger seeping into your veins.

“Oh, so you’re finally taking ownership for your actions?” You spit. “That’s nice.”

Bucky lets out a frustrated sigh, rolling his eyes as he looks to the ceiling. “Please don’t do this.”

You choose to ignore him, continuing with your verbal assault and unsubstantiated accusations. “Or did you do it on purpose? Trying to get back in my pants again to prove some kind of sick point that I’ll always be yours? Is that it?”

Incredulity creases Bucky’s brows, his eyes widening at your outburst. “What are you talking about?” He asks, annoyance threading through his rising voice. “How was I supposed to know what it was?”

Clenching your back teeth, you shake your head at him. “Forget it,” you begin, moving to step around him. “Forget I even came here. This was stupid.”

You only make it halfway to the door before Bucky is grasping your upper arm, stopping your movements and swinging you back around to face him.

“No,” he firmly states, “you came here to talk, so let’s talk. This isn’t gonna be like before. I’m not going to let you run away from this.”

“From what?”

“Us.”

A tense silence falls between you, chests heaving as you stare each other down. Finally, Bucky speaks again, releasing your arm and dropping his gaze to the floor.

“What did your boyfriend say?”

Taking another hard swallow, your voice is low when you respond, “We’re not together anymore.”

Bucky swiftly picks his head up to look at you, guilt shining over his pleading eyes. “Please don’t tell me he broke up with you because of my fuck up.”

“No,” you sigh, eyes downcast to the floor. “I broke up with him.”

There’s a brief pause as Bucky processes your words. “Why would you do that?”

The question is simple, but the answer has left you in a tangled mess of emotions. “Because,” you pause, taking another deep breath, “because I realized something.”

“What?”

Gazing back to Bucky, you choose to ignore your conflicted answer, and instead ask him a question of your own. A question you hope will help bring you some form of peace. “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?” His voice is low, nearly a whisper.

Taking a moment to gather your thoughts, steeling your frenzied nerves, you finally respond, “When we were…together, you said you loved me. Did you mean it?”

Bucky’s eyes widen in surprise, clearly not expecting you to bring that up. It was a slip of the tongue, spoken in the heat of the moment as he was overcome with a crazed desire. He didn’t think you heard it, or at least, didn’t really comprehend what he was saying, but he did mean it. He’s silently loved you from afar every single day since he let you walk away, always too afraid to admit it out loud to himself, and to you.

But he does. He loves you and he means it, every word. And in this moment, he’d rather ingest the sex tonic all over again, allow it to destroy him, than let you slip away a second time.

“Yes,” he replies, voice strong and full of conviction. His eyes hold your stare, watching as they gloss over with unshed tears. “I meant it.”

The confession has a breath catching in your throat. The raging war of confusing thoughts and feelings comes to a cease fire, your inner turmoil surrendering as everything falls back into place.

Without an ounce of hesitation, you reach out for him. Both hands grasp along his jaw, lips crashing onto his. Bucky reacts instantly, gripping your waist to pull you in. His lips are fierce against yours, desperate like a man starved, and his tongue slips out seeking yours.

The kiss is a bittersweet taste of resentment and longing. Tongues gliding against one another as you both forgive and remember what it’s like to be together again. It tastes like home.

Breathless, you pull away, eyes searching his—no longer dull and conflicted, they shine bright with a spark of hopefulness.

“I’m sorry, too,” you softly say, “and I’m willing to try again if you are.”

Bucky lets out a deep, pleased sigh, the beginnings of a smile curling the corner of his mouth. Tenderly, he places a chaste kiss to your lips, your cheek, and wraps two strong arms around you, securing you into a tight embrace.

“I missed you,” he says, the words muffled, his lips pressed against your shoulder.

The beating of your heart stutters at his admission, a pleasant flip in your belly, because you’ve missed him, too. So much, and more than you allowed yourself to admit.

Tightening your arms around his neck, you softly tell him, “I love you, too.”

And you mean it.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes #bucky x reader smut #sex pollen

[fandom-fck-me-up]

this was my heartstopper before heartstopper

[fandom-fck-me-up]

Barbie (2023) ✦ Dir. Greta Gerwig

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