BadBitchSinceBirth

You sat on your floor in an old sweater that smelled faintly like vanilla detergent, highlighter stains painted across your fingers like bruises. Your notes were everywhere — scattered open textbooks, half-empty coffee cups, desperate little reminders scribbled in the margins,like remember ATP — adenosine triphosphate.

You were drowning in mitochondria, cell division, Latin words that curled around your brain.

Right...brain! Cerebrum or whatever.

Your knee bounced anxiously while you reread the same paragraph for the fifth time, lips moving silently.“Ribosomes synthesize proteins…”

Nothing stayed inside your head.You groaned softly, letting your forehead fall against the edge of the mattress beside you.God, you were tired.

A soft knock echoed through the apartment, sudden enough to make you jolt upright.Your pen slipped from your fingers.

For a second, your heart kicked hard against your ribs. You stared at the door, breathing shallowly while the rain tapped against the windows.

Another knock came,but slower this time...and familiar.You frowned, brushing hair out of your face. “It’s open,” you called weakly.

The handle turned and then he stepped inside.Bucky Barnes — loverboy.Tall, broad, impossibly solid in the dim yellow light of your room. His dark red henley clung to his chest from the rain outside, hair damp around his face, metal hand catching the low glow of your desk lamp.God,you loved that henley.

His eyes moved over the disaster surrounding you — biology notes spread across the floor, empty coffee cups, your tense shoulders curled inward like you were trying to survive yourself.

“I should’ve never given you that spare key,you scared me.” you muttered, dropping your face into your hands dramatically.

Bucky closed the door behind him with a soft click.“Nah,” he said quietly, toeing off his boots. “Pretty sure you’d be dead by finals week without me.”

You peeked at him through your fingers.“I’m serious,” you groaned. “I think biology is actually trying to kill me.”

Bucky hummed sympathetically as he crossed the room. The floor creaked beneath his weight.“C’mere, sweetheart.”

Your cheek pressing into the damp cotton of his shirt. His heartbeat was slow and steady. Nothing like yours.

Bucky’s big hand moved up and down your back awkwardly, like he was trying to calm a frightened animal.“It’s just a test,” he murmured.

You pulled back immediately, staring at him in disbelief.“Just a test?” you repeated.Bucky blinked once. “...Yeah?”

A laugh escaped you.“James Buchanan Barnes,” you said slowly, “if I fail this exam, my GPA drops, my scholarship gets reviewed, my future dies, and I end up living in a shoebox apartment surviving on instant noodles.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly.“You already survive on instant noodles.”

You gave him a look“Bucky.”

“Right. Sorry.”He tried again.“You’re smart,” he said carefully, like he was placing glass on a shelf. “Smarter than anyone I know.”

You groaned, dragging both hands down your face. “That doesn’t help either.”

“Right,” he muttered under his breath.The room fell quiet.Bucky looked genuinely distressed now, metal fingers flexing against his knee. You could practically see him trying to fight an invisible enemy and losing horribly because the enemy was your nervous breakdown over molecular biology.

Back in the forties, he probably could’ve fixed things with a cigarette, a kiss to the forehead, and stealing somebody’s car.But this?Biology finals at one-thirty in the morning?This was defeating him.

Bucky sighed, a deep rumble vibrating against his chest. His large, warm hand slid to the back of your neck, his fingers gently kneading the tense muscles at the base of your skull.“That’s enough, sweetheart.Pack it up. Bedtime.”

“No, no, no,” you stammered, pulling your head away and immediately throwing yourself into a defensive position. You slid back down to the floor, grabbing your ATP flashcards with both hands like a shield. “I can’t sleep. If I sleep now, my brain will perform a factory reset. Have you heard of sleep-induced information purging? Because I just made it up, and it feels scientifically accurate.”

His eyes stayed serious. He dropped down onto the floor beside you, stretching his long legs out carefully between the minefield of open textbooks.“You didn’t make up a science rule, you just drank your body weight in espresso,” he pointed out, gesturing with his metal index finger toward the stack of empty mugs in the corner.

“Look at you. It’s past two in the morning. You don’t even know your own name right now, let alone the... what is this? What’s a mitochondria?”

“The powerhouse of the cell!” you blurted out instantly, sounding like a malfunctioning robot.

“See? You know it,” Bucky nodded, nudging his shoulder against yours. His damp hair smelled faintly of the rain outside, but his body was throwing off pure heat. “But if you don’t get at least a few hours of shut-eye, you’re gonna collapse right onto your exam paper tomorrow. Your head won’t be in the game. I know that look. Guys in the trenches used to get it right before—”

“Do not use trench warfare as a metaphor for my biology final, Barnes!” you groaned, burying your face back into your hands. “I won’t be able to sleep anyway. My brain is vibrating. If I close my eyes, I just see chromosomes pulling apart. I’m losing my mind.”

Bucky watched you quietly for a beat, his jaw shifting as he weighed his options. Then, without a single word of warning, he reached out, scooped his arms under your knees and back, and hoisted you right off the floor like you weighed absolutely nothing.“Bucky! What are you doing?! Put me down!”

“Rescue mission,” he muttered shortly. He turned and carried you the two short steps over to your bed, navigating the cluttered floor with terrifyingly perfect balance, making sure not to step on a single notebook.

He dropped you onto the mattress with a soft thud, but the second his hands left your waist, you were already scrambling backward. Your hands gripped the edge of the blanket, your eyes darting back toward the floor where your flashcards lay scattered.“Bucky, I’m serious, I need to look at meiosis one more time—”

“No, you don’t,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. He didn’t follow you onto the bed right away. Instead, he stood at the edge, unlacing his damp boots and tossing them aside. When he looked up, his blue eyes were dark, fixed entirely on you. “I told you to rest. You’re not listening.”

“Because I can’t!” your voice cracked slightly, the sheer exhaustion and caffeine making you desperate. “My brain won’t turn off. I can’t just lie here and stare at the ceiling. I need to study, Bucky, please—”

“Sweetheart,” he interrupted, and there was a new, low vibration in his tone that made the breath catch in your throat. He crawled onto the mattress, his large, heavy frame looming over yours until you were pressed back against your pillows. He trapped you between his arms, his metal hand resting flat against the mattress right next to your head, pulsing cold against the sheets while his human hand gently caught your chin. “I know you can’t turn your brain off. So I’m going to do it for you.”

You blinked up at him, your heart hammering for an entirely different reason now. “What?”

Bucky didn’t answer with words. He leaned down, his damp hair brushing against your cheek as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. He pressed a warm, slow kiss right against your pulse point, inhaling the scent of your vanilla detergent and sweet sweat. A soft, involuntary shiver wrecked through your body, your hands automatically coming up to grip the fabric of his red henley.

“Bucky...” you breathed, but it lacked any of the protest from before.

“Shh,” he murmured against your skin, his thumb caressing your jawline. “Don’t think about the test. Don’t think about biology. Just focus on me.”His human hand slid down your neck, over your collarbone, and down to the hem of your oversized sweater. His touch was burning hot against your bare skin as he slowly slid the fabric up, his eyes never leaving yours.

Before you could even process the shift in the room's atmosphere, Bucky shifted his weight, sliding down your body. His large hands gripped your hips, anchoring you to the bed as he parted your legs, settling himself comfortably between them on his knees.

“Bucky, wait,” you gasped, your fingers knotting into the sheets. “The notes—”

“Forget the notes,” he whispered, his hot breath fanning across your inner thigh, making your toes curl instantly. His metal hand slid up to cup your hip, holding you perfectly still. “Let me take care of you, sweetheart. Just lay back and take it.”

The cool metal of his index finger brushed against your inner thigh, a stark, shocking contrast to the intense heat radiating from the rest of his body. You let out a shaky breath, your fingers tightening into the mattress as he aligned himself. Bucky didn't rush. He watched your face closely, his blue eyes dark and heavy with an intense, protective focus.

Slowly, deliberately, he worked his metal finger inside you.The sensation made you arch off the bed with a sharp gasp, your back curving as a wave of pure pleasure crashed through the exhaustion fogging your brain. The smooth, unyielding surface of his vibranium hand was completely different from anything else—perfectly sculpted, rhythmic, and incredibly precise.

“There you go,” Bucky murmured, his low voice vibrating right through your skin. His human hand remained firmly anchored on your hip, heavy and warm, keeping you grounded while his metal finger slid deeper, finding a rhythm that made your head tilt back into the pillows.

"Bucky, oh god," you whined, your previous anxiety completely evaporating, replaced by the overwhelming feel of him.

He flexed his hand slightly, curling his finger inside you to hit a spot that made your breath catch entirely. Your hips hitched upward instinctively, seeking more of the sensation. A low, dark rumble of satisfaction approved from his chest.

“I told you,” he whispered, leaning up slightly so his warm breath fanned over your stomach, his damp hair framing his face like a shadow. “Just focus on me. Nothing else exists right now, sweetheart.”

He added a second finger, the intricate plates of his hand moving seamlessly together.You reached down blindly, your hands finding the thick muscles of his shoulders, clinging to his red henley like a lifeline as he began to move faster, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

The slick, friction-heated metal of his fingers slid deeper, and your walls tightened around him in a desperate, subconscious reflex. A dark groan tore from Bucky’s throat at the sensation, his broad shoulders tensing as he felt just how tightly you were gripping him.

“God, sweetheart” he rasped, his voice dropping into a rough, gravelly register that sent a shiver straight down your spine.

He leaned over you, his chest pressing against yours, trapping you beneath his heavy warmth. “Look at you.Taking me so good,bet you could take my cock”

Your breath hitched at his words, the blunt weight of them hitting you harder than the pleasure rippling through your core. You looked up at him, eyes wide and heavy-lidded, your hands gripping the damp fabric of his henley even tighter. The sheer size of him looming over you—broad-shouldered, thick-chested, and completely overpowering—made the thought of it feel impossible.

“I can't,” you gasped out, your voice cracking slightly as your hips twitched against his hand. “Bucky, no... you're too big. I couldn't.”

“Is that right?” he murmured, his gravelly voice vibrating against your lips as he leaned down, hovering just inches from your face. “Too big for you, sweetheart?” You nodded frantically against the pillow, a soft whine escaping you as he hit that perfect spot again.

You nodded frantically against the pillow, a soft whine escaping you as he hit that perfect spot again.Bucky’s smirk widened, a wicked, knowing glint flashing in his dark blue eyes. He didn’t slow the relentless, perfect rhythm of his metal fingers, but he leaned in even closer, the heavy heat of his chest pressing flush against yours.

“Don't give me that,” he rumbled, his voice dropping into a low, teasing purr that vibrated right through your collarbone. “I notice how you look at me. Especially lately, since I've grown more muscles. You look at me like you're drooling, sweetheart.”

The heat in the room felt stifling as a mix of embarrassment and realization washed over you. You tried to glance away, but the intensity of the moment held your attention, making it impossible to look anywhere else but into his eyes.

Gathering what little courage you had left, you looked up at him through your eyelashes. “Bucky?” you whispered, your voice trembling, smaller and more fragile than it had been all night.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he rumbled, his gaze locked onto yours.You bit your lower lip, shifting beneath his heavy weight.

“Can you... can you do something for me?” You hesitated, the next words catching in your throat before coming out very, very shyly. “Could you put your other hand on my neck?”

Bucky’s fingers stilled inside you for a fraction of a second, the sudden pause making your hips hitch in protest. His brow furrowed slightly, his blue eyes searching your face, dark and unreadable.

“Why's that?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave, rough and careful all at once. “Why do you want my hand there?”

“Um... to...” You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, mortified but desperately craving it. “Just to apply pressure there. Please.”

The request hit him like a physical blow. You opened your eyes just in time to see the exact moment Bucky went completely feral.“Christ, sweetheart,” he rasped, his voice entirely ruined.

In a flash of movement, his large flesh hand came up, his thick fingers wrapping completely around the front of your throat. He didn't squeeze to hurt, but the weight of his palm was heavy, instantly pinning you into the pillows. The sudden, intense pressure against your windpipe sent a shocking jolt of adrenaline straight to your core.

“You want me to choke you?” Bucky growled, leaning down until his lips brushed against your ear, his breath scorching hot. “You want to feel how heavy I am? You think you're too small for me, but you want my hand right here while I make you come?”

You let out a fractured, high-pitched whine, your hands flying up to grip his thick wrist. You weren't trying to pull his hand away from your throat; you were just trying to hold onto something stable while your entire world spun out of control. Your hips hitched upward instinctively, desperate for the friction, your inner muscles squeezing his fingers in tight, frantic pulses.

“Yeah, just like that. Squeeze me,” Bucky ordered, his thumb pressing firmly against your jawline to keep your head tilted back. His dark blue eyes burned down into yours, watching your pupils dilate, tracking every flush of color on your skin. “Take it all, sweetheart. Don't you dare close your eyes.”

The combination of the restricted breath, the heavy, dominant pressure on your neck, and the wicked speed of his hand was too much for your coffee-addled, exhausted brain to handle. The anxiety of your biology final was completely incinerated, replaced by a blinding, white-hot crest of pure pleasure.

Your back arched off the bed, a breathless, choked-off cry catching in your throat as your orgasm crashed over you. Your walls clamped down on his metal fingers in a violent, helpless rhythm, milking him for everything you were worth.

Bucky let out a low, victorious sound, keeping his hand firm on your neck for a few seconds longer, riding out the peak of your climax with you until your hips finally stopped trembling and slumped back into the sheets.Slowly he slid his fingers out of you, the sudden absence leaving you feeling completely breathless and empty.

He released the pressure on your throat, his large flesh hand immediately sliding up to cup your cheek, his thumb gently wiping away a stray tear of pure overstimulation from the corner of your eye.

“Good girl” he whispered, his voice softening, though his chest was still heaving from his own exertion. He crawled further up the bed, pulling your limp, shivering body straight against his chest, tucking your head securely under his chin. “Next time, you're gonna take all of me.”

The Avengers Tower was alive with low music, clinking glasses and the kind of easy laughter that only came after a mission had gone well enough that no one was in a body bag.

Tony had declared it a “victory party,” which really just meant he’d ordered too much Thai food and opened the top-shelf bar. The lights were dim, warm amber and the city sparkled beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows like a promise no one quite believed anymore.

You were curled into Steve’s side on one of the long leather sectionals, your head resting against his chest, his steady heartbeat a quiet rhythm under your ear. His arm was draped across your shoulders, heavy and comforting, fingers tracing slow, absent patterns along the bare skin just above the neckline of your dress, little circles and soft strokes that made you feel safe, cherished. He smelled like cedar and soap, clean and steady, the way he always did after a shower and a long day of saving the world.

Every time he leaned down to murmur something in your ear, “You’re the most beautiful thing in this room, you know that?” or “I’m the luckiest guy here tonight” his breath tickled your skin and made you smile, warm and genuine.

Four months together and he still looked at you like you were something miraculous, like he couldn’t quite believe you’d chosen him. He’d brush his lips against your temple, soft and lingering, or squeeze your hand under the table just because he could.

“You want another drink, sweetheart?” he asked now, voice low and gentle against your hair, lips brushing your forehead.

You tilted your head up to meet his eyes, those clear, earnest blue eyes that always looked at you like you were the only person in the room. “I’m good,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Just wanna stay right here with you.”

He smiled that small, private smile he saved only for you, the one that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made your chest ache with how much you loved him and tightened his arm around you, pulling you closer.

That was when the elevator chimed.

It wasn’t dramatic. No thunderclap, no record scratch silence. Just a soft ding, doors sliding open, and then the temperature in the room seemed to drop five degrees.

Bucky stepped out.

Black tactical pants, black Henley stretched tight across his chest, leather jacket still dusted with snow from the rooftop he must’ve landed on. His hair was shorter than the last time you’d seen him, pushed back from his face, a few strands falling forward as he scanned the room with that old, soldier’s efficiency. He hadn’t been invited. No one had expected him.

His gaze sliced through the crowd and landed on you instantly.

Locked on Steve’s hand resting gently on your waist, fingers splayed soft and protective over the curve of your hip. Bucky’s eyes lingered there, heavy, possessive then dragged slowly upward until they met yours.

Your stomach flipped. Your knees went weak, even sitting down.

Six months.

Six months since the breakup.

Six months since the screaming matches that left you both raw, since the slammed doors and shattered glass, since the way Bucky had looked at you like you’d reached into his chest and torn something vital out with your bare hands.

You’d cheated on him with Steve.

That was the part that cut deepest. Not the fights, not the way you walked out but the fact that you’d gone to Steve while you were still technically his. While Bucky was still coming home to you, still fucking you like he owned you, still whispering filthy promises against your skin in the dark. You’d let Steve touch you, kiss you, hold you gently in ways Bucky never could… and then you’d let Bucky keep touching you too, until the guilt and the lies finally exploded.

He’d never been soft with you. Never gentle. It had always been rough edges and bruising grips, teeth on your throat, metal fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave marks for days. He’d fuck you like he was trying to brand you, call you filthy names while he made you come apart, then hold you after like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

And before you, there’d been Steve. The two of them, years ago, tangled up in something fierce and tender that no one else ever really understood. Late nights in safehouses, quiet touches in the dark, Bucky’s head in Steve’s lap while Steve ran fingers through his hair like he could smooth away seventy years of pain.

They’d loved each other hard, soft in ways they never showed the world, until it all burned down in fire and blame and things neither of them ever talked about anymore.

Steve felt you tense. His arm tightened reflexively, protective, comforting. You felt his jaw clench against the side of your head as he followed your gaze.

Bucky’s lips curved, not quite a smile, more like a predator recognizing territory it used to own. He tilted his head slightly, eyes glittering with that familiar snark.

Steve pressed a kiss to your temple, slow and deliberate, his hand sliding a fraction lower on your waist in quiet reassurance. A claim, yes but mostly a promise: I’m here. I’ve got you.

Bucky’s smirk deepened, sharp and knowing. “Cute,” he mouthed from across the room, just loud enough for you to read his lips. He didn’t care. He never had.

The night dragged on after that, but you barely noticed. Conversation blurred. You laughed when Steve whispered something sweet in your ear, nodded at the right times, but every nerve in your body was tuned to Bucky across the room.

He didn’t approach. Didn’t need to. He leaned against the bar, nursing a whiskey, watching you with that lazy, dangerous intensity, like he was remembering exactly how you sounded when he had you pinned beneath him.

Always watching.

Eventually, people started drifting out. You and Steve said your goodbyes, his hand warm and steady at the small of your back as he guided you toward the private elevator, murmuring, “Let’s get you home, sweetheart. You look tired.”

You were almost there when you realized Bucky was already waiting by the doors, one shoulder against the wall, hands in his pockets, that infuriating smirk still in place.

Steve’s steps slowed. His fingers tightened just slightly on your back, protective not possessive.

The three of you reached the elevator at the same time.

No one spoke as Bucky hit the button with deliberate slowness. The doors slid open. You hesitated, heart pounding but Steve’s hand pressed gently, urging you inside with a soft, “It’s okay.”

Bucky followed.

The doors closed.

The silence was brutal.

Eighty floors never felt so endless.

You stood between them, Steve at your back, warm and solid, his chest rising and falling steady against your spine; Bucky in front of you, close enough that you could smell leather and gun oil and that damn cologne he’d worn since Berlin. No one looked at anyone else. The hum of the elevator was deafening.

Then Bucky spoke, voice low and rough, dripping with snark.

“You happy playin’ house with America’s golden boy now, doll? He tuck you in at night? Read you bedtime stories?”

Your breath caught.

Steve’s hand flexed on your hip, gentle but firm. His voice came out tight, controlled, but laced with quiet steel. “She’s happier than she ever was with you, Buck.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked to Steve in the mirrored wall, something old and raw flashing there for just a second before the smirk slid back into place. “That so, Stevie? You holdin’ her hand in the dark when the nightmares come? Or you just real good at the gentle stuff now?”

He took one step closer. The space shrank to nothing.

You swallowed hard. “We’re not doing this, Bucky.”

He tilted his head, studying you with that sharp, mocking glint, voice dropping lower, velvet over broken glass.

“Then why’re you already wet just from me lookin’ at you, huh? Why’re you leanin’ into him like he’s the only thing keepin’ you upright when we both know one word from me and you’d be on your knees?”

The words hit like a slap.

Heat flooded your cheeks, your chest, between your legs. You couldn’t hide it. Couldn’t stop the way your thighs pressed together instinctively, the way your breath hitched.

Steve’s fingers dug in, not painful, just grounding. His breathing had changed, warm against your neck. He didn’t deny it. Didn’t say a word.

Because he could feel it too, the way your body betrayed you, leaning just slightly toward Bucky even as Steve held you close. The way your pulse raced under his palm.

Bucky’s gaze flicked down to where Steve’s hand rested, then back up to your eyes. His smile was slow, sharp, devastating.

“Still the same girl who begged me to ruin her, huh? Golden boy treatin’ you too soft, doll?”

The elevator dinged.

Doors opened onto the residential hallway.

No one moved.

Then Bucky stepped out first, glancing back over his shoulder with that same cocky tilt of his head.

“You comin’?” he asked, voice soft and taunting. “Or you gonna keep pretendin’ you don’t want this as bad as I do?”

Steve’s jaw worked. His eyes met yours in the mirror, dark, conflicted, full of that quiet, aching love that made your heart hurt.

You took one step forward.

Steve followed, hand never leaving your back.

The three of you stood in the narrow residential hallway, dimly lit, the kind of quiet that only comes late at night in a building full of people pretending to sleep. The air felt thick, charged, like the moment before a storm breaks.

Bucky leaned back against the wall opposite the elevator, arms loosely crossed over his chest, that familiar half-smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. His eyes moved over you first, like he was cataloguing every inch he used to know by heart, then flicked to Steve with lazy, pointed challenge.

“So,” he drawled, voice low and rough around the edges, “we just gonna stand here playin’ statues all night, or are we finally gonna talk about the elephant in the hallway? Namely, how you two couldn’t keep your eyes off me for five damn seconds back there.”

The words landed like a match on dry grass.

You snapped.

All the anger and hurt you’d buried for six months came rushing up your throat at once. You stepped forward before you could think better of it, voice shaking but loud enough to bounce off the walls.

“Talk?” you repeated, incredulous. “You want to talk now? You disappear for half a year, show up uninvited, spend the whole night staring at us like we’re something you misplaced, drop that shit in the elevator and now, now you want to talk?”

Bucky’s smirk flickered, just a fraction but he didn’t look away. If anything, his eyes sharpened, amused and cutting at the same time.

“You don’t get to do this, Bucky,” you pressed on, chest tight. “You don’t get to waltz back in here acting like nothing happened. Like you didn’t scream at me, like you didn’t let me walk out, like you didn’t break everything we had and then just… vanish. We’re not your toys. I’m not yours anymore.”

Your voice cracked hard on the last word. You hated that it did.

Bucky’s jaw flexed. For a second the snark slipped, and something raw flashed across his face, old hurt, maybe regret but he covered it fast, tipping his head with that infuriating little tilt.

“Funny,” he said, voice softer but still edged, “’cause from where I’m standin’, you’re still reactin’ pretty strong for someone who’s supposedly over it.”

Steve, who had been silent the whole time, finally moved.

“Enough,” he said quietly.

It wasn’t loud, wasn’t sharp but it carried the same calm authority he used on missions when everything was going to hell and someone needed to steady the room.

He stepped forward, placing himself not quite between you and Bucky but close enough that his presence filled the space. His hand settled gently on your lower back, warm, grounding, the same way he’d touched you all night.

He looked at Bucky, eyes steady.

“My place is right down the hall,” he said. Not a question. Not an invitation. Just a fact. “If we’re doing this, we do it there. Not out here.”

Bucky held Steve’s gaze for a long beat. Something passed between them, old, complicated, impossible to name. Bucky’s smirk softened into something almost wistful, then sharpened again.

“Yeah,” he murmured, pushing off the wall with lazy grace. “Lead the way, Rogers. Wouldn’t want to keep the happy couple waiting.”

Steve didn’t rise to the bait. He just turned, guiding you forward with that same steady hand on your back, gentle pressure between your shoulder blades saying I’ve got you without needing words. You walked beside him, legs still unsteady, heart still racing.

Bucky followed a few steps behind, boots quiet on the carpet.

No one spoke again until you reached Steve’s door.

Then Bucky’s voice drifted up, low and laced with that familiar snark but quieter than before.

“This conversation’s been a long time coming, doll,” he said. “And I’m not walkin’ away till we’ve had it. All three of us.”

The hallway to Steve’s apartment stretched like it was mocking you tonight. Snow fell heavier outside, fat flakes plastering the lobby windows, and the elevator ride up had been suffocating, three bodies, one shared history, zero words.

Bucky led, shoulders loose under his damp leather jacket, like he’d already mapped every exit. Steve’s hand pressed to the small of your back, warm through your dress but his fingers trembled.

You hadn’t spoken since the bar, since Bucky walked in on you and Steve tangled in a booth, lips locked, hands under clothes. None of you had.

The door shut with soft finality, louder than any slam.

Bucky ignored the lights. Manhattan bled through the windows in cold blue-gold slashes, streetlights flickering, neon buzzing faintly, a distant siren cutting the night. He strode through the living room straight to the open kitchen, boots leaving wet prints that would dry into faint stains.

Steve stopped just inside. “Buck,” he said, voice low, careful, like he was approaching a live wire. “We need to talk. Just… talk. Before anything else.”

Bucky braced both hands on the dark granite island, back to you. He laughed once, short, bitter, echoing off the cabinets. “Talk.” He rolled the word like it tasted like ash. “You always loved talkin’, Stevie. Talked me through every nightmare after the ice. Talked me into believin’ I could be more than a weapon. Hell, you talked me into kissin’ you that first time in the safehouse, remember? When I was still half convinced I’d hurt you.”

He turned slowly, eyes catching the city glow like sharpened steel. “And now you wanna talk? When you’ve got your hands on the one person I thought was still mine?”

Steve’s jaw clenched. He stepped forward. “I’m not pretendin’ that night didn’t gut you. You walked in on us, her and me and yeah, it hurts. It hurts me seein’ you like this too. But we don’t have to make this a war. What we had… what we were… it ended because you walked away. You said you were too broken for me. You left.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked to you, sharp, wounded then back to Steve. “And you waited what, six months? Before you moved on with her? My girl.”

Your stomach twisted. You’d dated Bucky first, wild, intense, healing until the breakup left you both shattered. Then Steve had been there, steady, gentle, pulling you out of the dark. But the lines had always blurred; the three of you had shared too much history for clean breaks.

Bucky moved.

Fast. Silent. His metal hand closed around your wrist, firm, not cruel pulling you against his chest. Cold leather against your bare arms; heat radiated underneath. You inhaled, whiskey, gun oil, winter clinging to him like regret.

Steve’s protest caught in his throat.

Bucky tipped your chin up with two fingers, forcing your gaze to his. Dim light edged his irises silver-blue. “Still so pretty when you’re scared, doll,” he murmured, gravel-rough. Thumb slow across your lower lip. “Still get wet just from me lookin’ at you like you’re mine again. Even after he’s had you.”

A choked sound from Steve, anger, need, guilt.

“Bucky,” Steve said, quieter. “Let her breathe. Please.”

“Don’t.” Bucky’s head snapped toward him. Eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare, Rogers. Not after you took what was mine while I was still tryin’ to figure out if I deserved to breathe the same air as you.”

Steve froze. Mouth half-open. Words trapped.

Bucky turned back. His grip eased, sliding up your arm, into your hair. He tugged, sharp, possessive. Your head tipped back; a gasp slipped free.

“See that?” he said, voice carrying. “She doesn’t need savin’ right now. She needs to remember who she belonged to first.”

His mouth crashed down, brutal, claiming. Teeth clacked; tongue swept in. You gasped; hands fisted his jacket, pulling closer even as guilt knifed your gut. His flesh hand bunched your dress, dragging it up, calluses scraping thighs.

Steve’s breathing turned ragged, uneven.

Bucky broke the kiss, lips hovering. “Still tastes like mine,” he rasped. “Even after his.”

He spun you, the room blurred until your hips hit the island. Granite chilled your stomach as he bent you over it. Palms slapped down; cold shocked up your arms.

He kicked your feet wider. Metal hand gathered your hair, wrapped it around his fist like a leash, yanked. Your head snapped back; gaze locked across the island to Steve.

Steve stood rooted opposite, hands clamped on the counter, knuckles white. Chest heaving. Thick outline strained his jeans; dark wet spot spreading. His face was wreckage, shame flushing cheeks, hunger darkening eyes, old tenderness cracking through jealousy. He looked torn in half.

Bucky’s flesh hand shoved your dress higher, hooked lace, tore it away. Rip echoed.

You whimpered, thighs trembling.

Fingers found you, slick, swollen. Two metal digits plunged in, cold, curling perfectly. Knees buckled; he pinned you harder, chest to back.

“Fuck, doll,” he groaned against your ear. “So wet for me. Even with him watchin’ like he’s about to break.”

Steve’s voice cracked. “Buck- slow down. She’s-”

“Too much?” Bucky mocked, twisting fingers; you moaned, hips rocking back. “Listen, Stevie. That’s her sayin’ it’s not enough.”

Your voice shook. “Stevie… fuck, it’s too much-”

Steve flinched. Counter creaked. “Bucky. Ease up. Just- give her a second-”

Bucky laughed low, dark. “Ease up? She’s grippin’ like she’s scared I’ll stop.” He withdrew slowly, wet, glistening shoved pants down. Cock pressed hot against your thigh. “You want slow? Watch.”

He thrust in, one long, brutal stroke. Stretch burned; fullness punched air from lungs. You cried out, nails scraping granite.

He set punishing rhythm, deep snaps jolting you forward. Metal hand fisted hair, forcing eyes on Steve. Sweat beaded; dress bunched; hair stuck to damp neck.

“Look at him, sweetheart,” Bucky growled, breath ragged. “Look how hard he is. Hates that he wants this. Bet he’s never taken you rough like I did. Never made you scream like you will tonight.”

Gaze locked Steve’s, glassy, pupils blown, sweat on temple. Destroyed.

“Stevie-” you gasped, voice fracturing. “It’s- fuck- too much-”

Steve hoarse, pleading. “Buck, please. Slow down. She needs-”

Bucky snarled, yanked hair; back arched. “She needs me to fuck her until she forgets how good you felt. Until she remembers why she chose me first.” Lips at ear. “Ain’t that right, doll? Tell him who you really belong to.”

You sobbed, pleasure, overwhelm, tears. “Bucky- please-”

He groaned, hips stuttering. “That’s it. Come for me. Come while he watches me claim what he stole.”

Coil snapped.

You shattered, sobbing his name, walls clamping, thighs quaking. Slick coated thighs; vision whited. Bucky chased, desperate thrusts, buried deep, came with broken groan, spilling hot inside.

Bucky stayed buried inside you for what felt like forever, long after the last hot pulse of his release faded, long after your body stopped clenching in frantic aftershocks and settled into soft, exhausted tremors.

His hips remained locked to yours, heavy and unyielding, like if he pulled away the whole fragile thing between the three of you might shatter. Forehead pressed to your shoulder, metal arm braced beside your head on the island, flesh hand still loosely pinning your wrists above you, not to restrain anymore, but because letting go felt like surrender.

His breathing was uneven against your neck, hot, ragged, almost broken. For one suspended second the cruel edge cracked open, and you felt the raw ache underneath: the way his fingers flexed against your skin, trembling like he was terrified you'd disappear again if he moved.

Like every time he’d lost you, first when he walked away from Steve, then when you followed Steve’s quiet comfort after the dust settled, had carved another hollow in him.

Then he exhaled, slow and shaky, a sound that was half sigh, half sob he tried to swallow. And he pulled out.

The drag was slow, obscene, every ridge and vein etched into oversensitive walls, thick slide of his come following in a warm, shameful rush that dripped down your thigh, pooling sticky at the crease where leg met hip.

The sudden emptiness made you clench around nothing; thighs shook harder, muscles twitching from overuse. Bucky was still hard, flushed dark, glistening with the two of you mixed, veins stark under city light striping the kitchen. He didn’t tuck himself away.

His eyes lifted to Steve.

Steve hadn’t moved, still rooted opposite the island, hands white-knuckled on granite, chest heaving in sharp, uneven bursts. The thick ridge of him strained painfully against denim, dark patch of precome spreading wider, soaking through.

His face was wreckage: cheeks flushed crimson, lips parted on silent pants, eyes glassy and huge and fixed on the place Bucky had just claimed. Shame warred with hunger, fury with grief, old love flickering beneath it all like embers refusing to die.

Bucky’s mouth curved slow, cruel, victorious but the edges cracked like thin ice over pain. He stepped around the island, metal hand sliding under your thighs with surprising gentleness.

“Up you go, doll,” he murmured, voice low, almost tender. Super-soldier strength made it effortless; he lifted you, laid you flat on the cold granite. Your back hit with a shock of chill that made goosebumps race across sweat-slick skin, nipples tightening painfully under the bunched fabric of your dress. Legs dangled off the edge; come leaked slower now, trailing down your ass to the counter in lazy rivulets.

Bucky turned to Steve. Flesh hand tangled in blond strands, not rough. Firm. Guiding. Like muscle memory from nights long ago, when he’d pull Steve close in the dark and whisper promises neither believed anymore. “C’mere, Stevie.”

Steve let himself be pulled forward, knees hitting tile with a dull thud that echoed in the quiet. Hands hovered, trembling, before settling on your thighs, thumbs digging in, opening you wider. His eyes flicked up to yours: glassy, pleading, wrecked then down to the mess between your legs. Guilt twisted his features; he looked like a man staring at everything he’d lost and found again in the worst way.

Bucky cradled the back of Steve’s head, fingers threading through short hair, stroking slow. Almost affectionate. The gesture was so intimate it hurt, like Bucky was remembering every time he’d done this before, in safer moments, when it was just them.

“Go on,” he rasped, voice thick with something that wasn’t just mockery. “Taste what I left in her. Clean her up like you used to clean me up after missions, gentle, careful, like I might break.”

Steve’s breath hitched, chest jerking violently. He leaned in. The first touch of his tongue was devastating: hot, wet stroke lapping at the thick mix of Bucky’s release and your slick. A broken groan ripped from him half sob, half reverence. He licked deeper, nose bumping your clit, tongue pushing inside, scooping, swallowing with filthy wet sounds that bounced off the cabinets. Salt of tears mixed with everything else on his tongue.

You moaned, hips jerking involuntarily. Oversensitive nerves sparked white-hot. Hands fisted Steve’s hair; thighs trembled around his ears. Guilt knifed through the pleasure, Steve’s tears on your skin, Bucky’s quiet breaths above you, the history you were all drowning in.

Bucky watched, still stroking Steve’s head in slow drags. “That’s it, Rogers,” he said, but the taunt cracked halfway. “Eat my come out of your girl. Taste how much she still wants me. Always did, didn’t she? Even when she was tryin’ to love you the way I couldn’t anymore.”

Steve whimpered against you, the vibration shooting straight through. His hips jerked uselessly against air; tears slipped faster down cheeks, mixing with the mess on his chin. He looked up at Bucky for a heartbeat, eyes raw, pleading then dove back in like proving devotion could fix what he’d broken.

Bucky leaned down, lips brushing Steve’s ear. “You’re too soft with her, Stevie,” he whispered, voice fracturing on the old nickname. “Always were. Gentle hands, slow kisses, makin’ love like the world hadn’t already chewed us up. I walked away because I thought you deserved better than a broken thing like me. And you found her, soft like you, steady. But she never needed gentle. She needed taken apart. Owned. Fucked till she forgot the pain. That’s why she’s shakin’ on your tongue right now. Why she screamed mine instead of yours.”

Steve’s tongue faltered, just a heartbeat then redoubled, frantic, desperate. Like he could erase the years of silence, the breakup Bucky forced, the way Steve had let you in to fill the void.

You couldn’t stop the moans. Hands tight in Steve’s hair, hips rocking despite the guilt clawing your chest. The second orgasm coiled vicious and fast, too much sensation, too much emotion.

Bucky kept talking, relentless, but rawer now, armor slipping. “Look at you, Captain fuckin’ America, eatin’ my load like it’s the only way you’ll get a taste of what we had. Bet you never got her this wet. Never made her come this hard. Too busy bein’ the good guy. Holdin’ hands. Whisperin’ I love yous like they’d fix what I broke when I left you.”

Steve groaned muffled, broken. Tears streamed. His cock twitched visibly in his pants, another dark bloom spreading, close, untouched, aching.

You came sharp, shattering cry tearing out. Thighs clamped around Steve’s head, flooding his mouth with fresh slick mixed with Bucky’s release. He drank slower now, softer, almost reverent, like soothing the ache he couldn’t heal.

Bucky pulled him off by the hair, firm but careful. Steve’s face was destroyed: lips swollen and shining, chin dripping, cheeks streaked with tears and come, eyes lost and pleading.

No time to breathe.

Bucky fisted his cock still slick, hard shoved it into Steve’s open mouth.

Steve took him with a choked, grateful moan, eyes fluttering shut. Bucky braced his metal hand on the island beside you, started fucking Steve’s mouth long, deep, possessive strokes. Slow. Like savoring something he'd denied himself for years.

“Fuck, Stevie,” Bucky rasped, staring down, then up at you with something cracked and tender. “Still take it so pretty. Always had the sweetest mouth. Remember that night in the safehouse? After the first wipe wore off? You on your knees, lookin’ up at me like I was still worth somethin’.”

He pulled out, fed himself shallow into your mouth, letting you taste the bitter-salt mix of all three. Then back to Steve. Alternating. Using both throats like he owned them, eyes locking on yours every time he sank into Steve, making sure you saw the way Steve choked, swallowed, took it like it was salvation.

Steve cried openly now, silent tears, spit dripping down chin, hands clutching Bucky’s thighs, pulling him closer even as he gagged. Desperation, love, regret all pouring out.

Bucky’s taunts grew quieter, rougher, more broken. “You treat her like she’ll break, Rogers. I break her every time- she begs for more. Because she knows what it’s like to lose me. To lose us.”

“Bet you never made her choke. Too polite. Too afraid of hurtin’ her like I hurt you.”

“Look at you- gaggin’ on the cock that just bred her. Tears in those pretty eyes. Pathetic. Perfect. Mine.”

Bucky’s rhythm faltered. Breath coming in harsh pants. “Gonna come,” he growled. “But not yet.”

He pulled Steve off, wet pop. Kissed him deep, brutal, desperate. Tongue sweeping in, tasting himself, you, the years of distance. Steve moaned into it, hands clutching Bucky’s jacket like a lifeline, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.

Bucky broke the kiss, voice wrecked. “Down, both of you.”

He guided you off the island, legs shaky, knees buckling. Helped you to the floor beside Steve. Cold tile bit into skin. Bucky stood over you both, cock hard, leaking, chest heaving.

“Suck,” he ordered soft, commanding, almost pleading.

You and Steve leaned in together. Tongues met on him, licking, sucking, sharing the mess. Steve took the head, you licked the shaft, then switched.

Messy. Filthy.

Hands on Bucky’s thighs, in each other’s hair. Bucky groaned, metal hand cradling Steve’s head, flesh in yours guiding, stroking, holding you both like he was afraid to lose this again.

“Fuck- good,” he panted, voice cracking. “Both of you. Mine. Always were.”

He came hard, thick pulses alternating down throats. You swallowed greedily; Steve too. Bucky held you both there till spent, fingers trembling in your hair, then eased out.

Silence roared, panting, shaking, hearts hammering.

Bucky tucked himself away. Looked down eyes soft, terrible, glistening.

“You always looked prettiest like this,” he whispered to Steve, voice raw, no mockery left. “On your knees for me. Beggin’ without words.”

To you, brittle smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “Do me a favor, Rogers. Tuck her in gentle tonight. Whisper those sweet lies you’re so good at. Tell her it’ll be okay. She’ll need it after I reminded her what she- what we- actually want.”

His gaze flicked between you, mocking facade crumbling into something heartbroken, possessive, aching.

“Wouldn’t want her gettin’ cold without me, would we, softie? Or you. You never did like sleepin’ alone.”

Steve’s jaw locked. Tears still falling. He didn’t answer, couldn’t.

Bucky’s laugh was hollow, echoing as he turned.

He walked out.

Door clicked shut.

The apartment was too quiet after Bucky left.

The door’s click lingered like a dropped pin in an empty theater, sharp, final, echoing long after it should have faded into the snow-muffled night outside.

City lights sliced through the half-open blinds in thin, merciless stripes: cold blue pooling across the hardwood, gold bleeding over the rumpled sheets of the couch where everything had started to unravel, catching on the damp, darkening spots where sweat and come and tears had soaked through fabric and skin alike.

Everything looked bruised in that light. Everything felt bruised.

You couldn’t move. Your back was still pressed to the island Bucky had pinned you against earlier, cool and slightly rough against your spine where your dress had ridden up and stayed bunched around your waist like a cruel afterthought.

Your thighs throbbed, deep, pulsing soreness from being stretched wide, used hard, left gaping and empty. Sticky trails of him had cooled on your inner thighs, dripping slow and obscene down the creases of your legs, pooling in small, shameful puddles on the floor beneath you. Your throat burned raw; the taste of him lingered, bitter, salty, thick at the back of your tongue, layered now with the faint copper of Steve’s tears and the musky residue of shared desperation.

Steve stayed on his knees in the middle of the room for what felt like forever. Head bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the floor. Shoulders rising and falling in uneven, shuddering jerks. Hands fisted on his thighs, knuckles blanched white, trembling so violently you could see the fine vibration even from across the dim space.

His shirt clung to him in dark, clinging patches, under the arms, across the broad plane of his chest, sweat and shame and the untouched, humiliating release that had soaked through his jeans without a single stroke.

Face still wrecked: your slick shining on his chin and cheeks, Bucky’s come streaked across his lips, his own tears carving silent, glistening tracks through the mess. He looked smaller than you’d ever seen him. Captain America, America’s unyielding symbol reduced to a broken man on his knees, carrying the weight of two hearts he’d loved and lost in the same night.

Finally, he moved.

Not standing. Crawling.

Palms and knees dragging across the floor with soft, scraping sounds that seemed too loud in the silence. His breathing was ragged, wet, half sobs he tried to swallow. When he reached you he paused, palms flat on the floor beside your hips, head hanging low for a long heartbeat, then pushed himself up with careful, shaking effort. Every inch he rose looked like it cost him something vital.

You hadn’t made it fully upright. You were half-slumped against the island, legs splayed awkwardly, dress twisted and useless, arms limp at your sides. Staring at the ceiling. Feeling every ache, every bruise, every ghost touch of metal and flesh and regret.

Steve slid one arm under your knees, the other around your back. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, voice cracked open, hoarse, barely more than breath. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’m here.”

He lifted you like you weighed nothing, super-soldier strength made tender, almost hesitant, like he was afraid the wrong pressure would break you both.

Your head fell against his shoulder; you inhaled cedar soap undercut by salt and the faint metallic edge of his own arousal still clinging to his skin. His heartbeat hammered against your cheek: wild, unsteady, stuttering like it couldn’t decide whether to race or stop entirely.

He carried you through the dim living room, past the kitchen island still smeared with fingerprints and slick and the faint metallic sheen of Bucky’s arm, down the short hallway to the bedroom. The door was already ajar; pale city light spilled across the unmade bed in thin, cold stripes. He didn’t turn on the lamp. Just eased you down onto the mattress with excruciating care, like setting something fragile on cracked glass.

You sank into the cool sheets with a soft, broken exhale.

Body heavy.

Aching.

Empty in ways that went bone-deep.

Steve didn’t speak at first. He knelt beside the bed, one large hand resting on your knee, thumb tracing slow, soothing circles over the skin there, round and round, like he could smooth away the soreness with repetition alone. His eyes, red-rimmed, lashes clumped with drying tears searched your face like he was looking for cracks, for permission, for forgiveness he didn’t know how to ask for.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he said quietly. “Okay? Just… let me.”

You nodded, small, tired. Fresh tears pricked; you let them fall. No point hiding anymore.

He stood, disappeared into the bathroom. Came back with a warm, damp washcloth folded neatly in one hand and a small ceramic bowl of water in the other. The faint scent of lavender soap followed him, something gentle he kept stocked for nights when the nightmares came or when missions left him raw or when the three of you used to collapse together in exhausted heaps and pretend the world outside didn’t exist.

He sat on the edge of the bed. Gently parted your thighs, careful, no pressure, no demand. The washcloth was warm against your skin; he wiped in slow, methodical strokes up the insides of your legs, cleaning the sticky, cooling trails Bucky had left behind.

No rush.

No judgment.

Just quiet, focused tenderness. His other hand rested on your hip, steady anchor, thumb brushing the bone there in small, unconscious circles.

Every pass of the cloth made you shiver, oversensitive nerves sparking, then settling under the gentleness. He cleaned between your legs with the same reverence: soft dabs along the swollen, tender folds, careful around your clit where even the lightest touch made you flinch. When the cloth brushed too close, accidental, feather-light you gasped; he froze instantly, eyes flicking to yours in panic.

“Sorry,” he murmured, voice thick. “Didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay,” you whispered. Voice rough, scraped raw. “Keep going. Please.”

He did.

Finished between your legs, then moved to your inner thighs, your lower stomach where stray drops had landed, the crease of your hips. The cloth cooled by the end; he set it aside, took a fresh one from the bowl, dampened it again, and wiped your face, cheeks, chin, the corners of your mouth where spit and tears and come had dried into salty crusts. His thumb lingered under your eye, catching the last tear that slipped free.

“You’re safe,” he said, so soft it cracked in half. “With me. Always. I swear it.”

He helped you out of the ruined dress, lifting your arms like you were a child, sliding the fabric over your head with infinite patience, folding it carefully even though it was stained and wrinkled beyond saving. He set it on the chair anyway. Naked now, skin prickling in the cool air. Goosebumps rose; you shivered once.

He pulled the comforter back, guided your legs under the sheets, eased you down fully. The cotton was cool against your overheated body; you sighed as it settled over bare skin.

Steve stood for a long moment, watching you, chest rising and falling unevenly then started to undress himself. Shirt peeled off slowly, revealing the broad planes of his chest, the faint red crescent marks where your nails had dug in during the chaos, the older scars that Bucky used to trace with reverent fingers. Pants and boxers next; he kicked them aside without looking, wiped himself clean with quick, efficient strokes of the cloth, practical, almost mechanical.

Then he climbed in beside you, careful not to jostle the bed too much. Pulled you into his arms immediately. Your back to his chest, his arm wrapped around your waist, hand splayed wide over your stomach like he needed the skin-to-skin contact to believe you were still real. His chin tucked over your shoulder; breath warm and uneven against your neck.

He tugged the comforter higher, tucking it around your shoulders with careful hands, smoothing it down your arms, making sure no part of you was exposed to the chill creeping in from the window. The gesture was so achingly tender it dragged fresh tears from you, silent, hot, soaking into the pillow.

“I love you,” he whispered into your hair, voice breaking on every syllable. “Even the parts of you that still love him. Even the parts of me that still do. I never stopped. Not for a second.”

You turned your head just enough to press your lips to the rough stubble of his jaw. “I love you too,” you said, voice shaking. “And I’m scared. Scared we’ll never figure this out. Scared he walked out for good this time. Scared he’ll come back and we’ll tear each other apart again trying to share what’s left.”

Steve’s arm tightened around you, almost too tight, like he could physically hold the pieces together. “Then we’ll be scared together,” he murmured against your temple. “And we’ll wait. However long it takes. However many nights it takes. I’m not letting go of you. Not again.”

His fingers found yours under the covers, threaded them together, squeezed once. Hard. Like a vow.

You closed your eyes. The city hummed outside, indifferent, endless. Snow tapped softly against the window now, a faint white noise that almost covered the hollow space Bucky’s absence had carved out. The hole was there, in the room, in your chest, in the inches between you and Steve but Steve’s heartbeat against your back was steady now.

Slower.

Stronger.

An anchor in the dark.

He kissed the nape of your neck, soft, lingering, lips trembling just slightly.

“Sleep, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

You believed him.

Just enough.

Tears dried on your cheeks. Breath evened out. The ruin didn’t disappear but it quieted, settled into something you could carry for one more night.

Together.

You drifted off in his arms, tucked in, held, cleaned, not fixed.

But not alone.

And for tonight, with Steve’s warmth wrapped around you and the faint scent of lavender still clinging to the sheets, that was enough to let the darkness take you gently.

The bedroom was dark except for the faint silver glow from the city outside the window, same blinds, same cold stripes of light across the sheets, but everything felt different now.

Softer.

Quieter.

The kind of quiet that settles after you’ve learned to live with scars instead of tearing them open every night.

Steve was finally asleep beside you. Deep, even breaths. One thick arm slung heavy across your waist, anchoring you to him even in sleep; the other tucked under his pillow. His hair was still mussed from your fingers earlier, lips faintly swollen from the slow, thorough kisses you’d traded for hours.

You’d fucked tonight, gentle at first, exploratory, then desperate as the weeks of careful healing cracked open, then gentle again until you both unraveled in each other’s arms. No taunts. No ghosts crowding the room. Just skin on skin, whispered I love yous between gasps, like the words were the only truth still holding weight.

You were still catching your breath, heart rate drifting down, skin cooling, when your phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Once. Sharp. Insistent.

You glanced at Steve, out cold, face slack and peaceful in a way it hadn’t been for weeks and reached over carefully so the mattress wouldn’t dip too much. The screen lit your face in cold blue.

Unknown number.

Your stomach dropped. You knew.

The first message hit like a slap.

Unknown number 2:34am

Still hear you screaming my name while Rogers watched you fall apart. Bet he still jerks off thinking about how wet you got for me. How you begged. Tell me you don’t get soaked every time you remember my cock splitting you open on that island, doll. Tell me you’re not clenching right now just picturing it.

Your breath snagged in your throat.

Another buzz. Immediate. Relentless.

Unknown number 2:33am

I know he’s asleep next to you, playing house like a pathetic little boyfriend. I know he fucks you like you’re made of porcelain now, slow, boring rolls, sweet kisses, whispering how much he loves you while he barely scratches the surface. Pathetic. You need teeth. You need bruises. You need someone who’ll wreck you so hard you forget your own name instead of holding your hand through it like a goddamn therapy session.

Heat flooded low in your belly, traitorous, instant, humiliating. Your thighs pressed together on instinct. You could still feel the ghost of Bucky’s metal grip digging into your hips, the brutal stretch, the way he’d snarled Stevie like it was both a claim and a wound he refused to let heal.

Steve shifted in his sleep. His arm tightened around you reflexively, pulling you flush against his chest. Warm. Safe. Loving. His nose nuzzled the back of your neck, a soft, unconscious sound escaping him.

Another message.

Unknown number 2:34am

You were mine first, doll. Remember that? You were mine before Rogers ever laid a fucking finger on you. Then you went behind my back and cheated on me with him, let Captain America fuck you while you were still coming home to my bed every night. Now it’s his turn. One word and I’ll let you do the exact same thing to him. I’ll fuck you right beside him while he sleeps like the trusting idiot he is. I’ll make you bite the pillow so he doesn’t wake up to the sound of you coming on the cock that had you first. Or maybe I’ll wake him up. Let him watch again. Let him see what you really look like when you’re being properly ruined by the man who owned you before he ever did.

Your pulse thundered in your ears. Fingers shook on the screen.

The three little dots appeared. He was typing again.

Next message landed like a blade.

Unknown number 2:34am

Fair’s fair, sweetheart. You cheated on me with him once. Now come cheat on him with me. You know you want to. You know part of you still belongs to me. Say it. Tell me you’re touching yourself right now thinking about how I’d pin you down and fuck his name right out of your mouth. One word. I’ll be there before he even stirs.

Your free hand clenched the sheet. Shame and want twisted together so tight you couldn’t breathe right.

Steve murmured something soft in his sleep, your name, maybe, or just a sigh of contentment. His lips brushed your shoulder, tender, unconscious. The arm around you flexed again, holding you like you were the center of his world.

You stared at the glowing screen.

Thought about the weeks since that night.

Steve crying into your hair the morning after. Steve kissing every bruise Bucky left like he could erase them with his mouth. Steve fucking you slow and deep last week, eyes locked on yours, whispering how much he loved you, how he’d fight for this, for you, even if it meant sharing pieces of your heart he could never fully touch.

Thought about Bucky.

The way he’d walked out like he was leaving forever, but the door had clicked shut like a promise he’d be back to collect what was his.

The way part of you still ached for the violence of him. The way he broke you open and made it feel like worship.

But right now, in this bed, with Steve’s heartbeat steady and warm against your back, something cold and clear crystallized:

You could want both.

You could love Steve with everything soft and safe and healing in you.

And still crave the ruin Bucky offered like a drug you couldn’t quit.

But you didn’t have to choose tonight.

You didn’t have to answer.

You turned the phone face-down on the nightstand.

Silent. Dark.

Steve shifted again, nuzzling closer, murmuring something sleepy and sweet against your neck, wordless comfort.

You slid your hand over his, lacing your fingers through his bigger ones. Squeezed once. Hard.

Then the phone buzzed one last time.

You didn’t want to look.

But you did.

One final message waited on the screen, colder and sharper than the rest.

Unknown number 2:36am

Run back to me whenever you’re ready, whore. We both know you will. You cheated on me with him once. Now be a good girl and cheat on him with me. I’ll be waiting ;)

— yours truly, ѕℓυtdιεr.

masterlist

You came down to the home gym at the Avengers compound with Bucky, expecting to get a workout in like usual.

But the second he starts his set your attention shifts straight to him.

The room fills with the clank of metal plates and the steady rhythm of his breathing, and somehow you end up just standing there watching instead of doing anything productive.

He’s beneath the bar with more weight loaded onto it than most men would dare attempt, his vibranium arm catching the bright fluorescent light every time he pushes the bar upward.

A thin sheen of sweat coats his skin, tracing the thick muscles of his neck, sliding over the wide expanse of his chest, and disappearing into the defined ridges of his abs.

Each low grunt he lets out as he pushes the bar sends a jolt straight to your core, his biceps bulge like fucking pythons, veins standing out along his forearms like they’ve been drawn there just to ruin your focus.

And God help you, he looks unfairly good—solid, powerful, the kind of man who could crush steel and still have you completely unravelled just by standing there.

You nudge your thighs together, feeling the heat build up.

The way he controls the weight, hips lifting just slightly for leverage, muscles tightening under those black shorts clinging to his thick thighs… it pulls you straight back to that night.

That night in his bedroom when he’d turned all that raw strength on you.

He'd already made you come twice on his tongue, sprawled on the bed with your legs hooked over his shoulders. His metal fingers dug into your thighs, holding you spread wide open as his mouth worked your pussy—lips sucking your clit, tongue plunging deep, lapping up every drop like he had been starving for weeks.

“Fuck, doll,” he’d groaned against you, his voice rough and wrecked. "Taste so goddamn sweet. Gimme one more."

You’d been trembling, oversensitive from the intense pleasure, thighs quivering around his head.

But he didn't relent.

Instead, he slid his flesh arm under your ass to drag you right to the edge of the bed like you weighed nothing at all—pulling you closer as if you weren’t already close enough.

His piercing blues locked on yours, dark with a primal hunger. “C’mon, baby,” he'd growled. “Soak my face again. I know you got it.”

You shouldn’t have been shocked by his strength—super soldier serum and all that—but when he said, “Grab on,” and you clutched his shoulders, fingers sinking into solid muscle, he just… lifted you.

Straight off the bed, you were suspended mid-air in his arms, held up only by his strength as he devoured you like a man possessed.

You gripped his hair with one hand, the other braced on his shoulder, knuckles white as you rode his face, every flick of his tongue sending hot, overwhelming pulses through your entire body.

The thrill of it—the sheer power holding you up while he ravaged your soaked cunt, nose grinding your throbbing clit, tongue curling deep with feral growls vibrating straight through you.

The pleasure overwhelmed you, leaving you lightheaded and on the verge of blacking out.

But you were close, oh so close—muscles burning as you started to slip.

“B-bucky—fuck, I cant,” you’d gasped, your grip faltering. “Gonna f-fall, I—”

He’d just grunted, low and animalistic, not even pausing to set you down.

In one fluid move, he pivoted and slammed your back against the nearest wall, the impact rattling the pictures on the wall and sending one crashing to the floor in pieces.

He paid no mind to it.

His mouth sealed over you again, relentless, tongue thrusting deep as his vibranium hand pinned your thigh high, opening you wider.

"Give it to me, baby," he'd demanded, voice rough between sucks, eyes burning into you. "Give me what’s mine. Come on my tongue. Now."

And you had, shattering harder than before, grinding down onto his greedy mouth as your orgasm ripped through you, thighs quaking around his head, squirting hot and messy over his face while he drank it all down, groaning like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted.

"That's my good fucking girl."

The loud clang of the bar settling into the rack snaps you back to reality, your panties now completely drenched from the memory and your nipples straining hard against your tank top.

Bucky sits up, straightening as he wipes sweat from his brow with a towel, dragging it slowly down the side of his neck before his gaze settles on you.

Heat rushes to your cheeks as his lips tip into that familiar, knowing smirk.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” he teases, voice low and playful as he stands and begins to walk toward you. "You know, you're not very subtle," he chuckles, stopping just inches away, towering over you.

“You’ve been eye-fuckin’ me for the last ten minutes,” he adds, that smirk deepening. "What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, huh? Thinkin' about something dirty?"

Your breath hitches, pulse thundering between your legs, and you don't bother lying. "Yeah," you admit, voice steady but tight. "Thinking about how I want to be your next workout."

The smirk is gone. His eyes darken at your words, that playful glint morphing into something far more intense.

Without warning, his hands are on you—vibranium palm firm at the back of your thigh, his other arm wrapping around your waist—as he lifts you up effortlessly.

Your legs instinctively lock around his hips, your back arching as he presses his rock-hard cock right against your soaked core through your thin shorts.

“Lucky for you…" he groans, tilting your face down to his and lightly nibbling your lower lip. "I was barely workin' up a sweat.”

thank you so much for reading! hope you enjoyed! likes, comments and reblogs are so appreciated <3 pls let me know what you think!

But time slows eventually and Steve learns how to exist without waiting for the next mission. Bucky without the next fight, the next hurt. They move to a run down property in the Hudson Valley—stretches of greenery as far as the eye can see, a small house with a porch that needs fixing, stables out the back and a small pond off to the side. There’s a firepit out the front and a white cat sitting on the mailbox like she owns the place, licking her paw.

Bucky feeds her and she becomes his.

He names her Alpine.

Steve fixes the porch first because Bucky’s always wanted one. He remembers him saying it back in the 40s before the war—two rocking chairs and a place to look up at the stars, he’d said—and Steve was more than happy to make Bucky’s dream come true.

He finds Bucky asleep out there one night, Alpine sitting on his lap, shivering slightly from the cold. Steve wraps a blanket around him, kissing his forehead and Bucky smiles in his sleep, stirring only slightly. Steve takes a shaky breath like he can’t believe this is their life now. That they get to have everything they dreamed of 80 years ago.

“I love you Bucky,” he whispers shakily against his skin.

-----------

They have a small wedding right there on their little farm—flower petals spread across the grass, folded chairs lined up on either side of the aisle, an archway Bucky had built himself made of tree branches and flowers Steve had picked by the river. They walk down the aisle together, hand in hand—Bucky shaking when he places Steve’s ring on his finger, kissing his knuckles, eyes teary and full of love.

And when they kiss as husbands, barely able to contain their smiles, laughing into each other’s mouths—it’s like the first time all over again. It’s every moment they had ever been apart, all the pain Bucky had been through. It’s the two boys from Brooklyn barely scraping by, nothing but bruised knuckles and each other. It’s Steve, small and frail, before the serum. It’s Bucky before he fell off the train. It’s Bucky pulling Steve from the river. It’s ‘I’m with you till the end of the line, pal,’ and every other moment in between.

----------

Bucky starts to try new things, something to fill his time, something that isn’t based on survival, simply for him. He discovers he likes gardening—likes working with his hands and watching something grow—something he can share with Steve. When his first strawberries finally make it without any worms or birds picking at them, he runs inside with a handful, presenting them to Steve with a smile.

“Look they finally grew.” He can barely contain his excitement, eyes sparkling and grinning ear to ear. Steve beams, heart squeezing at the sight of Bucky like this—carefree, slightly breathless, dirt behind his nails, hair messy and shirt unbuttoned at the top.

Steve puts down the wooden spoon he’d been holding, turning off the stove, before walking over to Bucky and cupping his face in his hands, kissing his cheek.

“You did it, baby. They for me?” Steve’s thumb brushes over Bucky’s cheekbone.

Bucky nods, biting down on his lip, still in awe of the way Steve can make him nervous after all these years. He turns to place the berries in a bowl before settling into Steve’s arms, placing his hands on Steve’s waist. The air thickens and Bucky takes a trembling breath when Steve’s thumb traces over his bottom lip. He lets the anticipation build, feeling the way Bucky’s grip tightens on his waist, the way his breath gets heavier, eyes full of want.

Steve leans in, brushing his lips over Bucky’s, one hand resting on the back of his neck, the other cupping his jaw. Bucky lets out a soft sound, barely there, and Steve pulls him in, lips parting against his, tasting him. The kiss quickly turns desperate, breathless—hands pulling at clothes until Bucky’s crowded against the foot of the bed. Steve mouths at Bucky’s neck, leaving hot open mouthed kisses down his skin. Bucky moans, the sound rumbling through his chest.

“All this for strawberries?” He teases, voice laced with affection, hands tugging gently at Steve’s hair.

“For you baby. Want to take care of you.”

He pulls Bucky’s shirt off, hands trailing up his stomach, slightly softer now than he used to be—and Steve loves it, pressing his fingers into the flesh, smiling at the soft give of it, at what it represents—Bucky slowly letting go. Bucky sheds his pants and boxers, the hard length of his cock brushing against Steve’s stomach.

Steve takes off his shirt, pushing Bucky down onto the bed until he’s sitting, moving between his legs. His hand reaches for Bucky’s cock—thick and flushed and leaking. He wraps his fingers around the length, stroking slowly as Bucky’s eyes flutter shut, letting out a loud moan.

Steve places a kiss to Bucky’s chest, trailing his mouth down to the junction of his vibranium arm, kissing the scars there.

“Stevie.” Bucky sounds wrecked, voice small and broken, eyes welling at the devotion in his husband’s eyes, his lips—tracing along every scar, murmuring praise into his skin, continuing to stroke his cock, thumb brushing over the tip.

Bucky’s hips jerk up, gasping at the pleasure rolling through him and Steve pins his hips down with one strong hand, rubbing soothing circles into his right hip.

“Easy baby, let me take care of you. I’ve got you sweetheart.” Steve kisses down Bucky’s stomach, kneeling in front of him. He looks up at Bucky—lips parted around a gasp, pupils dilated, almost drowning out the blue.

Steve’s lips close around Bucky’s cock, tongue swirling around the tip, taking him further into his mouth. When Bucky cums, its fast and messy, gasping and pulling at Steve’s hair while he sucks him through it.

Steve pulls back then, lips swollen and glistening with Bucky’s release, standing up and pulling Bucky with him.

Bucky’s breathing heavy, broad chest rising and falling quickly, already seeking out Steve’s touch—his mind gone soft and pliant in that way it only does for his husband.

Steve’s hands trail down Bucky’s sides, leaning in to kiss him, letting him taste himself on his tongue before pulling back.

“Turn around. Bend over for me sweetheart.”

Bucky gulps, obeying immediately, breathing heavy as he bends himself over the bed, feeling so exposed yet so safe all at once. Steve sheds his pants and boxers, hand wrapping around his length, the other resting on Bucky’s hip, admiring the curve of his ass, ready and waiting for him.

“So pretty for me. Look at you, already leaking for me again.” He reaches around and strokes Bucky’s cock once, twice before pulling away.

“Stevie, please.” Bucky whines, head turned over his shoulder, eyes begging for Steve to please, please touch him, fuck him the way he needs.

Steve chuckles, reaching for a bottle of lube, spreading some over his fingers before pressing against Bucky’s ass, fingertip breaching the opening just slightly and Bucky gasps, head falling forward at the sensation.

Steve stretches him slowly, fingers pushing in—slow, controlled—adding another while Bucky fists his hands in the sheets. Steve fucks him then—deep, measured thrusts that have Bucky whining Steve’s name—Steve praising him through it, kissing along his spine, hands digging firmly into Bucky’s hips, keeping him right where he wants him. Bucky almost cries as he comes—the feeling of being so full, so loved, so taken care of, overwhelming in the best way. Steve follows, coming inside him, grunting into Bucky’s neck as he rides out his high.

“Fuck, I love you.” Steve gasps into Bucky’s neck as he slowly pulls himself out.

Bucky turns in Steve’s arms, kissing him soft and sweet, like he hadn’t just been taken apart completely.

“I love you Steve, so beautiful.” He says between kisses.

Steve cups Bucky’s face, kissing him lazily like they have all the time in the world—because they do.

----------

Steve’s sitting on the armchair in the living room, sketch book in his lap, pencils sprawled out next to him, hair still damp from the shower. He traces another line, the soft curve of Bucky’s cheeks before shading over his jaw, adding small lines to the stubble he’s drawing along Bucky’s jaw.

He looks up at Bucky—damp hair sticking to his forehead, the afternoon sunlight hitting his face just right. His brow is furrowed slightly as he reads, completely oblivious to his husband drawing him, one hand resting on Alpine’s head, petting her softly where she’s curled on his lap.

Steve’s heart swells at the sight—Bucky; safe, loved, content, bathed in sunlight like it exists just to frame his beautiful jaw, glinting off the dog tags around his neck.

Bucky looks up then, while Steve is concentrated on a particular spot of his sketch, tongue peeking out between his lips as he angles the book just right. He smiles, wondering how he got this lucky—married to the man he’s loved since he was 13, tucked away in their small home, filled with mismatched furniture and homemade items and so, so much love.

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You let yourself in by sliding the key into the lock, the same one Bucky pressed into your palm five months ago. The house is a single-story ranch set back from the road, the kind of place someone builds when they plan to stay, dreaming of muddy shoes by the door, a full table, and years unfolding in the same rooms. 

The door opens with a soft catch, and you lock it behind you, standing at the entryway for a second to breath in the familiar scent: a mix of clean soap and worn leather. Underneath, a trace of hay and cedar that never quite leaves.

Bucky is still out with the guys, today it’s darts night at the bar. Your dad thought you were staying over at Wanda’s, which isn’t exactly a lie—you had dinner with her, and your friend would cover for you anytime, being the only person you trusted enough to confide in about your unusual situation. 

You hang your coat on one of the hooks by the door, before sitting on the nearby bench to slip your boots off. The house is quiet as you pass by a stack of mail sorted carefully on the console table, before your attention is instantly drawn to a familiar brown jacket draped over the back of a chair, probably a last-minute outfit change before going out. Your eyes promptly catch a hole near the sleeve once you hang it back by the front door, so you make a mental note to mend it for Bucky tomorrow. 

Fixing things is just who he is—not in a grand way, but in a thousand small ones. A hinge tightened; a cracked step reinforced; a toaster coaxed back to life with patience and a screwdriver. It’s one of the first things you noticed about him.

You met Bucky two years ago. That night, one of your dad’s friends, Sam, hosted a cookout—one of those informal gatherings that somehow turn into half the town showing up with folding chairs and enough home-cooked meals to feed a whole county.

You had just arrived, still living out of a suitcase, still feeling like a guest in your dad’s hometown. You stepped out of his truck to the distant sounds of laughter and animated chatter, when you saw him. Bucky stood by the grill, sleeves rolled up to reveal thick forearms dusted with dark hair, his henley stretching across a chest that looked built by years of hard work rather than any gym. His salt-and-pepper stubble was slightly unkempt, and his sun-kissed skin spoke of long days outdoors.

He wasn’t trying to impress, yet your eyes couldn't look away. 

Your dad nudged you out of your stupor. “I get to finally introduce you to Bucky. Have I already told you he owns the local feed store?” As if that explained everything. And technically, you didn’t need a recap of his whole life; after all, you had spent the past three years on video calls listening to the exact same things. 

“Today Bucky fixed the screen door. Saved me hundreds of dollars.” 

“I can’t keep up with him anymore. He and Steve are too fast.” 

“He’s such a sore loser at darts.” 

Yet, you listened to it all over again, this time eager to remember every single detail about the handsome, older man. 

Your dad was on the verge of depression when he moved back to his hometown after your mom asked for a divorce. You were worried about him, yet couldn’t do much while living on the other side of the country. Then, after a week spent reacquainting himself with the place he had left to follow your mom’s dream career, the light in his eyes gradually returned. All thanks to this James Barnes guy who he met at the store while looking for chicken feed. Apparently, their parents knew each other very well. From that day on, he and Bucky became inseparable. The farmer was well-loved by the community, especially after taking over his family’s store.

He introduced your dad to darts night and weekend morning runs, and you couldn't be more thankful for that.

When you were finally introduced to him, Bucky smiled like he had all the time in the world, his blue eyes full of a gentle attention that made you feel seen without being appraised.

The way your name rolled on his tongue made your knees tremble. Then, he shook your hand, slowly, as if to savor the feel of your skin. “Welcome back.”

Over the following weeks, you kept hearing his name everywhere. At the diner, where the waitress mentioned that Bucky had tipped them generously, again, even if he always orders the same thing. At the flower shop, where your boss Wanda would roll her eyes fondly and repeat, “If you need help, just ask Bucky. He’ll be on his way before you know it.”

Then at the hardware store, the post office, the bar...

Always the same refrain: good man. Reliable. Kind. Devoted. 

He helps without making it a favor; fixes fences for neighbors who can’t; makes deliveries after hours whenever storms hit; sits with old men who want company more than conversation. He loves his land, his animals, the rhythm of days that begin early and end with the satisfying ache of honest work. 

And with you, he was a gentleman.

He never assumed, nor rushed. When he touched you at the beginning of your relationship, it was careful, reverent even, like he understood the weight of what you were doing and refused to treat it lightly. The age difference lingered there, quiet but acknowledged in the way he always checked in, giving you room to choose him. And well, he is your father’s best friend after all. That man trusts Bucky with his own life. You don’t think ‘delighted’ would be the right word if he found out his daughter and his forty-something friend have been sneaking around behind his back for almost two years.

You lean against the counter now, posture relaxed as you fill the kettle. Outside, the stars shine brightly in the sky, an unusual sight for someone used to the constant glow of city lights. You know he’d probably come home later than usual—darts nights always run long—but you don’t mind waiting. You like this part, too. Being here alone, belonging.

You move through the house easily with your cup of steaming tea cradled in your hands, turning on a lamp in the living room, straightening a cushion that didn’t really need it. The walls tell his story without trying: framed photos of Bucky and his family posing on the porch in different seasons, several ribbons from different county fairs pinned beside a faded map of the town, and his father’s tools hanging neatly as a reminder of his hard work.

This is a man who stands firm in who he is.

You change into one of his old shirts—soft and discolored in places—and curl up on the couch with a book you barely pay attention to. 

Somewhere down the main road, laughter spills out of Barton’s Corner, the oldest bar in town, always crowded with familiar faces. Soon enough, you’d hear the rumbling sound of Bucky’s truck pulling in, older than most of the others but spotless. The kind of vehicle someone keeps not because they have to, but because it carries their story.

For now you just wait, safe and cozy.

The front door opens slowly, the sounds of heavy steps followed by the low click of the lock. Bucky walks inside, moving on instinct: his boots are lined up neatly by the door before he even thinks about it, and his jacket is hung right beside yours. The house is steeped in silence, the lamps casting that familiar honeyed glow that tells him someone has been awake recently.

His gaze goes straight to the couch.

You are asleep, a book fallen open on your chest and one arm draped loosely over it as if you’d tried to hold onto the last sentence. Your expression is unguarded in a way that makes something warm bloom in his chest. He stands there for a moment, longer than necessary, taking you in as the quiet of the night settles around him like a held breath.

It’s not the beer, he only drank one tonight, almost an hour ago. This dizzy feeling stems from something completely different. Coming home and finding you here, waiting for him to come back safely… It feels like a gift he’s still not sure he deserves.

Bucky crosses the room quietly to crouch beside your relaxed form. He murmurs your name, as gently as he can, his knuckles brushing against your arm, barely there. 

“Hey, sweetheart. You’re gonna wake up with a crick in your neck.”

You frown faintly, nose scrunching as if his voice has deeply offended you. 

“Mh.” You completely ignore him. 

A soft grin tugs at the corners of his mouth despite himself. He says your name again under his breath, then tries a little firmer, but you only bury your face deeper against the cushion beneath you, clutching the book like a shield.

He sighs. “All right. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

After successfully prying the book out of your grip, placing it next to your half-empty cup, Bucky slips his arms under your body and hosts you up in one smooth motion. An exaggerated grunt falls from his lips as he settles you over his shoulder, and the reaction is immediate.

“Bucky!” You screech, eyes snapping open as you suddenly find yourself upside down, head dangling toward the floor. “Oh my God! Put me down!”

He chuckles, deep and unbothered, adjusting his firm grip on you. “You had your chance,” he playfully pats your asscheek. “I tried wakin’ you up.”

“So you thought this was a good idea?” You protest, laughter bleeding into your words.

He starts climbing up the stairs with careful steps. “I know I’m too old to be doin’ this kind of nonsense, so you’re gonna have to appreciate the effort.”

You huff, lightly thumping his back with your fingers. “You’re not that old.”

“Tell that to my knees tomorrow.” Bucky grins. “Now hush before I drop you.”

You go still, but not before squeezing his ass hard enough to elicit an indignant noise out of him. It’s in small moments like this that Bucky feels quiet joy settling deep in his chest. Making breakfast together, your laughter filling the kitchen, curling up on the couch in comfortable silence... Even the simplest, most ordinary things feel extraordinary since he met you.

He nudges the bedroom door shut with his heel, careful not to let it click shut. The room smells faintly of laundry soap and something inherently his. He adjusts his grip on you out of habit even though you’re already stirring to be let down.

“Easy.” He murmurs, more to himself than to you.

The moment he lowers you onto the mattress, you ignite like a spark on the Fourth of July. You’re on your feet in an instant, arms wrapping around his neck with enough force to knock the breath out of him.

“Hey—wow.” He guffaws, instinctively bracing himself. “Go easy on your old man.”

You make a small, irritated sound against his shoulder, half whine, half reluctant chuckle. “Stop calling yourself that.” Your face presses harder to his neck, your next words muffled against his skin. “You’re not old.”

Bucky immediately feels the sharp tension of the thought that flares to life at the back of your mind whenever he makes these jokes. He’s noticed it before, the way your smile tightens and your eyes go briefly distant. You mentioned it once during one of your late night talks in his truck, that you’ve always hated how your dad used to joke about that too, back when time started showing up in his bones, coloring his hair with grey streaks. Even when you were younger, it scared you—how fast years could slip by, how easily people started measuring themselves in what had already passed.

Bucky swallows and his arms adjust around you properly, one hand spreading solidly between your shoulder blades. “Alright.” He says softly. “I hear you.”

Your body melts into his hold at once, cheek pressing against his chest and eyelids fluttering shut. “It feels like it’s been years since we’ve seen each other. I missed you.”

He closes his eyes as well, and for a moment, the whole world reduces itself to the feeling of you: your warmth, your breathing against his, your soft hands on his skin… He lets himself bask in it.

“It’s only been three days.” He teases lightly.

You pull back just enough to look up at him, brows drawn together in mock severity. “Still too long.”

He guides your head back into your favorite hiding place with a low hum in his throat, his body mindlessly swaying side to side, settling into the rhythm of a slow song no one else can hear.

You could fall asleep just like this, content in his arms.

 “You stayed out later than usual.” You ponder drowsily.

There it is. Bucky feels heat creep up the back of his neck as he gently pulls back to properly look into your eyes. “Ah, yeah. Guess I did.”

You squint at him, suspicious and amused all at once. “Did you ask for a re-match again?”

“No.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m not a sore loser, contrary to what the rumors say.” You let out a skeptical hum, prompting him to tickle your sides. You burst out laughing, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes as you beg him to stop. Bucky’s barely contained grin makes him look so boyishly pretty as he keeps teasing you, until he eventually decides to spare you.

“You know I hate when you do that.” You pant, still smiling.

He exhales a small, helpless laugh as his hands slide up to your waist, thumbs brushing familiar circles into your sides as if to ground himself. Then, when you’re finally calmed down, “I’m not going to the farm tomorrow.”

You stiffen, gazing up at him with wide eyes. “What?”

“Nor to the store.”

You straighten up, now staring at him like he’s just told you the sky's been purple all along. “You’re sick.” You conclude decisively. “You have to be sick.”

He shrugs, the corners of his mouth lifting up. “Feel fine.”

“You never skip work.”

“I know.”

“But—”

“And you, my love, are skipping yours too.”

Your brows furrow, he can clearly see the gears turning in your head. “Did I—did I forget something? I didn’t ask Wanda for the day off. Is it someone’s birthday? My dad’s? Oh God, is it—”

A chuckle claws out of his throat, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek before you can spiral any further. “Baby, breathe.”

You blink at him, worry softening into confusion.

“I just… needed a day off.” He shrugs. “Life has been hectic lately. Always somewhere to be, something to fix, someone needing my help.” His thumb brushes the skin under your eye. “I figured it might be nice to slow down for a bit. Have you all to myself for once.”

Your expression shifts, surprise giving way to something hopeful and almost shy. “Just… us?”

“Just us.” Bucky nods, trying to not grin. But then you smile, bright and a little disbelieving, and he can’t help himself. He leans in to kiss you, unhurried, lingering like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your lips. Your hands cup his jaw, so soft, so sure, that something in his chest tightens unexpectedly.

He pulls away before he can sink any deeper into it, jaw tightening as he realizes his focus has pathetically thinned with a single kiss, mind slipping somewhere far more tempting. 

The tips of your noses brush against each other as his voice drops into that playful register that always gets to you, refusing to burst the quiet bubble of peace. 

“So here’s how it’s gonna go: we’re sleeping in. I don’t care that we both wake up at the crack of dawn—we’re rotting in this bed until one of us gets hungry enough to complain.”

You laugh softly. “You always get hungry first.”

“True. Then I’m making pancakes—the good ones.”

Your eyes light up. “The ones with Nutella inside?”

“The very same.” He beams, eyebrows wiggling up and down. “And then,” he continues, resuming the gently rocking motion, that teasing grin you love so much tugging at his lips. “We’re catching up on that show we started a month ago.”

“I knew you liked it!” 

“In my defense, the day we watched the first episode I spent the entire afternoon arguing with Mr. Jones over that fuckin’ tractor part he ordered. He kept insisting it was the wrong one, and you know how stubborn that old man is.” He kisses you once more, savoring the sweet taste of your lips. “Lunch is whatever you want. I’ll cook.”

You open your mouth to argue, yet he silences you with another kiss, quick but firmer in intent. “I want to.” He rasps out, forehead resting against yours. “Let me take care of you. All I need is for you to be here, nice and warm by my side.”

Your eyes soften. “You don’t have to do everything.”

“I know.” He shrugs. “I just want to.”

Drawing you impossibly closer, his hands tighten at your hips. “So,” he clears his throat, voice low and content. “We sleep, we eat, and we make love on every piece of furniture in this fuckin’ house. Sounds like a productive day, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah. It really does.” You can't help but laugh again at his serious tone, your forehead falling on his chest.

“But,” you start, palms smoothing the fabric clinging to his pecs. “Since you’re taking the day off, I suppose I should warn you.”

He raises a brow. “About?”

“Me.”

He snorts. “Bit late for that.”

You gasp affronted, giving his chest a light shove that doesn’t actually create any distance between you.

“Excuse you. I was going to say that I tend to steal blankets and hog pillows, but you never notice since you’re always falling asleep before me—”

“Damn right if I do, sweetheart!” He cuts in smoothly. “And add ‘thinking out loud’ to your little list of quirks.” 

You freeze. “I do not.”

“Oh, you do.” He grins, nodding. “Especially when you’re looking for something you’ve just put down. You ask questions like there’s a second you in the room with all the answers.”

Your mouth falls open, then closes again. “That is wildly exaggerated.”

“And,” he continues, enjoying this a tad too much. “You leave half-finished mugs of tea everywhere. Windowsills, bookshelves... Even the bathroom counter.”

Your eyes narrow. “You’re one to talk. You fix things that aren’t broken.”

“I told you already, it's called preventative maintenance.”

“You fixed the door hinge because it ‘sounded sad’.” You tilt your head, making air quotes.

“It was asking for help.”

You burst out laughing despite his seriousness, shaking your head. “Oh, my poor Jamie.” You sigh, slipping into a dramatic tone as you cradle his face. “Always working so hard, and not getting a single moment of well-deserved peace in his own home.”

A tingling warmth settles in his chest at the word home, even wrapped in teasing. He stills you gently, thumb brushing along your jaw, his expression turning solemn. Certain.

“Our home, my love.”

Those soft words land heavily than intended, like the final piece of a puzzle setting into place.

Blinking and caught off guard, humor drains out of your face at once. You can only swallow a fresh set of tears, a slow and real smile brightening your features as you lean into his touch.

“Yeah.” You bite your bottom lip. “Our home.”

Bucky presses his forehead to yours, breathing in the scent of your body lotion lingering on your skin since this morning, before playfulness returns to his voice, familiar.

“And for the record, I find your habits endearing.”

“Oh, now you’re backtracking.”

“Not at all. I reserve the right to complain while secretly liking them.”

Your laugh is full and bright, making Bucky feel like he’s stepping into sunlight after months spent in the shade of a dark, cold winter. Your arms wrap around his neck again, and he holds you there, thinking—not for the first time—that he wants to spend forever doing this with you. Just existing together, right here.

Goosebumps rise on your skin as Bucky lowers his face into the slope of your neck, leaving a trail of small, open-mouth kisses from the sensitive patch of skin just behind you ear, to your shoulder.

“Aren’t you tired?” You mumble, eyelids falling close as he starts leading you backwards. 

“For you? Never.” He pushes you gently until you are lying on your back, pliant and open amidst the soft sheets.

When the cold tip of his nose touches the skin of your throat, a shiver runs down your back. He inhales deeply, moaning as your scent finally melts away the rest of the day’s tension. His broad body presses you more firmly into the mattress, still teasing your neck with pecks and languid licks, while his hips start a gentle grinding motion against your core. You can’t stop yourself from squirming, your chest heaving in anticipation at the feeling of his already half-hard cock brushing your sensitive clit. 

You bite your lip, placing your hand on his belt, and after making sure Bucky is paying attention, you slowly slip your hand under his flannel shirt, gradually hiking it up to reveal more and more of his skin.

“Go on.” Comes his raspy encouragement. His blue eyes turn darker with lust, relishing in the soft pressure of your nails as you caress his belly. He shudders once, too impatient to wait. Once he removes the shirt himself, his heartbeat quickens as blood pumps hot in his veins, and travels way too fast south.

Your eyes barely manage to set on his naked chest before Bucky is back on you, devouring your lips in a scorching kiss, his hands roaming freely over your covered torso. Your back arches, arousal pooling hot in your core as he brushes the underside of your breasts, thumbs teasingly tracing the shape of your nipples.

“Bucky.” You whimper.

“Arms up, doll.” Soon, you are left in your panties. It’s way too hot in his bedroom, and yet you shiver under his intense stare, the ever consuming urge to have you closer bleeding out of his pores.

“Cute.” He flicks the little bow on the hem of your panties with a small smirk, and you let out a trembling breath, torn between hiding in embarrassment and pushing your hips harder against his hand.

“Jamie, please.” Bucky focuses on your chest now, goosebumps raising once he traces the swell of your breasts with his nose, before leaving a harsh bite.

“You’re so mean.” 

His little grin presses against your cleavage. “I know, bunny. I know.”

He looms over you, taking in the view, his breath ghosting, sliding over your hot skin until he suddenly gets fed up with his own teasing and leans in to kiss the supple flesh. He grabs one of your tits in his hand, studying your face as his thumb grazes over your nipple. You suck in a sharp breath, mouth parting around a low moan at the rough texture—proof of years spent taking care of the land.

Your eyes roll back as his tongue circles your left areola, both your nipples finally receiving soft nibbles and sweet suckles that gradually turn harsher.

“Don't stop.” You whimper melts into a gasp when Bucky delicately blows on your sensitive flesh, the cold contrast making you squirm. “Please, don't stop Bucky."

He switches from one breast to the other, using his fingers to tease the neglected nipple, moaning appreciatively when your hand tugs at his hair and presses his face firmly into the soft flesh. At some point, Bucky lets his teeth gently graze your nub, and you reward him with a sweet squeal, prompting him to do it again.

Momentarily pulling away, he glances up at you with glistening lips, then back at your breasts, his eyes hazy.

“One day…” He mumbles, leaving a kiss on a raw nub. You suck in a confused breath.

“What?”

Your whisper is like a bucket of icy water dropping right over his body. The moment realization hits him like a freight train, horror dawns upon his features, his eyes widening, startled at his own admission.

“Bucky?” You raise on trembling elbows when he withdraws from you as if your skin just burned him. “Bucky?” You plea again, fingers desperately grasping onto his shoulder when he gives you his back, settling at the edge of the bed with his chin tipped down. 

Dreadful minutes of silence stretch between you, before Bucky finally summons the courage to speak. To lay bare the truth for you, and for himself.

He nervously fidgets with his fingers. “I’ve been trying to let it go. To be subtle.” A low, humorless chuckle echoes in the still room. “Didn’t wanna scare you off.”

Your shoulders drop at his dejected tone.

“I just couldn't stop thinking about it.” He shakes his head. “Which is stupid, right? I mean—look at me. I am in my forties, and you still have your whole life ahead of you. I don’t want you to be stuck in this damn town—”

“Bucky, hey. Look at me.” You stop him immediately, frowning. You crawl at the edge of the bed by his side, slowly guiding his chin to face you. “I am not ‘stuck’ in this town. I chose to stay here because I like it, and I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. So much, you are my whole world. But I don’t want to tie you down. I can't hold you back.” He swallows around the uncomfortable knot in his throat, words turning frantic. “And your dad—God, he’s my best friend and here I am, dreaming about marrying his daughter, about having kids who look like us running around the farm and calling you mama.”

Your throat tightens, and you swear your heart stops for a second before resuming its fast pace, as if trying to come out of your chest.

“But… when I think about a future without you… it’s just wrong. Everything is wrong if you are not by my side.”

He looks down for a second, tentatively intertwining your fingers together. His shoulders loosen a bit when you don't dismiss his touch, and the fact that he would even think that feels like a stab in your heart. When his eyes land back on yours, the storm inside has now eased into a gentle drizzle.

“I want everything with you. Even if it means your dad will hate me forever. I’ll let him punch me in the face if he wants, I’ll fix every single thing in his house—”

“You already do that.” You sniffle, biting your bottom lip to hide a smile. Bucky stops short, the corners of his mouth slightly lifting up before he cradles your cheek. 

“I hate myself for wanting this, for feeling like I'm clipping your wings, but I can't imagine my life without you. I’ll wait, sweetheart. As long as you need. And if you don’t want it? Good, okay. Means we’re spending the rest of our lives making love and—and traveling. You’d like that, right angel? You mentioned you want to see the world, and I can make that happen.” His smile is pleading, blue eyes glistening with tears. “I know this is all so sudden, but—” He swallows. “Please, don’t leave me.”

“You would really give up your dreams of having kids… for me?” Your jaw clenches in hope to keep the tears at bay, even if your voice breaks.

Bucky nods resolutely, frowning as if you’ve just asked him if the grass is green. “Of course. I just want you, my love. Just need you.” 

Your chin trembles, glassy eyes looking at the man you love—raw, uncertain, fragile in a way that pulls painfully at your heart. The sight of him like this, laid bare and willing to give up something so deeply rooted just to be with you, leaves you with a bitter taste on your tongue. And all you can think, is that you want that future too. You want him, and every piece of that life he's been dreaming about, without hesitation.

“Bucky, I want to be with you.” You choke on a sob. “And I want—” Taking a deep breath, you smile through the tears sliding down your cheeks. “Kids who look like us running around the farm and calling you dad.”

“Yeah?” He whispers hopeful, his shaky hand holding your jaw as if guarding a priceless treasure. “You really want that with me?”

You nuzzle closer into his palm, momentarily closing your eyes to bask into the familiar warmth. “I love you, Jamie. Don't ever think that you're tying me down, or holding me back from some... imaginary life you've made up for me in your head. I love you, and I want everything with you.”

“I love you too, baby.” He chokes out. “But what about your dad?” He presses his lips together, tense.

You can't help but chuckle at how adorable he looks right now. “Well, he’d better start working out. He’ll soon have a grandchild to keep up with.”

Finally, he gives you a relieved laugh. “Soon?”

Your playful smirk makes his hold on you tighten just slightly. “Well, we’re already half-naked, and there’s an empty bed right here, so...”

His breath hitches for half a second, because this is finally real: you, him, the possibility of building a life stitched together from little hands reaching for both of you, and sleepy hugs before school. All the dreams he’d never dared to voice, the small, secret hopes he’d held onto before falling asleep... They were all worth waiting for.

A squeal claws out of your throat as Bucky abruptly grabs your waist to pull you closer, filthily kissing you until you’re left clinging desperately to his shoulders. Your giggle soon turns into a gasp when you find yourself lying back on his bed. 

“Wanna fill you up so fucking bad.” He mutters, sparkling blue eyes reverently tracing your curves. “Gonna worship you every night, and still want you more by morning. You’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

“You already do.” Your voice wobbles pathetically, suddenly a little breathless, squirming beneath him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, doll.” He breathes you in, dragging his nose down your throat as he tightens his hold on your thighs. “I’ll stuff you full until it takes. Again and again. Fuck you against the wall, the shower—hell, even the damn barn.”

“Please!” Your pussy shamelessly throbs at the thought of him taking you right there, out in the open for anyone to see.

“But first,” Bucky’s fingers lightly graze the embarrassingly damp spot on your cotton panties. “Need to feel you around my fingers.” You whine in protest at that, but you know it’s futile. Kneeling between your thighs to keep them nice and open for him, his arm drapes over your hips to keep you still. Your panties are tossed somewhere on the floor, before he attacks your pulsing clit, alternating between steady flicks of his tongue and slow rubbing motions with his calloused fingers. Two of his digits stretch you open, your eyes rolling back at how perfectly they hit your sweet spot, until you flinch, a desperate gasp escaping your lips at the sudden sting.

“So fucking gorgeous.” A growl is swallowed back when you fist his locks. “The prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.” He murmurs, dark eyes glancing up at your scrunched-up features. You can barely form any coherent word, crying out as he smacks your pussy again. 

“Good girl.” The proud praise elicits a whimper out of you before you can stop it. “Taking whatever your old man gives you so well.” His hand falls on your tender flesh a little harder this time, making you gasp at the delicious pain, back arching up.

“You want another one, doll?” 

“Please.” 

“So fucking polite.” He groans between your folds, forcing you to stay put for his greedy mouth. “Go on, make me proud and come for me.”

The knot in your lower belly snaps at his command. Your thighs shake around his head, your hole tightening to keep his fingers trapped inside you as he nurses on your nub until overstimulation sets in. 

A high, desperate sound escapes your throat as Bucky pulls away, and for a second you truly believe he’s finally going to fuck you, but his hand is back at it again, leaving quick, little slaps on your clit that make your hips jerk helplessly, straining against his muscled arm. 

If seeing your pussy drool means taking you apart until you can barely remember your own name, then so be it. 

“Fuck fuck fuck!” You almost scream, head tossed back against the pillow.

“You’re so messy, lovely.” He marvels, voice husky with arousal. His mouth latches back around your bundle of nerves, producing such humiliating, sloppy sounds. “Look at her, sweetheart, crying so prettily for me.” 

He grinds against your swollen clit once more, your legs jerking close at the raw scrape of his stubble, before he is getting out of his own clothes with a brisk motion.

Boneless and gasping for breath, you glance up at him through your damp lashes, gaping at the leisurely pace he uses to stroke his hard cock, the flushed tip copiously leaking precum.

Bucky smirks, his mouth glistening with your slick as he settles closer to your core. “My pretty girl is finally gonna let me put a baby in her.” His hand assertively squashes your cheeks together until your lips pucker, only then his tongue pushes past them, claiming you with a hungry kiss. A strand of saliva connects your mouths, thin and filthy, as he slightly pulls back.

“Been thinking about you round with my kid for months. All soft and giggling, with a ring shining on your left hand.” He confesses roughly, dragging his mouth along your neck.

Your lips part in a silent moan when his cock makes itself comfortable between your folds, the head slipping inside you without hesitation. His right palm settles on your belly, heavy and possessive, but still mindful. The pressure makes everything better as his hips speed up, immediately setting a punishing, impatient pace. 

“I’ll be good,” his voice cracks against your breast, your body shoved further up the bed with each brutal thrust. “Best husband ever. You’ll never have to lift a finger, my darling wife.”

“You’re already so good to me, Jamie.” You moan, high and helpless, inevitably clenching around him as he calls you his wife. He growls at the pressure, harshly moving your hips to meet his, the room soon filling with the shameless slaps of your skins and the wet squelch of his cock driving deeper and deeper. 

“Gonna rub your feet when they hurt, and eat all your weird cravings with you in the middle of the night—fuck mama, this perfect pussy is so tight.” His head falls back in bliss.

That’s when the hand on your belly moves lower, until his fingers are back at toying with your clit, pinching and flicking it, as you squirm under his possessive stare.

“God, you’re taking it so good. Look at you, such a pretty little thing.” He gasps, frantically moving your bent knees back until they are touching your chest, his thrusts turning cruel as soon as you respond with a delirious sob at the new angle.

“Let me hear you” He pants, his lips hovering over yours. “Tell me how badly you want it, princess.”

“So bad, Jamie!” Your nails leave red marks along his back. He moans at the delicious pain, thrusting harder. “Fuck Bucky, give it to me! Wanna be always full with you, breed me Jamie.”

The way he wrenches himself back with a snarl makes you wail, your pussy feeling pathetically empty, before he flips you on your hands and knees. The change of position is so sudden that your hazy brain can barely catch up, not until his length is filling you again, his thrusts turning messy as its tip perfectly slams against your sweet spot at an almost desperate speed. 

The maddening pace drives you forward, your nipples rubbed raw against the sheets and your arms scrambling to anchor yourself, before his thick belly pushes heavy against your back, and one of his hands traps both of your wrists under you. His other arm wraps around your waist, palming your stomach.

You can only lie there, pliant and still, as he stakes his claim on you.

“There we go, sweetheart. Are you gonna make a stupid mess all over my cock?” He coos in your ear, fingers traveling lower only to give your throbbing nub a mean pinch.

The way his hips are driving into you at such a primal pace, his strangled moans as his cock abuses your sweet spot… It’s too much. You scream his name, eyes rolling back and toes curling when your climax finally unravels, violently. Shaking and with tears running down your cheeks, you end up squirting all over his crotch and sheets, body erupting in flames and vision momentarily fading to black.

Bucky grunts when your slick slides down his heavy balls, wishing he could have his mouth on your pussy to taste it.

“Good girl. You came so hard angel, look at that.” His smile is predatory, delirious. “My turn now to make a mess, mama.” His cruel fingers fly back between your thighs, rubbing and slapping your clit only to feel your body squirm pathetically under his.

It’s only a matter of seconds before Bucky spills into you, the animalistic urge to feel his cum leak out of you and onto his cock is too intoxicating to resist.

“I'm coming, baby, fuck. Gonna come so fucking hard for you, not gonna waste a single drop.” He grits his teeth, forehead falling on your shoulder. “Take it, sweetheart, take it. Love you so fucking much.” He chokes out, and then his cock is pulsing with each spurt of cum filling you, mixing with your creamy mess. 

A satisfied sigh unconsciously falls from your lips, your spent body finally slackening as you’ve never felt so full before.

Your legs are now sore with that unique ache that seeps deliciously into your bones, yet you can’t stop the pained whimper when you try to move, still trapped under Bucky’s heavy body. He gently tries to adjust the two of you, at least enough for his arms to support the majority of his weight, but his face buries in the slope of your neck, cuddling your damp skin like a needy cat.

“Jus’ a little more.” He grunts, words slurred. “Need to make sure it takes.”

One moment, Bucky is gently rocking into you from behind; the next, you are clean and tucked under clean sheets with his arms wrapped securely around your waist, your back perfectly molded to his chest. The way his palm rests on your belly, protective and certain, makes your heart beat just a little bit faster. It makes you realize just how much of him you already carry with you.

Quietly, he breaks the peaceful silence. “You with me, sweetheart? Are you alright?”

You nod, even if your throat still hurts a little and your limbs lie uselessly, heavy and spent. Your index finger sluggishly drifts up, blindly touching his cheek as if to ask ‘what about you?’. Bucky huffs a laugh against your neck, before pressing a soft kiss on your cheek. 

“Never felt anything like this before.” He mumbles, a soft sigh of wonder slipping past him.

The room holds its breath for a moment, the quiet stretching so long it feels almost sacred. You swallow hard, before your voice finally rises in a trembling whisper. “Do you think… we did it?”

His chuckle is easy, the warm sound somehow pacifying the tension coiled in your stomach. His fingers gently lift your chin, delicately turning your head enough for your eyes to meet. 

“Don't worry, my love.” His voice is a teasing murmur. “I’m gonna keep you full until we do.”

When Steve stops the truck in your front yard, he rises an eyebrow at your house still being swallowed in darkness.

“Isn’t your daughter home yet?” He frowns at the time displayed on the dashboard. Your dad shrugs with an amused grin on his lips.

“She’s at Wanda’s.” He mocks your voice, skeptically raising both his eyebrows, and Steve does a double take.

“You still haven’t told them you found out about their relationship?”

“Oh please, you wouldn't either if you could see Barnes twists in his seat whenever I ask about his weekends.”

“You are such an asshole.” Steve guffaws. 

Your dad groans as he jumps down the red truck. “Hey! I’m allowed to have some fun too.”

That is until you had the brilliant idea to try out for the cheerleading team. Being a cheerleader had its perks, immediate popularity, catching the attention of the football team.. oh and of course getting ruined by your hot older coach basically every other day.

You’re not quite sure how it first started. The first time you attended cheer practice your eyes immediately zeroed in on the much older man blowing a whistle. He was devilishly handsome and you were immediately hooked. That tight shirt was basically a second skin that hugged his broad shoulders and muscles, god those pecs were basically greeting you as he walked towards you with a polite smile 

“Hello, you’re the new recruit right? I’m Coach Barnes.. nice to meet you sweetheart, go put your stuff by the bench and start warming up.” That deep voice caused a sliver of heat to crawl down your stomach. The two of you shook hands and you, his big ones engulfed yours. Your thoughts drifted to imagine how they would look all over your body, those thick fingers could do so much– no– stop– that’s literally your coach! You shouldn’t have these untamed fantasies... although, your thighs seem to betray you, rubbing against each other - which he noticed, of course.

There seemed to be a crackling tension every time during practice, the way coach Barnes would help you stretch. His hands hold your waist with a firm grip whenever you seem to be off balance; you could feel the warmth of his palms even through your uniform. The first few times you thought you were simply imagining it, how his fingers linger on your legs longer than necessary, how his hands trail up your thighs and even dip under the edge of your mini cheerleading skirt that was borderline inappropriate. 

You were sure it was one-sided. There was no way in hell your cheerleading coach would reciprocate the same dirty desires whenever he was in the same room as you. That all changed one afternoon. During warm up, you were up and bending over to stretch your legs and back - what you didn’t expect was a hand giving your waist a small squeeze.

Tilting your head back, you found your coach standing right behind you, and before any words could escape your lips he pulled your body back.You felt it. 

Everyone else was too distracted to notice; it seemed innocent enough for a coach to help someone stretch, if it wasn't for the thick bulge pressing against your ass. “Just keep stretching..” he murmured loud enough for the two of you to hear, maybe it was the way he said it, or because of how inappropriate this was with everyone around, but it had your pussy clenching around nothing as you stayed still.

Slowly he began rocking back and forth, causing very slight friction between the two of you. You could feel it throb even through the layers of fabric. you tried to push your hips back for more. He wasn’t letting you. Coach Barnes held onto your waist still, preventing you from moving an inch. This made you whine softly, careful not to attract unwanted attention - Your little fit made him preen to having this control over you. 

Once it was time to actually start cheer practice, the both of you had to pull away. You immediately straightened up knowing your panties were soaked and clinging to your pussy lips. However, you were more focused on the string of precum that seemed to connect the wet spot coating coach Barnes’ shorts and your skirt, which settled right on top of his obvious erection.

Thankfully his shorts today were black, so no one would notice if they didn’t pay close attention. Watching him adjust his pants made you chuckle. He raised an eyebrow seeing your reaction. “You think it's funny? Fuckin’ brat,” he muttered out, his jaw clenched ashe walked away to go rally up the other girls.

From that moment on, you decided to make it your personal mission to mess with your dear ol’ coach, walking into the practice room with your skirt pulled higher than usual. Everytime you bend down just a little it would expose your plump ass, paired with your lacy panties just to rile him up even more. At the corner of your eye you could catch his stare; hungry eyes that trace the curves of your body from bottom to top.

Teasing him did come with its consequences. Turns out it was fairly easy getting coach Barnes to snap. While everyone was practicing their flips and poses, you were on the side doing a scale pose. You effortlessly pulled your leg up, hitting that ‘High-V’ motion. Whilst balancing, you were counting every second until you hit your limit, legs trembling and breath laboured.

The countdown was interrupted when you felt a steady hand holding your thigh, pushing your legs further apart to form a straighter split. 

Coach Barnes stood behind you, his wide solid chest pressed against your back as he leaned his head close to your neck. His salt and pepper beard scratched against your neck as he whispered into your ear. “Focus, look straight and hold the pose.” He knew what he was doing and he could see the effect it had on you, the stimulation from his hand sliding closer to your core, giving small squeezes, the overall warmth of his body pressed up behind you… god you were struggling to keep it together. 

After a few moments he moved his hand up, hooking his finger under the waistband and gently stretching it, testing the elastic. He grinned, pulling on the band back far enough before letting go. The fabric snapped back, hit your skin with a smack. The sudden feeling made your knees buckle - thankfully your coach was there to keep your balance. 

“Tsk tsk tsk.. seems like you’re not concentrating today… and why is that sweetheart?” he purrs, not letting you have a breather as his fingers glide against your clothed pussy.

“Already so wet, fuck-  look at you… Better stay quiet, you hear me? Wouldn’t want any of the other girls to catch you like this, hm?” You let out a soft whimper before nodding, biting your bottom lip to keep the noises from escaping. 

The pleasure you felt from the simple friction was enough to get you close. You let out a shaky breath, panting. “Coach.. I’m close–  god– please don’t stop”. Here's where the consequences came. 

“You think this is a game? All this time you’ve been giving me a show, prancing around basically half naked...I had to go home and fuck my fist everytime cause of you. I think you need a little punishment, brat,” he snarls. His finger pushed down, prodding at your entrance through your underwear before completely pulling away.

You were at the very edge and the sudden loss of contact had your pussy throbbing for more, letting out a small whine as you tried to look like you weren’t about to cum in front of everyone a few seconds ago. He grinned in satisfaction seeing how distraught you were before walking to the center to start the cheer session as usual. 

In a hazy blur, practice was finally over. You were packing your things, already thinking about how you were going to go home and imagine your hands were his, gently sliding across the sensitive parts of your cunt.. Suddenly, coach Barnes blew his whistle, gaining everyone’s attention. The team gathered around him to listen to his announcements. “Good job everyone, I will see you for the game this Friday. But I do have to speak with you,” he points at you, before continuing. “Stay back, we have things to discuss.. everyone else is dismissed.”

Once everyone had left, coach Barnes gestured for you to follow him. You entered the room and closed the door behind you. Now it was just the two of you.. there was a heat that coiled below your stomach at the possible things that could happen right now. He beckoned you with his finger. You immediately obeyed, now standing right in front of him. He leaned down and hooked your chin up,your lips  inches from touching. 

“You seemed distracted today.. that won’t do. I think a little punishment is needed.” You tried to catch his lips for a kiss. He immediately pulled away, just for you to be out of reach. “Use your words, what does the little slut want?” His words had sent a jolt of pleasure straight down to your core. Your eyes flickered down to the massive bulge straining his shorts, and you salivated. 

Your hand rested on the bulge, rubbing it slightly. “This.. I want this, coach please– I need it- I need it so bad- I need you.” Your words satisfied him. He placed a hand on the waistband of his shorts. 

“On your knees.” The command immediately had you kneeling, positioning yourself face level with his throbbing erection. 

He pulled down his shorts and boxers, his cock now resting on your face. God it was so heavy. You could smell the precum leaking from his tip– how was he this big… Your shaky breath fanned his cock, making it twitch. Instinctually you reach out, wanting to touch his girth- but he gently swatted your hand away. Wrapping his hand around his thick cock, he slapped it against your face a few times before rubbing it all over your face. 

 You began pleading “Please, please–” 

He cuts you off by shoving his cock into your mouth. “There we go.. is that better? This is what you wanted, right?” He coos,holding your head still. Hearing your muffled replies he started to push it all the way in, until your lips were touching his base. Coach Barnes let out a groan, “Shit– you’re so warm..I knew this pretty little mouth would feel good” You gagged,his tip was hitting the very back of your throat.

One of his hands was on your face while the other fisted your hair, he roughly began rocking his cock into your mouth, using your mouth like a toy– not that you mind. You preferred being manhandled, having them do the work for you. Your whole body felt hot with need as he continued to use your mouth and all you could do was let out muffled moans. The vibrations sent pleasure down his length. 

Drool and saliva was dripping down your chin, but you were too busy being dizzy from your coach’s cock to care. You could feel it twitching inside. He was close. Your tongue started lapping at the underside of him. His thrusts became sloppy as he mumbled curses. You could see coach Barnes’ face morphing into one of intense pleasure. With a final thrust he plunged his cock all the way in. His cock pulsed as hot spurts of cum filled your mouth which you happily swallowed. 

Slowly he pulled out of your mouth, taking a moment to look at your tear-streaked, ruined makeup. He pulled you upright and cupped your face. 

“You swallowed it all? Good girl,” he smiled. You nod, as his hand moved down to your waist, gently curled around it. Right as you were coming down from your high, leaning into his touch, his hand left you again to lay a firm smack against your ass.

“Seems like you’ve learned your lesson for today, better be in top shape for friday yeah? You’re dismissed.”

You’ve been distracted for the past few days, whenever you tried to focus on anything the scent, feel and taste of his cock would cloud your mind. The girls locker room was busy with everyone touching up their makeup and rehearsing the cheer routine that they were performing soon.

Maybe after tonight's game you could get rewarded by coach Barnes, the thought had you thrumming with excitement as you all got onto the field.

The cheer performance went just as planned, perfect flips and formation. You haven’t missed a beat– well until you caught a glance of him by the bleachers with a proud smile, your chest squeezed at the sight and maybe it made you a bit distracted because you stumbled the last turn. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment as you quickly recovered with the ending pose, fortunately it couldn’t have been that noticeable as the crowd cheered. 

Soon all of you settled back to the bleachers to let the football teams continue their match. Coach Barnes praised the girls for their hard work tonight. He gave each of the girls either a high five or a ruffle on the head, however when it was your turn he instead patted your back before sliding his hand down and giving that ass a firm squeeze, which caused you to let out a soft gasp.

It seems like a bad night for the rival football team as they lost, the college students all cheered but the opposing players started to falter and never recovered. You were confident the reason was due to getting distracted by the cleavage shown from the low cut of your cheer tops, why else did they start staggering after half time which was coincidentally right after the routine. 

Post-game celebrations were the best part of the night, the gymnasium was prepped with food and drinks. These were exclusive to the jocks and cheerleaders, hosted by both coaches.

While sipping on some drink, you saw Elliot who was the co captain talking with his friends. Without thinking much you walked up to him, “Hey Elliot! I haven’t seen you since that party, congrats on the win tonight!” you congratulated him.

Elliot was delighted to see you, he immediately grabbed you by the waist and picked you up; With ease, he spun you around while smiling, “Thank you.. I’m sure it's because of the killer routine you guys did today. It had them tripping over themselves on the field. Which I mean– c'mon who wouldn’t be?” 

Elliot’s words were just  harmless flirting in your head, you giggled as he finally set you back down. His hands lingered around your waist for a moment longer than needed before letting go, sometimes sneaking back as the two of you caught up.

You were oblivious to the specific someone that had eavesdropped and watched the whole interaction from the side. Coach Barnes was being chatted up by the other football coach about how well his boys played tonight or something– he wasn’t paying attention. 

Seeing how the jock had his hands on your body, it made a surge of irritation go through coach Barnes’ chest, his grip tightening on the plastic cup in his hand. The nerve of Elliot to touch you so freely… Not that you seemed to mind. The conversation between the two coaches soon ended as he excused himself, discarding the half crushed cup before walking towards you.

“Sorry to cut in, Harding, but I need this little missy to help me with something.” Coach Barnes spoke, giving Elliot a firm look and interrupting the conversation between the two of you, placing a hand on your shoulder. Elliot was too much of a coward to say no, so begrudgingly all he could do was nod and walk away.

Your stomach did a small swirl as coach Barnes had dragged you out of the gymnasium, already imagining where things were leading to. He took a turn heading for the girls locker room, once inside he made sure that it was just the two of you, alone. 

“You needed me for something, coach..? I’d love to help in any way I can..” you lowered your voice, hands trailing up his chest feeling his hard pecs. Instead of teasing back, he clicked his tongue and grabbed both your wrists before backing you up against the lockers, pinning your hands by the sides of your head.

“So.. Harding eh? You let anyone put their hands on you?” he growled, eyes narrowing at you in jealousy. You hadn't expected such a reaction from coach Barnes, you opened your mouth wanting to explain the misunderstanding that had formed however you paused… Why not have some fun? 

You let out an amused huff and tilted your head to the side, “Is there a problem coach? Don’t tell me you’re jealous… aw.” a retort escaped your lips, the thrill of testing the older man’s limit sent a jolt of pleasure down to your cunt. 

The way his face scrunched up in annoyance was satisfying, as expected, the result of poking the bear would be thrilling. Coach Barnes smashed his lips against yours, “He would never be able to satisfy this pretty little thing.” He murmured while his hands let go of yours, one of them trailing down and going under your skirt, a finger pressing against the clothed clit.

The little gasp you let out was practically a plea to keep going, “You need a more experienced man, not some flimsy college boy… or do I need to prove it to you?” pulling your underwear to the side he played with your bare pussy.

All you could do was whimper as your hips bucked to get his fingers closer to the heat that's building in you, “Oh? What’s this… dripping already? Tsk tsk tsk… Who’s this pussy wet for huh?” He chides, shaking his head in mock disappointment, your usual bratty self unraveled and what was left was a begging mess of nerves want and need.

“Y-you…” your voice was no louder than a breath, embarrassed to admit how wet you were for him. Coach Barnes heard your response and his lips curled into a wolfish grin, “I couldn’t catch that, one more time… you know the things I wanna hear.” His tease had your cheeks flushing as you bit your bottom lip. 

“You made me wet, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear god!–” You cut yourself off with a moan as his fingers pinched your little button. He could feel your sweet juices soak his hand, slowly he slipped two fingers in breaching that tight dripping hole. Your walls immediately clenched around his thick digits making coach Barnes groan at the feeling, god you were so warm and wet… not to mention the loud squelching noises had unraveled something in him. 

His thumb started to rub circles around your clit while the other two fingers kept pumping in and out. You let out little moans and whines, trying to swallow it down so no one passing by outside could hear how good your own coach was making you feel. He noticed and pushed the two fingers deeper inside before curling them, his fingers reaching that spongy area which made you cry out his name seeing stars. 

“God!– Coach Barnes!–” 

“So fucking needy, does my little slut want to come?” You nod desperately for him, his fingers began pumping faster helping you to chase that high. He could feel you trembling against him, drenching his whole hand. “Come for me, c’mon.” Those three words had pushed her over the edge, your eyes rolled back and your mouth formed an O shape. Your whole body was shaking, pussy clenching hard on his fingers as you came. 

As he pulled out his slick covered fingers out of your pussy, some of your cum had leaked down and dripped onto the floor. He brought his fingers up to his lips, licking them clean. The sight was intoxicating, your coach who was knuckles deep inside you just moments ago, was now sucking his fingers while groaning. “Fuck, I knew this pussy would be sweet.”

There was no snapping back, no retorts or teasing, what was left of you now was a pliant and leaking mess who’s in need of a cock to fill that pussy up.

Impatiently, he started pulling his shorts down as if the fabric was burning him. His cock sprang free, the head red with how hard he had been precum leaking from his tip. Seeing his cock again after being deprived of it these few days was like a drug. You were ready to drop down and please him but he reached out and kept a firm grip on your waist while his other hand began stroking his hard length.

“No baby, my cock wants a taste of that little pussy too.” He turned you around, making you bend over with your cheek and hands pressing against the lockers for support. Coach Barnes’ rubbed his cock against your wet folds, it would have been embarrassing how fast your slick coated his cock if it wasn’t for the feverish feeling overtaking you.

“Fuck… look at you,” the way he said it, he wasn’t talking to you but your pussy. He pressed his swollen tip against your entrance, the feeling of just how thick his head was made you squirm with excitement. As his cock breached your tight heat, you could feel every ridge and vein stretching out your walls.

Holy shit, he was huge. 

The burn from the stretch was both painful and delicious, you gasped as he kept thrusting deeper not letting you accommodate his long and girthy size. Coach Barnes stilled and groaned once his full length was inside of you, allowing you to finally breathe. You felt his balls slap against your already sensitive clit making you squirm and push back your hips needing to feel more.

“Oh God!– Coach Barnes, you're so big!” 

Your desperate little act and whine turned him on even more, not wasting anymore time he started to rock his hips into you relentlessly. “No other college boy can fuck you this good huh? You’re such a fucking slut.” He slammed his hips harder making you whimper, “I know what this pussy needs, a thick experienced cock from a real man. How does it feel to actually be filled up hm?”  

You couldn’t think straight, your body trembling from being pounded by coach Barnes however you knew better than to not respond when he was talking to you. “Good– feel good– oh!”, though it seemed like your words weren’t enough for him as his hand leaned down to pinch your hot and raw clit. “What? Didn’t catch that, use your words slut.” he snarled, pausing his thrusts to get your attention.

The sudden lack of pleasure made you whine, he squished both your cheeks with one hand tilting your head back to look at him. His eyes bored into yours waiting, “Please coach Barnes… your cock is my favourite!– I need it so bad fuck– it’s so good, so fucking big!” Satisfied he let go of your face and pulled his hips back until only the tip was inside before slamming the whole length inside in one rough thrust, burying himself to the hilt of your warmth. 

“Thats right, I’m glad you know your place baby.” 

The locker room was filled with sounds of skin slapping bouncing off the thin walls, your loud moans was a dead giveaway that someone's pussy was getting ruined inside there. Not to mention the room completely smelled like sex and sweat. 

His thrusts were getting sloppy, your walls were clenching tighter, not wanting to let go as the two of you were chasing the high that was so close. At the very peak of ecstasy suddenly coach Barnes heard footsteps walking down the hallway, getting closer to the locker room. He covered your mouth with his hand, suddenly well aware the two of them would be the first thing anyone walking in sees. 

Coach Barnes stilled and whispered into your ear in a hushed tone, "someone's coming, we have to move.” which made you huff and whine, not wanting to stop fucking. “Relax, I bet they’re just walking past… no one would come in here– just continue pleasee!” you arched your back to get some friction going. Not dealing with your whining he quickly pulled out and hauled you over his shoulder like a potato sack, the only available area to hide in is the showers. 

The footsteps were getting louder, and so was your heartbeat as he made sure nothing was left behind and went into one of the shower cubicles locking the door once inside. You were squirming and throwing a fit while he did all this, ready to tell coach Barnes he was being paranoid but you went silent the moment you heard the doors open. 

“Hello? Is someone there?”

You recognised this voice, it was the cheer captain Alice. Oh fuck. The panic was rising up but your coach knew how to handle it, he motioned for you to answer as he turned the shower head water on. Fortunately the cubicle was big enough that the water didn't hit either of you. Taking a deep breath you gulped, “Uh..– yes! It's me sorry I was just taking a shower you know how it is, I didn't wanna go back all sweaty.” 

Alice calmed down hearing a familiar voice and chatted up a conversation with you, thinking you were taking a shower. For a while coach Barnes’ shoulders relaxed knowing they weren’t caught, but as you continued the conversation with the cheer captain he couldn’t help but admire you. Skirt hitched up showing that pretty ass, panties shoved down and slick leaking down your inner thighs.

God what a sight, his half hard cock began to throb and get rock hard for you once more. Deciding to have a little fun after the things you put him through, he positioned himself behind you again, hands on your waist and gave you a little heads up by nudging his aching tip against your hole. 

Tilting your head back you looked terrified, wide eyed and shook your head no at him even if a tiny part loved the thrill and possibility of getting caught. Even if your face hid that fact, your body definitely didn’t because you were already gripping onto his tip. Seeing how your pussy practically was begging for his cock, coach Barnes’ lips curled up into a grin making you bend over properly before sliding his length inside with ease while you were in the middle of responding to Alice. 

“Yeah I think we did great to– NIGHT!” You tried covering up the moan with clearing your throat after. 

“Look at you… she could catch us any moment but that’s what fun isn’t it?– Oh you definitely like that, look at her sucking me in, god– you’re such a whore.” he whispered, leaning forward and sucking on your neck. 

It was honestly a miracle for Alice to not notice the subtle sound of skin against skin, how you were failing to even pay attention and answer with how distracted coach Barnes had you. Thank god Alice was called by her friends, she got her bag and quickly ended the conversation leaving the locker room. The moment you heard the door open and shut, all the moans and whimpers that you pushed down escaped.

Your true self unraveled fully, some bratty cheerleader who turned into nothing but a filthy slut at the sight of your coach’s cock. As he rocked his hips into you at a merciless pace, the water couldn’t hide the sounds anymore. He used his free hand to pull your top up showing your tits at full display bouncing back and forth. 

No bra, of course. 

“You always walk around like this? They’re begging for attention.” He clicked his tongue in a mock scolding tone as his pointer finger began playing with your hardened nipples, flicking at them, pinching and twisting. The unexpected touches caused jolts of pleasure straight down to your throbbing core, at this point all you were babbling nonsense as the heat was getting closer to exploding. 

“I’m gonna cum!– oh my god yes yes yes– please don’t stop!”

It seemed like you learned who you belonged to so he continued to drill into you giving you that release you longed for, as your body spasmed multiple times your thighs were trembling from the immense pleasure. He watched as you came for the second time today, your release making your walls grip around his cock even tighter. You were barely hanging on to sentience as coach Barnes continued to pump into you, after a few thrusts he grunted and buried himself to the brim. 

“Take it all– gonna fill you up fuck!–” He cummed inside of you, hot and thick white spurts filling you up completely. Both of you were a panting mess, you could barely stand without his hands holding you upright. After catching his breath, coach Barnes slowly pulled out of you. 

“My little slut made such a mess hm? Now what should you say?”

“Thank… thank you, coach.” 

“I’m hoping to see you every week after practice?” He chuckled, pulling your panties up and fixing your top. You could only afford to nod dumbly, knowing your cheerleading coach had ruined your pussy and got you addicted to his cock. No other guy could ever compete, you’d forever come running back to coach Barnes to satisfy your needs and he was happy to do so.

taglist : @superbassbuck @charlottemart @epiphanyrogers @sheriff-bodecker let me know if you would like to be added :)

You rolled your neck, the ache of a long day finally settling in your muscles.

Normally you didn’t mind staying late. But lately there had been distractions.

Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. The two men that haunt your dreams—keep your thoughts a little entertaining during lonely nights—their mere existence has been the biggest distraction you'd ever seen.

They worked a few floors above and every time your eyes met with either of the blue ones, your breath lodged itself inside your chest.

Not that either of them did anything inappropriate. If anything, they were polite.

Professional.

There were moments, when the lines seemed to blur before snapping back to focus again.

Steve’s hand lingering a second too long when he passed you a file.

Bucky leaning against the breakroom counter watching you like he was starving. The glances they passed each other whenever you walked by.

But there were rumors. Whispered words between interns and agents alike, how the two men belong to each other. That the shared history is now on its way to a shared future. That it's beautiful—the blood that spilled is now blood that heals.

And you respected the rumors too much to ever cross that line.

So you ignored the way your eyes search for them in rooms.

Ignored the way Bucky’s voice sometimes dipped lower when he spoke to you.

Ignored the way Steve smiled at you like he knew something you didn’t.

You ignored everything.

The elevator dinged softly when it arrived. The metal doors opening with a quiet swish, and the sight that welcomed you made you wish you were at home— in the comfort of your bed— so you could relieve yourself of the itch that awakens upon seeing both of them.

Steve Rogers stood near the control panel, jacket slung over one arm, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal strong forearms, veins that looked like they were drawn on.

Bucky Barnes leaned against the mirrored wall beside him, dark hair falling slightly into his eyes, metal hand tucked into the pocket of his jacket.

Both of them looked up at the exact same time. Two pairs of curious eyes taking you in—no hint of professionalism to be seen anymore.

Steve smiled first, “Hey.”

Licking his lips, his eyes dipped down to your cleavage before snapping back onto your face, “Long day?” he asked gently.

“Mhm.”

The elevator doors slid shut with a soft thunk. The space suddenly felt very small. The scent of their combined colognes dancing in the air, filling your senses. Bergamot. Earthy musk. A hint of lilies. Rain.

You took a deep breath in, feeling one with them. Behind you, Steve adjusted his buckle, smirking at the brunet.

The elevator hummed as it began descending, floor numbers ticking down slowly.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

“Didn’t expect to see you here this late,” Bucky said, voice deep and raspy.

“I was stuck with the client. Timezones…” you mumbled.

Silence settled again.

You glanced up at the mirrored panel across from you and immediately regretted it—both of them were looking at you— gazes dark and hungry.

Your pulse skipped.

Seven.

Six.

Focus.

Just ignore them. Get home.

Five.

The elevator jolted. The lights flickered.

The hum of the machinery died abruptly, leaving a sudden heavy quiet in its place.

For a second, none of you moved.

Then the emergency lights flicked on, bathing the elevator in dim blue.

Your heart sank down to your stomach,

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Bucky breathed, shaking his head in…amusement?

Steve stepped forward toward the control panel— ever the captain— still taking charge of the situation, his hands on your lower back as he guided you away, and the elevator suddenly felt even smaller than before.

He pressed the emergency button, to no avail. He tried again. Only to find the same result.

Still nothing.

A slow, strange tension filled the air. You felt smaller than you've ever felt in your life. Stuck in a small space with two large men that also happened to be the subject of all your unspoken fantasies.

You didn't realise you were panicking until Steve stood in front of you, tipping your face up by the chin, “You're alright. We're right here, aren't we?”

You didn't know what to do. All you could feel was his thumb stroking your jaw, his warm breath caressing your skin, his strong body pressed impossibly close to yours.

“What do you think you're doing, Steve? Let her breathe… poor thing's scared.”

Bucky.

You felt two hands snake around your waist, pulling you in till your back met a solid chest.

“She's so scared….baby, you scared of the elevator? Or are you scared of us? Hm?” He nosed along your throat, lingering on your erratic pulse before licking the skin there.

Your hands shoot up to Steve's chest—feeling the strength corded through his muscles beneath your palm— “Steve…”

“Oh honey… you weren't expecting this, were you? Bucky and I… we're not blind. We see the way you shy around us.”

Bucky's lips continued sucking on your neck, “We hear the way you talk about us,”

Chucking, Steve slid his hands down to your neck, down to your chest, unbuttoning your blouse with torturous patience —

“We smell the way that greedy little pussy drools for us.”

With the last button undone, he slides the silk down your arms, exposing your lacy bra to both the men.

Bucky barked out a laugh, “You really wear this underneath all the sweet little shirts, huh?”

You gasped as they groped each tit in their hands, kneading and caressing over the lace.

Bucky unclasps it from behind, his movements revealing his, no doubt, experienced confidence. With your bare tits finally in their sight, they groaned in delight, Steve's hips bucking against yours instinctively, desire flowing in his veins.

“Look at her Buck, so much prettier than we imagined.”

You swallowed down the whimper that threatened to escape when he wrapped his mouth around one of your nipples—the other man's fingers twisting and plucking the other, making sure they both get their share of attention.

Your hands weave through his hair, tugging at the roots as he continued sucking your achy nipples.

Steve groaned against your chest as he pulled you away from Bucky—hard enough to send him stumbling back a step— grabbing you by the back of your thighs and wrapping your legs around his waist.

Ignoring your startled little noise, he slammed his lips against yours, big hands roaming your back and reaching down to squeeze your ass. His tongue roamed inside your mouth—playing with yours—teeth biting your lower lip until they were swollen and tingling with pleasure and pain.

“Fuck, angel— wanted you so bad… you're gonna make us feel so fucking good.”

He captures your lips in a filthy kiss, muffling your whines as Bucky rips your pants off in one clean move. Palming the softness of your curve as he removes the scraps of the fabric, pulling apart your cheeks to look at the leaky mess.

“God… I'm gonna ruin that pussy…”

With stupid ease, Steve turned you over, your back nestled against his broad chest, his hands under your knees as he pushes them up against your chest. His hard cock pressed against your ass, reminding you of the sheer size of him, just how much stronger he was than you.

Your drippy pussy was now on full exposure to Bucky.

He smirks as he studies your face, each expression flashing across your face like a storybook.

He kneels down—right there on the cold floor—face to face with your heat. Fingers trailing up your calves to your thighs, each brush of his hands igniting a heat inside you unlike any you've ever experienced.

His lips tug up in a crooked smile as he looks up—not at you, no— at the man holding you all spread up and open for him.

“She's crying so pretty f’me Steve. Wanna taste her?”

Steve laughs at that— a breathy, cocky sound—“Princess, you listening to this? He thinks you got this wet for him. Tell him the truth…”

Your words got lost in your throat as you felt two thumbs part your folds. Your hips jerked up on their own accord at the gentle exploratory touch, urging Steve to hold you tighter—hitching you up higher, till his chin touched the top of your head.

A drop of your arousal dripped down from your entrance, clenching at nothing. Bucky collected your juices on his finger, smearing it back to your pussy, rubbing it on your clit with gentle swipes.

“Bucky! Don't look down there—”

“Uh-uh. No need to hide from us…don't you trust us?”

With that he licked a long stripe from your entrance to your clit, humming loudly in wicked delight, relishing in your taste that he'd been craving like a madman.

“Fuck—she tastes so good, Stevie,” he groaned against your pussy, dipping his tongue inside your hole to taste more of you. You moaned out loud, your thighs closing on themselves—but unable to with Steve's vice-like grip on you.

“Yeah? Gimme a taste…”

Pulling away from your pussy— his beard drenched in your juices—he stood up to his full height. Fluttering his fingers up your ribs and caressing your nipples, he leaned in to kiss the blond. Lips moving with each other in tandem, you could only watch as they drank each other —drank you— in.

His hands left your tits and grabbed Steve's jaw to deepen the kiss, both men panting in each other's mouths, chasing each other with desperation.

Steve broke the kiss with a sigh, licking his lips, “yeah…she does taste good.”

“Hear that, angel? He likes how this sweet little pussy tastes…”

His words went straight down to your core, your pussy begging for any sort of relief now, any friction, anything.

“Please, Bucky…”

“Please what? Use your big girl words now.”

“Please touch me…”

“Such a good girl for us. Gonna make you feel so good now, angel. Gonna make you regret not coming to us sooner….these fingers just never did the job, huh?”

You were on the verge of tears now, being in such a vulnerable position and being talked to, teased to, but never touched as you wished to.

“Bucky…please.”

Cooing at your pained voice, he dipped his fingers inside your entrance in one clean push. Your back arched in Steve’s arms as pleasure tickled at your nerve endings.

“Yeah? You like that?”

He pulled his fingers out, wet and shining, a string of your arousal connecting him to you, slowly pushing back in, following a slow rhythm.

Your eyes flutter close with each pass of his fingers against that one soft spot against you. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip as you try to keep in your breathy whines.

“Open your eyes, honey. Look at his fingers inside your pussy, isn't he doing good?” Steve asked you, his voice rough and thick with arousal, his raging hard on grinding against your ass.

“Hmmm…so good…”

His thumb came up to massage your clit, and your toes curled in your heels, vision blacking out as fireworks burst behind your eyes.

“Oh God, Steve…” you threw your head back, nuzzling Steve’s neck as Bucky continued pressing against that soft, gummy spot inside of you.

“You're clenching so hard, angel…you're gonna squeeze his cock so good,” he rasped, eyes twinkling at the thought of Steve pounding into you.

It was instant, the way Steve put you back down and slammed you roughly against the wall, hand at the back of your head to shield you from any pain. Still so thoughtful.

“Gonna fuck you so hard now, love, you'll be screaming nothing but my name…” he purrs against your neck, nipping and licking over the marks left by Bucky.

His hands went to his belt buckle—shaky but determined—to free out his hard cock.

It was beautiful.

That's all you could think. Hard and throbbing and leaking precum all over the blushed tip, veins adorning his length all over.

That was a beautiful cock if you've ever seen one.

Noticing your dazed expression, he smirked, “like what you see?”

“So much, Captain. You're so beautiful…”

He paused at that. A sudden air of vulnerability seemed to drape itself over him.

Bucky strolled over behind him, hands stroking his back and pressing a tender kiss to his neck, “the most beautiful man ever…”

Steve's eyes glistened in the dead blue of the emergency lights. He took a shaky breath—composing himself.

Looking back down at your naked body, all wet and ready and waiting desperately for him, he felt grateful.

He felt loved.

Bending down to consume you in a kiss, pouring every thing he couldn't speak into your mouth.

Bucky’s hands dipped down, palming Steve's cock, dragging the head of his cock up and down through your folds, rubbing over you clit—making you cry out with how deliciously dirty this whole situation was.

“Gonna put him inside you, sweetheart…”

The first inch of him inside had you squirming against him. The girth unforgiving, almost too much as it slowly slid in.

Almost.

He bottomed inside you with a deep groan, the veins in his neck bulging out with his controlled restraint that was fraying at the edges.

Bucky cooed at him, hands playing with his balls as he whispered praises into his sweaty skin.

“Fuck— she's tight.”

His hand came up to your neck, holding you. Not choking, just resting there, letting you feel the weight of him.

He pulls out, only to slam in again—harder, keeping a brutal rhythm.

His hips slammed into yours again and again, his cock filling you up in ways you'll feel him forever.

“Such a good boy, Stevie…. You're doing so good.” Bucky rubs his bulge over Steve's hips, using his thrusts inside you for his own pleasure. His cock pulsing with each push, even through the layers of his clothing.

You moan out a name—you didn't know whose— your walls clenching with each thrust, your juices coating your inner thighs. Not that you cared about the mess.

"Oh god—Buck…” Steve whined, turning his head to kiss the brunet.

Your legs were shaking, if not for the wall and Steve’s grip on you, you'd have not been standing upright. Your eyes shut close as you could feel the knot inside of you tightening with each passing second, before finally coming undone. You come with a scream, your chest rising and falling rapidly.

Your pussy clenching and fluttering against his cock push him off the edge, his hands tightening on your throat as his head falls backwards on Bucky's shoulder, guttural sounds from deep inside his chest filling the small space.

His hips lose their rhythm, twitching with each wave of bliss he went through. Hot streaks of cum fill you up, making you shudder in delight at the foreign feeling.

Bucky was the last to let go, coming in his pants, still not stopping to rub his sensitive cock against Steve.

Your pussy gaped with protest when he pulled out, his cum dripping out of you. He smiled at that, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek, before straightening up and looking back at Bucky—

“You can start the elevator now, Buck.”

well, it's finally here. I was struggling real bad with this. Changed out a few parts cus I just wasn't feeling bucky.

Until you found yourself more and more endeared by a hundred-something year old super soldier, that turns out has as much self control as you do.

Which, since that night in his office (RIP your Deity wool skirt, he still owed you for that one), has been at an all time low. 

Bucky spoke from his side of the bed. The room was pitch black aside from your phone screen being on.

You sat with your back to the headboard, posture still annoyingly proper despite the fact that you were wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts, his arm around your waist as his face was nuzzled into your hip. 

You giggled softly. "You did." You spent a full four minutes untangling your hair before you crawled back into bed and Bucky fell asleep, this man needed to pay you in an endless supply of Kerastase Nutritive serum at this point. "I'm just answering some urgent emails."

He made a dissatisfied sound against your skin, pressing a lazy kiss to the curve of your hip. “They’re emails,” he grumbled. “S’not urgent.”

That earned a chuckle from you. "Mmmm, say that when you go in blind for your meeting tomorrow."

Your phone was carefully slipped off your hands by his flesh hand and tossed onto his nightstand, you let out a little "hey!" at the same time he sighed happily, turning back to you and hooking his arm around your legs, pulling you down to lay back down flush against the mattress. 

You landed with a soft huff, hair spilling across the pillow.

"Clearly didn't tire you enough." He tried for stern. Authoritative. The kind of tone he used in press conferences when he needed to shut down a room.

Unfortunately for him, the unmistakable evidence of his renewed interest brushing your leg ruined the performance.

You smirked at him, raising a brow. "I think you just want an excuse to fuck me again."

And as his hand sneaked under the blanket and pushed your panties down, his lips curved up in a smile that would be getting soaked in about thirty seconds. "I don't think I need an excuse."

"You're so full of yourself." You scoffed playfully. 

"Mmmhmm, you're about to be." Your phone lit up again on the nightstand and neither of you looked at it.

His mouth traced lower, his hand tightening at your waist as he drew another soft sound from you.

“You’re impossible,” you whispered.

The next day, you arrived at the federal building fifteen minutes early, hair sleek, makeup flawless, navy blazer sharp enough to cut glass. 

No one would look at you and guess you’d been pinned beneath a super soldier less than eight hours ago.

No one would guess you had two energy drinks this morning, since the Fucker in Charge decided to keep you up until 2:21am, wrapped around him like a vice. 

Not that you complained at the time, just wasn't ideal to be running on less than five hours of sleep in such an important meeting like this. 

Thankfully, it was all over zoom. 

Politicians from all over the country needed to come together, and it was easiest in a video call where they'd be able to talk endlessly about these issues in a three hour meeting. 

Bucky was, of course, dreading it.

“Morning,” he said, voice neutral — client-neutral. No warmth. No trace of the low murmur from last night.

“Congressman,” you replied just as evenly, handing him a slim folder outside his office by Lizbeth's desk. “Updated briefing notes. The veterans’ housing bill is going to dominate the first half. Senator Mitchell’s aide leaked the amendment language at six a.m.”

His eyes flicked to you — sharp, focused — and for a fraction of a second something softer passed through them. Gone just as quickly.

“You saw that already?”

“I don’t sleep much,” you said smoothly.

His lips twitched into a side smile, and he nodded towards his office, signaling for you to walk in. "Alright, let's get this show on the road." 

He walked in right after you, closing the doors as you set up his computer for him, sitting on the chair on the other side of his desk.

“Congressman Barnes,” Senator Alvarez greeted. “Glad you could make it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Bucky replied evenly.

You watched him slip into it — the public version. Controlled cadence. Measured pauses. Shoulders squared just enough to project steadiness without aggression.

He sat in his office chair and you typed up notes. 

“You’re proposing reallocating defense surplus funds,” Mitchell pressed. “That’s going to draw scrutiny.”

“It should,” Bucky answered calmly. “Our veterans deserve scrutiny on where their resources go. That’s the point.”

You'd press the mute button when you had a talking point or a question that popped up that you needed him to say or ask, so you could strategize the next move, the next post, always thinking ahead. 

Speaking of head…

You behaved. You swear. Scout's Honor. Pinky promise.

For an hour and fifty-two minutes. 

You passed him a glass of water at minute thirty-seven when his jaw tightened. You angled the laptop slightly at minute sixty-four when the overhead light caught wrong on his face.

Professional.

At minute eighty-nine, Senator Alvarez started rambling about “optics in middle America,” and Bucky resisted the overwhelming urge to slam his forehead into the desk.

You muted him smoothly, finger pressing the button with the same calm efficiency you used to shut down hostile reporters.

“Ask something about interstate coordination,” you murmured, leaning toward him just enough that your voice wouldn’t carry. “Funding disparities between urban and rural states. Phrase it like you’re concerned about equity. They’ll argue for fifteen minutes.”

His eyes flicked to yours — assessing, confused. Why would you want this meeting lasting any longer than it absolutely should?

“Specific angle?” he asked quietly. Eyes moving from yours to where you started to unbutton your blouse behind the camera. 

Oh, that. 

“Frame it like you’re worried smaller states won’t be able to implement without federal oversight,” you said. “Alvarez will disagree on principle. Mitchell will counter with budget autonomy. They’ll spiral.”

His lips curved faintly as you dropped your shirt onto the chair you were sitting on. 

You reached forward and unmuted him.

“If we’re discussing implementation,” he began smoothly, posture straightening as he addressed the screen, “how are we ensuring smaller states aren’t disproportionately burdened without adequate federal oversight?”

Hook. Line. Sinker.

You didn’t even wait for the responses to start overlapping before you unhooked your bra and let it be by your blouse.

As Mitchell leaned forward and Alvarez cut in, you reached over and casually toggled his camera off.

“Apologies,” you said lightly toward the screen, your own voice carrying professionalism. “We’re having a minor bandwidth issue. The Congressman is still with you.”

They barely acknowledged it — too busy debating.

Perfect.

You stood slowly from your chair.

Bucky’s gaze tracked you immediately, though he didn't say anything as you held your finger to your lips, telling him to be quiet. 

You walked around the desk deliberately, heels silent on the office carpet. You could hear the senators talking over one another through his speakers, voices rising as predicted.

You stopped in front of him and his throat moved when he swallowed. “Bandwidth issue?” he repeated quietly, mic muted and eyebrow raised.

“Mmmhmm," you nodded. "Terrible connection,” you said sweetly.

You lowered yourself to kneel in front of him, bracing your hands on his thighs, movements unhurried. Controlled. Intentional.

His hands dropped from the armrests, hovering for a second before settling — disciplined, as if resisting the instinct to reach for you.

On the screen, Alvarez was mid-sentence. “…and that kind of federal overreach—". You glanced up at Bucky through your lashes, one brow lifting slightly.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, the sound almost inaudible, scooting forward in his chair and spreading his thighs more to accomodate you in between them. 

You bit your lip as you reached for his belt, unbuckling it for him in giddy anticipation. He always got to have fun and tease you, and since this meeting was so unimportant to him yesterday, it should be equally as unimportant right now. 

That, and the fact that it was funny as hell to mess with him. And really fun to get payback later. 

You tugged his pants and boxers down at the same time, until they rested around his ankles, and there it was.

James Buchanan Barnes and the pretties, heaviest, thickest cock you've ever seen in your life, all there for your taking. 

You reached up and tugged him by the tie, giving him a chaste kiss and letting go, almost as if you wanted to tease him and leave him wanting more, 

Once you settled back, you wrapped your hand around him, giving very tentative slow strokes. He let out something between a grunt and a whine, letting you know to "get on with it".

You leaned in and licked him from base to tip, wrapping your lips around the head and sucking him into your mouth, repeating the action a couple times until he was wet all around and could esily glide him in and out of your mouth all the way.

He hit the mute button, "That's it, baby. Get it all in your mouth." Then unmuted himself. A metal hand coming to gather your hair in a makeshift bun on the back of your head. 

Three senators talking over each other. One trying to cite precedent from 2008. Someone else pulling up a chart that absolutely did not prove their point. 

The audio lag made it worse, voices clipping and overlapping in a symphony of bureaucratic chaos.

Falling of deaf ears for Bucky, but not to you. 

You bobbed your head up and down his length, swirling your tongue around the head every time you got to the top, tasting the salty tang of him. 

You sighed in contentment as you closed your eyes, reveling in the taste of him, and in the reaction you were eliciting from him.

"You're topless in my office sucking my cock, what did you think my reaction would be? "No"?" You could almost hear how crass he'd make it sound li—

“Congressman Barnes, do you believe federal oversight should be conditional?” someone asked sharply.

You heard the, but Bucky clearly didn't, too lost in the thoughts of cumming all over your tits. "Congressman Barnes?"

You reached up with your other hand and pinched his thigh, not stopping the movements of your mouth, bringing Bucky out of his trance. "Ow! Yes, uh— conditional, no,” he replied. “Strategic, yes.”

He glared at you and you mentaly shrugged, and kept going. Mute. “You trying to kill me?” he murmured.

You leaned back slightly on your heels, expression innocent. “You zoned out,” you whispered, lips still close enough to him that every word had his cock twiching at the vibration. “That’s on you.” 

“You think this is funny?” he asked quietly.

“A little,” you admitted.

Unmute.

You had such a tight seal around him you were able to keep the wet noises to a minimum, the computer not ever picking it up. 

Every time you sped up, rolled his balls softly in your hand, and Bucky got close, you slowed down, keeping him right at the edge without being able to do much except just indulge in your teasing.

Unless, of course, he decided to stand up.

Which he did, catching you by surprise. Your eyes widened for a second at the sudden change.

You tried to pull your head back out of reflex, but his hand kept you in place as he shoved his cock deeper and deeper into your mouth, until your nose brushed the hair at the base. 

You groaned against him, something that could be translated into "okay, rude!" without any real bite to it. 

He muted himself again. "Think they're about almost done with that discussion, darling." He thrust into your mouth, feeling your throat close around him. "Don't have much time."

Your nails scratched at his thighs, your eyes watered, and you were sure your lip gloss was all over your chin, along with some drool and precum, but oh my God, did this man have your eyes rolling back at the feel of sucking his dick. 

Bucky grunted above you every time the head of his cock hit the back of your throat. 

His thrusts got faster, sloppier, and as you prepared yourself to have his cum flood your tastebuds, he pulled out. 

If he had no self control, the view of you pouting your swollen lips, all wet, because he took his cock out of your mouth would've been enough for him to bust a load all over your face.

He'd have to do that a different time, though. 

He pulled you up by the hand that was braced on his thigh, "I wasn't done…" You tried to protest.

Bucky chuckled, thanking the gods above you had a habit of locking the door when he had meetings like this, so no one would interrupt his train of though, a call, or anything… Governmental.

He kissed the pout off your lips, hands on your hips turning you in your axis, making you face his desk, bracing your hands on the mahogany wood as he kneeled down behind you, reaching up under your skirt to pull your panties down to your ankles.

His lips brushed your shoulder blade as he leaned over you, his tie ticking your back as it hung from his neck while his hands reached to pull your skirt up, not bothering with your stockings, which he though were kinda hot. "You know I love you, right?"

It was murmured onto skin and it made your heart swell, even in a moment like this. "Of course I do, Bucky," you chuckled adoringly, "why are yo— oh! my god—"

He pushed in all at once, holding back a loud groan while the air being knocked out of your lungs. You slapped a hand over your own mouth to try and prevent anymore noises from coming out. 

You heard Bucky click his tongue, the rustle of fabric, and in no time, he was stuffing the black tie that he was wearing into your mouth, something for you to bite on and groan into. 

He kept one hand over your mouth to make sure you wouldn't try to spit it out, even though he knew you wouldn't, as he started to move his hips. 

One thrust. 

Then another. 

Then he picked up a rhythm, the hand that was over your mouth falling to the back of your neck, following you down as you bent over completely until the cool wood was pressed against your bare breasts. 

As his hips picked up the pace, using his hold on you as leverage, you only hoped the squelch of his cock in your pussy would be muffled by the old structure of Capitol Hill.

Your cheek was heating up the wood under it, your breath fogging a little patch on the desk when it came out of your nose harshly.

He was trying really, really hard to not just rail into you and make the wet noises just louder and louder until everyone in the fucking building knew what you two were doing.

But he controlled himself, at least that much. 

Because time and time again, you reminded him that optics mattered if he wanted to make a difference through the legislative route. 

And if that meant he had to sway some voters through looking like he was an available bachelor, he's just have to keep quiet when he fucked you silly on his desk. 

He pushed his thrusts deeper, grinding his hips into yours when he bottomed out and rubbing the head of his cock over the spongy spot inside of you that had your knees buckling. 

As his hand sneaked from your shoulder down your body and to the front, to rub your clit, you moved your head, forehead now pressing against the wood as your eyes squeezed shut trying to focus on not being loud.

God, you loved when he gave you payback. 

“Congressman Barnes, we’d like your position on the amendment language,” a voice cuts through the speaker and brings both of you out of your haze for a second. 

Bucky slowed down with his hips, but not his fingers, using the hand that was on your hip to unmute himself. “Thank you, Senator,” he says evenly. “I think the concern we’re circling back to is implementation clarity.”

It’s absurd.

The way he can do that while your eyes are rolling back so far into your skull you could see your own optic chiasm. 

He pressed his fingers harder onto your clit, slower but deeper circles and your nails dug shapes into your palms. 

He muted himself again. "They're almost needing me again, baby, c'mon." His thrusts picked back up, both of you right on the edge. "I can feel y'squeezing me."

You whined behind the tie, his hand coming up to brush your hair over one shoulder and gently tilt your face to the side so he could lean over and let his lips brush your cheek.

"I can feel y'want to come on my cock, pretty girl." Kiss. "Be good." Another kiss to your jaw.

A few seconds of faster fingers and grinding of his hips was all you needed to let out a sound he'd understand as "oh my fuck!" behind the bunched up tie as you clamped down around him. 

You felt like you were levitating. All you could hear was blood rushing between your ears and muffled "fuck, fuck, fuck" from Bucky behind you as he chased his own high, thick ropes of cum filling your pussy until it started to drip out and onto the carpet.

Precisely why you never fucked in his office before, he always has too much. 

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

As you both caught your breaths, you spit the tie out. You nodded once. “Yeah.”

Bucky nodded against you, not even bothering to pull out before he unmuted himself again, catching the goodbyes and acknowledgements of the meeting. 

“And with that,” he said smoothly into the call, voice perfectly composed, “I think we’ve covered the key concerns.” He bit into your shoulder playfully knowing you'd supress a yelp, "Thank you, gentlemen."

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