You spot him before anyone has a chance to warn you—your heart giving a traitorous flip and your eyes welling up with tears involuntarily.

Steve’s heart leaps into his throat when he spots you.

Suddenly, he has no idea why he’s come here.

“Hi.”

You bite down on your lip to stop it from wobbling.

“Hi. What are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to talk, to see you. Can we—” He tries to guide you to the side of the room, but you don’t budge.

“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m working.” You need him to leave, need the lump in your throat to stop rising before you completely fall apart.

“I just— sweetheart please— I miss you— just five minutes please, m’begging.”

“What do you want Steve?”

“I don’t— I don’t know— I want— I wanted you to…” He trails off, his stupid puppy dog eyes meeting yours and it takes everything in you to not cradle his face in your hands and wipe the tears about to fall.

“I know. I know you wanted me to stay, but you don’t get it Steve, I needed to move.”

You loved him. You love him. Of course you do. How could you not? Steve was everything you could’ve dreamed of — attentive, protective, and loyal to a fault.

But you needed more from your life than being Captain America’s girlfriend. And being in New York meant you’d always be just that.

So you left.

And Steve — well Steve would always put his duty above everything else. His duty to the city, to the Avengers — never mind his duty to you.

So he watched you leave—taking his heart with you, dripping all the love you’d poured into it right onto the floor of your shared apartment.

Ten months.

It had been ten long, grueling months since Bucky last got a taste of you.

After taking your virginity, he paid for your groceries—as promised, because he believed himself to be a gentleman—and messaged you a few days later, inviting you to film another video with him.

You were his loyal fan.

You were there for every single one of his videos.

Hell, your own username was dedicated to him.

So when you left him on read for ten months without leaving a single trace behind, he grew furious. He tried making excuses for you—perhaps you were too busy? Or maybe you went on vacation? He tried circling back to your social media, which was how he had first found you, but you had privated all your accounts and deactivated your TikTok.

Naturally, pessimistic thoughts began to fill his mind.

Was he too rough when he took you? Did he freak you out by finding you at the grocery store? Worse, had he scared you away for good?

Bucky knew where you lived. It would’ve been easy to just show up at your front door and demand answers—but he couldn’t do that. Not with the threat of a restraining order looming in the back of his mind.

Ten months. He couldn’t believe he had let you stray away from him for that long.

There was so much you could’ve done during that time. You could’ve moved, had sex with other men, or even found a relationship.

You went from being his loyal fan to a ghost.

Bucky knelt on his mattress, holding up a clear silicone toy that looked tiny compared to his hands. He squeezed a generous amount of lube into his palm and spread it carefully along his half-hard cock, making sure none of it dripped onto the sheets.

His camcorder was propped against a pillow, angled perfectly to capture him from the waist down. With his bare abs and thighs fully in frame, he settled back on his heels, gripped the toy firmly, and guided it toward his cock.

A rough groan escaped him as he teased the sensitive tip against the entrance. The lubricant made every movement slick and audible, the wet sounds filling the otherwise quiet room.

“Fuck. Been waiting for this all day.”

His eyes fluttered shut as he slowly worked the toy against his shaft. He continued at an unhurried pace, his grip tightening as he lost himself in the sensation.

“Good girl,” he muttered without thinking.

The words slipped out on instinct, a praise that always led back to you. As the room filled with the sounds of his grunts and movements, his thoughts drifted to the memory of you. They always did. He pictured your soft lips wrapped around his dick, the way he had your face pressed into the pillow as he took you from behind—the moments that had replayed endlessly in his mind over the past months.

At some point, imagination alone had stopped being enough.

Whenever he wanted to relive it, he would pull up the private video he recorded of the two of you, letting it play in the background while he lost himself in the pleasure of his toy.

“God,” he groaned, your name slipping from his lips in a breathless rasp.

He made a mental note to cut the part where he whispered your name like a prayer before uploading the video to the site.

“Shit—fuck. I miss that tight little pussy.”

With a loud groan and both hands holding the toy tight, he drove his hips deep into the toy until it made an unmistakable tearing sound. Too lost in the haze of his own desire, he didn’t even realize he tore through yet another toy to the memory of you.

Seed filled the silicone, marking every cloudy surface with his thick cum.

Once he caught his breath, he let the toy fall from his grip and pushed it aside.

From there, the rest of the evening followed the same familiar routine.

He would take a shower, get dressed, make himself something for dinner, then spend the rest of the evening at his computer. He would spend his time editing the footage, preparing it for upload to the same porn site he had been posting on for years.

Except this time, there was no excitement after hitting the ‘post’ button, because you wouldn’t even be there to watch them.

After the video went live, he waited for the likes and comments to start pouring in, holding onto the faint hope that your username might appear among them.

As usual, it never did.

Surprisingly, though, that wasn’t what disappointed him this time.

Every time he jerked off with the intention to post a new video—your video was always in the background. It got to the point where people started to leave comments asking who the mysterious girl was. Who those sultry, seductive moans belonged to.

He would even get comments asking if he’d be willing to record another video of the two of you together and post it online.

Every time he read those comments, he would scoff, laughing to himself.

I would like to know the same thing.

After posting his latest video, his comment section had been flooding with the same demands for weeks.

wankingandspanking: hell yeah man! love the new video. but who’s the babe in the video you’re watching??

StraightJorkinIt: U breaking ur toy was so hot, but what’s even hotter is the girl moaning in the back. xx

Bwasexual: The toys are getting a little old, don’t you think?? Bring a real woman in. especially the one in the vid you’re jerking to ;)

Each comment was a direct insult to Bucky’s pride.

He was one of the platform’s top creators—yet now, his community was entirely consumed by you.

He had spent the last ten months trying to get you out of his head, trying to just use your video as a quick jerk off aid and move on. But how could he when his own fans wouldn’t let him forget?

How could he, when he couldn’t even cum to anything else anymore? His memory was flooded of the way his cock had disappeared in and out of your tight pussy while he had you bent over from behind. By the recollection of your cute, virgin mouth stuffed full of cock—his cock—for the first time ever.

How could he possibly forget how sweet your tight little body was, like it was made for him?

Bucky’s frustration was peaking. At the very least, he was making money off of this.

Just as he was about to shut down his computer and call it a night, a new notification popped up.

He clicked it, and what he saw made the air in his lungs vanish completely.

Pleasure_Ring: Love the video!

Bucky blinked.

Was he seeing this right?

He rubbed his eyes, but lo and behold, your comment was still there. He double—and triple—checked the username, ensuring every single letter matched and that it wasn’t some random copycat trying to impersonate you.

But no, it was you.

When he clicked your profile, the interface loaded your old message thread. He saw the green indicator showing you were currently online, sitting right above his last unanswered message asking you to film with him again.

He couldn’t believe it.

You were real. You were still here, ten months later, watching him.

Bucky didn’t realize he was holding his breath as his fingers hovered over the keyboard. He wanted to spam you with messages—to demand where the hell you’ve been, to beg for your phone number so he would never lose track of you again.

No, he couldn’t risk ruining this moment. He had to stay rational and seize this chance before you slipped through his fingers again.

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: I saw the comment you left.

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Where have you been?

A minute passed. Then another. He propped both elbows on the desk, resting his chin on his hands, his foot tapping impatiently as he waited.

Three minutes went by. Your little icon was still green—you were still online.

Then, his heart leaped.

Pleasure_Ring is typing…

Pleasure_Ring: Why? Did you miss me?

Bucky’s brow twitched. Your messages from ten months ago had been sweet, alluring, and almost innocent. If you had been texting him consistently, he might’ve read this as a flirtatious little comment to make his dick hard.

But right now, he just felt pissed off.

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Quit playing around. Of course I missed you. Where did you go?

There were so many things he wanted to ask, but he couldn’t risk scaring you away just yet. His heart raced as he watched the screen.

Pleasure_Ring is typing…

Your bubble kept appearing and disappearing. You would type, then silence. You would type again, then nothing.

Bucky felt like he was going insane. He was just about ready to send another message himself, until one finally popped up under your name.

Pleasure_Ring: I think it’s best that we talk in person.

Pleasure_Ring: Can we exchange numbers?

And of course, Bucky gave you his number without a second thought.

You sat alone at the coffee shop Bucky had agreed to meet you at, fiddling with your mug and glancing anxiously out the window.

The meetup was set for noon, and the closer the clock ticked to the hour, the more your mind began to spiral.

It had been ten months since he last saw you. Ten months since he had you bent over your own bed, your face pressed into the pillows, ravaging you like an animal.

You were growing anxious. What if he had lost interest? What if he took one good look at you and realized you were nothing like the woman he had been infatuated with all this time?

The bell above the door chimed. You glanced up, and your breath caught in your throat.

Bucky was right there. He looked just as handsome as the day you met him. His presence seemed to take up the entire space of the coffee shop, just as it had when he first approached you at the grocery store.

His eyes swept across the room. The moment they landed on yours, your thighs instinctively clenched together. He was wearing that same cold, stern expression he had when he first told you to strip for him.

Naturally, it did things to you.

He marched over to your table, dragged the chair back, and dropped into the seat directly across from you. He didn’t bother with a polite smile, and his gaze didn’t warm up at all.

Was he angry? Was this a nuisance to him—taking time out of his busy day just to see a girl he slept with ten months ago?

“Bucky,” you breathed, forcing a polite smile. “How are you—”

“Where have you been?”

You blinked. You were about to stammer out a quick excuse, but he breezed on past.

“Ten months without a single word from you.” He leaned closer across the table. “Where have you been?”

Despite his harsh tone, he was anxiously bracing himself for your answer. He expected you to say you had lost interest, or that you found a boyfriend to practice your new... sexual experiences on. You hadn’t even given an explanation yet, and he was already fuming with jealousy.

You looked down at your coffee mug, avoiding his gaze. Looking him directly in the eye right now was simply too much to handle.

“I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch,” you mumbled. “Ever since… that night, I’ve been… uh—how do I even say this?” You chuckled awkwardly, scratching lightly at your cheek. “I guess I’ve been feeling a little ashamed of myself.”

Bucky watched your shoulders slump as your hands fidgeted nervously in your lap.

“Ashamed?”

“Ever since we slept together, I’ve felt insecure about not being able to... keep up with you.” You winced. “I mean, you’re obviously experienced—I had a great time, and everything—but it made me realize that, at my age, when everyone else seems to be out there having fun and figuring things out, I’m nowhere near as experienced as they are.”

Your voice dropped lower as you glanced around the room.

It wasn’t exactly the kind of conversation suited for a small, intimate coffee shop.

Bucky frowned, crossing his arms. Your explanation wasn’t giving him the reassurance he had hoped for.

“So you were embarrassed about sleeping with me?”

Your eyes widened.

“No! It’s not like that.” You shook your head. “I had an incredible time with you. You gave me an experience I’ll never forget. I mean...” You leaned forward, lowering your voice to a conspicuous whisper. “You were the one who took my virginity, after all.”

That, at least, managed to draw the hint of a smile from him.

“It’s just...” you hesitated. “I’m ready to start dating, and in the current dating scene, sex matters, you know?”

There it was.

The sentence Bucky had been dreading.

While he had spent the last ten months thinking about you—worrying about you, searching for some way to reconnect, replaying the video you’d filmed together and jerking off to it, moaning your name—you had spent those same months looking forward to a future with someone else.

“So...” You hesitated. “After reading all those comments on your videos, the ones talking about how good I sound, and remembering the offer you made ten months ago to film another one...” Your gaze dropped briefly. “If that offer still stands, maybe you could teach me?”

“Teach you?” Bucky repeated, the words leaving him almost like a scoff.

Just as innocent as the day he first met you, you nodded shyly.

“Teach me how to be better at sex.”

An awkward silence took the space between the two of you.

You were preparing yourself for rejection. For Bucky to push back his chair, walk away, and decide this conversation had been a mistake. After this, you wouldn’t be surprised if he even blocked your number and your profile, cutting off the last connection between you.

Instead, he studied you for a very long moment.

“You know,” he said slowly, his gaze finding yours, “the comments have been asking us to film a video together, right?”

The look he gave you was difficult to read—careful, calculating, and almost suspicious.

“I know,” you said bashfully.

“If you want me to teach you,” he said, leaning forward as his voice dropped soft and intimate, “then we’re going to do the same thing we did before, but I want this done at my house instead. I’ll record.”

He paused, studying your reaction.

“And this time, I’m posting it online.”

You sat there frozen.

It wasn’t exactly the compromise you expected, but you couldn’t say you were entirely surprised. After disappearing from his life for months, after leaving things unresolved between you, part of you knew he would want something in return.

Bucky leaned in closer, his hand finding yours on the table. His fingers curled around yours, giving them a reassuring squeeze.

“You’ve read the comments,” he said. “You might be insecure about your experience, but my viewers love you. They’re curious. They want to know who the woman behind that voice is.”

Heat rushed to your face. The confidence in his words only made your pulse quicken, and the slow sweep of his thumb across your knuckles wasn’t helping at all.

“I’ll teach you everything you want to know,” he continued. “I’ll take care of you. You know I will.”

For a moment, his confidence faltered and his eyes looked pleading, revealing something almost hopeful beneath it.

“What do you say, doll?”

Your heart had been pounding ever since Bucky sat down across from you at the coffee shop. It hadn’t slowed once—not during the conversation, not during the drive over, and certainly not now as you stood behind him while he unlocked his apartment door.

Bucky stepped aside, holding the door open for you. After a moment's hesitation, you stepped inside.

The studio apartment was dimly lit. The blinds were drawn, leaving only the warm glow of a lamp to light the room. In one corner sat a computer setup—his workstation where he recorded and edited his videos.

Your breath caught at what was displaying on the monitor.

Your chat history.

His studio was the definition of a man cave. What caught your attention, however, were the sex toys scattered throughout the apartment without a hint of shame.

Some of the toys were immediately recognizable from his videos. Having been a longtime viewer, you had seen them often enough to identify them at a glance.

Bucky tossed his keys onto a nearby surface and motioned for you to follow him toward the bed. As you approached, your gaze landed on something unfamiliar at his bedside table.

“What’s this?” You pointed to a toy shaped like the lower half of a woman’s body. Unlike the others, you didn’t remember ever seeing this one in any of his videos.

Bucky glanced at it. “Oh, that?” He came to stand beside you. “Custom made. I use it off-camera.” His tone was casual, almost dismissive. “Had it modeled after you.”

You were suddenly grateful for the low lighting, because that meant he couldn’t see the stunned expression that immediately crossed your face.

Modeled after you?

Your eyes drifted back to the toy, taking in the details—the shape of the hips, the skin tone, it was an unmistakable similarity. What shook you up, though, was the tear in the toy around her upper abdomen, a sign that Bucky’s cock tore right through the silicone.

The sounds of his belt buckle being undone drew your attention back to him.

“Had it set to the maximum tightness,” he explained gruffly, setting the belt down on his chair and reaching for the familiar camcorder he used before. “Still not nearly as tight as you felt—but it made do during those ten months you were gone.”

A moment later, he lifted the camera and pointed it in your direction, the red light flickering to let you know it was on.

“Go ahead,” he prompted, watching you. “Undress.”

You bit your lip as you stood in front of him, feeling far more self-conscious than you expected.

For some reason, the atmosphere felt infinitely more tense than it had the first time you undressed for him.

Bucky seemed to notice your hesitation immediately. He lowered the camera slightly.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don't know about this, Bucky.” You fiddled with your fingers, unable to meet his gaze. Instead, you focused on your bare feet against the floor. “What if I'm not good at this?”

A slow, patient sigh escaped him.

Without a word, he set the camera on the bedside table. It remained angled in a way that still captured your body, but his attention had shifted entirely to you. His hands found the hem of your shirt and lifted it up, letting his fingers tickle your lower belly.

“Are you feeling shy, doll?” he murmured softly.

The question was quiet enough so that the camera wouldn’t pick it up. It wasn’t meant for an audience. It was just for you.

“Look at me,” he commanded gently. “You’ve got a perfect, tight body. There are a lot of people that would kill to be in my position, and you’re scared to show it off?”

He lifted your shirt up until it exposed the lace of your bra. His large hand cupped over your breast, giving it a squeeze that made you gasp softly.

Bucky grinned. “Ah, there she is.”

While his left hand fondled your tits, his other hand crept up to your chin, tilting your head so you were forced to look at him. His eyes wandered down to your lips—exposed, plump, and vulnerable.

“When you get a boyfriend—you’ll have to learn how to kiss,” Bucky murmured. “Do you know how?”

The question felt almost condescending. He should already know the answer. You were still inexperienced, still clueless, but despite it all, you couldn’t help the ache that began to form between your legs from the way he talked to you.

Your voice came out soft and trembling, but to Bucky, it sounded like music to his ears.

“… Teach me?”

A low growl vibrated from his lips as he closed the distance in one, smooth motion. His lips collided with yours—hungry and consuming—letting his tongue delve past your lips and into the wet warmth of your mouth.

He held your face tight, forcing you to take every inch of his tongue and every surface of his lips. It was hot, messy, and wet. During every second of his ravishing, his hands continued to explore your body, groping you through your bottoms. He held you so close, you could already feel him throbbing against your leg.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your lips, pulling away slightly to catch his breath. “Still taste so good. So sweet, just for me.”

He stepped away, breathing just as hard as his dick felt.

With the warm lamp glowing next to him, it outlined the sheer size of his dick throbbing in his pants. You watched it pulse, a little wet spot forming near the tip, before his large hand came down with deep, circular rubs to soothe the ache.

“Bucky…” You gasped softly.

His other hand snatched the camera off the bedside table, nearly knocking down the picture frames. With a shaky hand, he lifted the camera up to you again.

“Strip.” He commanded, rougher this time. “Strip. Now.”

Your heart raced. His patience was fraying, and without upsetting him further, you began to undress. You abandoned your top, your pants, all until you were left standing in nothing but your panties and bra.

Bucky groaned at the sight, his palm working faster over his clothed erection.

“God, look at that,” he zoomed in on the wet spot collecting at the front of your panties. “You’re fucking soaking for me, doll. And all I did was kiss you.”

Shame flooded your face. As you unhooked your bra and worked for your panties next, Bucky’s voice pulled you to a stop.

“No,” his hand shot out, catching your wrist. “Keep those on. I want to see the mess you’ll make after having my dick in your mouth.”

With his grip tightening around your wrist, he ushered you to the ground until your knees made contact with the floor. He tugged his pants down with force, and his cock sprang out heavy—slapping you in the cheek and making you wince.

He was big and hard. Seeing him up close like this, with his hand around his shaft and his tip rubbing against your cheek, you weren’t sure how you took him the first time.

“Do you remember the first time you sucked my cock? When you tried fitting it all in on your first try?” he rasped a chuckle, slapping his cock against your face and smearing his pre-cum over your wet lips. “Your mouth was so small—you could hardly fit anything past the tip.”

You flicked your tongue out, giving his cock a shy kitten lick just to tease him.

“Oh, fuck,” he shuddered. “You slut. You want it in your mouth again? Wanna try again for me?”

He pointed the camera closer to your face, his other hand tangling in the back of your hair, nodding you closer to his shaft.

“Come on. Open up. Show me what you remember.”

You licked the pre-cum that was beading at the tip. It tasted just like it did the first time—salty and thick. Bucky groaned, his hand tightening in your hair, pushing you forward for more.

You opened your mouth, letting your lips wrap around the swollen head. His cock was warm and hot, already twitching in your mouth and he wasn’t even halfway. Encouraged by the camera and his breathy grunts, you sunk your head deeper.

Bucky felt like he could cum right there. Your mouth was still so tight and inexperienced. He was half tempted to pin you against the side of the bed and face fuck you until his balls were dry—but he forced himself to hold back.

“God. Is this—fuck—the best you can do, really?”

He brought his camera down, the lens pointing right where his tip disappeared in and out of your plump lips, making sure to pick up every wet squelch that left your mouth.

“You can do better than that,” he hissed, pushing his cock deeper into your throat. “I know it hurts, baby. Just remember what I said the first time. Stretch those lips, relax your jaw, breathe in and out of your nose.”

You fluttered your lashes as you looked up at him. Your eyes were sheen with tears that threatened to spill out from the ache of your mouth being stretched open. He rocked his hips forward, making you gag and choke.

“Oh, christ,” he grunted, his cock twitching as your throat tightened around him. “You guys listening to that? She’s gagging for me.”

He was talking to his potential viewers. Your eyes widened with embarrassment as an instinctive moan left your lips and vibrated around his cock.

“Mph!”

“Fuck, she’s sloppy—drooling all over my floor, but her mouth is so tight. Could cum just from this,” he started drawing his hips back and forth, forcing himself deeper.

He angled the camera closer to your face, capturing your pleading eyes and stretched mouth.

“Does it taste good, sweetheart?” he asked, despite knowing your inability to answer. “Come on, show that pretty face off for the camera.”

With your mouth stuffed full of his cock, all you could do was nod in desperation.

“Damn, what a good girl. The fans are going to love this,” he let out a shaky laugh.

His hand kept your head still, and without warning, he pushed his hips even deeper into your mouth. He pushed until your jaw ached from the stretch and your nose made contact with the dark, musky curls sitting on his pelvis.

Bucky tossed his head back, letting out a deep, pleasurable moan.

“Ohh, shit.”

You gagged and choked, your hands finding his bare thighs as you attempted to push your head away for a quick breath. His cock was sitting heavy on your tongue, and drool began to shamelessly drip down your chin and onto your thighs.

Despite your mouth being overworked, you were getting wetter by the second.

“Shh… shh. I know, baby. Just stay right there.” Bucky cooed, his blue eyes hazy with lust. “Just let it sit in your mouth. Breathe in and out through your nose. That’s it.”

You did as instructed, keeping your mouth stuffed full of cock like a good girl. But every time you breathed in, all you could smell was him. His musky, masculine scent only made your head spin with desire even more.

Another deep groan tore from his chest before he gripped your hair tight, pulling you away from his cock with a wet pop. Saliva mixed with his pre-cum drew from your lips like a silver string as you coughed for air.

“Fuuck,” he groaned, fucking his hand for a few pumps as he watched you struggle.

Bucky’s cock was angry, pulsing and throbbing with a mind of its own. His cock was sheen with your saliva, and he was dripping out so much pre-cum, he looked just about ready to cum right then and there.

“Goddamnit. Ten months later, and your mouth is still good enough to make me almost fucking cum,” he hissed angrily. He bent down, catching your stray tear with his thumb. “Don’t cry, pretty girl. You wanted me to teach you, didn’t you?”

He spoke so gently in a way that might’ve fooled his viewers, but every word that left his lips felt hauntingly patronizing.

You nodded with a sniffle. “Y—yes…”

Bucky smiled, his eyes softening as he took in your utterly debauched state.

He knew he was being a little mean, but he couldn’t help it. It’s what you deserved after ghosting him for ten months.

“That’s a good girl. My girl.” He nodded to his bed, standing up. “Go.”

Swallowing hard, you pushed yourself up—your mind dizzying and your legs feeling like jello from standing up too fast. You crossed over his crisp, white sheets—the mattress dipping under each crawl.

You didn’t know what position he wanted you in, so you played it safe and laid flat on your back.

Bucky’s expression was completely unreadable. His eyes were dark, his breathing labored, but his cock was still stiff, angry, and unsatisfied.

He adjusted the camera, zooming in on the cute bow on your panties.

“Spread your legs. Show everyone how wet you are after getting a taste of my cock.”

Biting your lip and turning your head from shame, you slowly spread your legs. With your thighs wide and your damp panties on full display, Bucky’s gaze somehow felt even heavier and more tense.

He growled, a deep rumbling sound of satisfaction. He stepped closer, meeting you at the bed. Every dip and creak from his moving weight made your heart race. His camera lens was focused solely on your panties, highlighting the growing wet patch on your crotch.

“Mm,” he hummed, his fingers dragging up and down your underwear, letting the fabric cling against your slick folds just underneath. “So wet. Could smell you from here, baby.”

You felt your body growing weaker by the second.

You wanted to beg him to fuck you—to take you just as he had the first time. But with the camera pointed steady in his hands, you knew he was trying to drag this out for as long as possible.

“Bucky,” you panted, eyes pleading. “I can’t take it anymore. I need your cock—”

“Aw, you’re begging?” Bucky huffed a laugh. “Ten months without a single word, and now you’re in my bed, demanding for my cock. That’s real cute, doll.”

Bucky brought the camera up to your face, and instinctively, you shied away from it. Despite your agreement to film, the lens pointing directly at you made you burn with an embarrassment you didn’t feel the first time.

Maybe because, in the back of your mind, you knew he’d be posting this one online—meaning you’ll be watched by thousands of people.

Sensing your hesitation, he lowered the camera with a slight frown, brows furrowing.

“Do you want to stop, doll?”

Stop?

Your heart clenched, eyes widening as you faced him.

“Stop?” you repeated softly, making sure you heard him right.

The softness in his eyes made your body feel warm. Bucky lowered his camera completely and angled it in a way that wouldn’t capture you in this vulnerable state. He was serious. He would stop for you if you changed your mind, despite your initial agreement to this as the compromise.

“If you don’t want me to upload this, I won’t.” He reassured. “I’ll keep this video for myself—just like the first one.”

His hand found your hip, his thumb tracing soft and gentle circles with a tenderness that only encouraged you to give yourself to him completely.

“I promise,” he added.

“No. I… I want to do this,” you searched his eyes, trying to soothe your nerves. “I can do it, Bucky. Please teach me.”

It was hard to ignore the way his cock hung heavy between his legs—twitching at your admission. The corners of his lips tugged up in a satisfied, smug smile.

“That’s my good girl.”

While one hand repositioned the camera back to you again, the other found the waistband of your panties, giving it a gentle tug downwards. With the fabric slipping slipping down your thighs and past your ankles, you hissed at the cool air greeting your wet cunt.

“Christ. You soaked the fabric right through, doll.” He held the garment up, the lamp highlighting every glistening wet spot as he made sure to capture your essence on camera.

He leaned over you with a grunt, setting your panties down on the side table. Your eyes followed his movement, and you sucked in a breath at seeing the toy he modeled right after you—resting there with a loose hole and an obvious tear in the abdomen.

It was haunting, almost like a warning for what you’re about to take.

Bucky nestled himself in the space between your legs, letting his length rest heavy on your stomach. His tip tickled your belly button, grinning proudly at the size comparison of his cock to your body.

“Did you fuck anyone else after me?” he rasped as he rocked his hips back and forth, grounding his cock against your belly.

You shook your head, face blistering from the sensation.

“No, Bucky. There was no one else…”

A satisfied groan tore from his lips. He grabbed himself at the base, guiding the tip toward your entrance.

“Is that so?” he mumbled. “Let’s see if you’re telling the truth.”

With a slow forward push of his hips, his tip fought against the tightness of your entrance. He sucked in a breath as he slipped in deeper, and your walls immediately clenched around the intrusion. You were so tight—Bucky had to grit his teeth to keep his composure.

Whimpering, you held onto his shoulders for support as he stretched you from just the tip. “Fu—fuck..”

“Fuck, baby. Still so goddamn tight. Just breathe in and out,” he gasped, his voice thickening in a way that made it sound like he was trying to calm himself down. “In and out while I sink into you deeper. That’s it. Good girl…”

Your back arched off the bed as he filled you. Your legs were stiff around him, your lips whimpering and mewling with every inch he was forcing your tight body to take. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple as he stretched your pussy out with just half his cock.

“Have you been keeping up with my videos?” He asked.

You couldn’t bring yourself to answer. You were too stuffed—too concentrated on trying to get your body to accommodate the sheer size of him.

“I—I haven’t—” you answered truthfully.

He clicked his tongue in disapproval, pointing the camcorder to where the top half of his cock disappeared in and out of your tight cunt.

“The videos would’ve scared you,” he pushed his cock a little deeper, making you cry out. “Kept breaking my toys. All my damn fleshlights are torn right through. Had to keep ordering new ones, but fuck, they didn’t feel nearly as good as your tight, virgin pussy did.”

The broken sex doll that laid on his bedside table was certainly a testament to that.

Bucky’s hand found balance near the side of your head, his muscles and veins popping from holding his weight while the other hand was too occupied filming every inch of his cock delving deeper in your pussy.

“How does it feel, baby? Still as big as you remembered?”

“Still big, Bucky,” you winced when he angled his pelvis, his cock twitching in time with every clench your pussy gave him. “I’m trying to take it all—to big the good girl that you remembered—”

He tossed his head back with a groan. He tried his best to control himself—he really did. But the longer he stayed inside your warmth, the more his mind started to fray.

“Fuck—so cute. Such a good girl,” he groaned, sheathing himself completely inside until his dark curls were greeted with your wet folds. “Oh my god.”

Bucky stilled inside you, basking in your warmth. Your body felt like a wet, tight hug wrapping around his cock. This was the sensation he sought after the day you left. The very feeling he’d been looking for in the useless sex toys he was constantly ordering.

Now that you were finally here—pinned beneath him and his camera—he was afraid that if he moved, he would cum right there on the spot.

“Bucky?” your voice was soft, breaking into a gentle moan. “Are you okay?”

His eyes fluttered down to look at you, and his breath caught.

Your hair was fanned out so beautifully against his white sheets. Your body was laid bare and perfect for him. You asked the question in such a soft and innocent tone—it did nothing to dull the ache in his balls and did everything to make his heart heavier.

He should be asking you the question, with you lying there stretched out with more than you can take, but alas.

“You’re asking if I’m okay?” he huffed a raspy laugh, shifting his hips to deliver a deep and hard thrust inside you. “No, I’m not okay. I want to fuck you right through the mattress. Want to split you open and make you cry on my cock. But I can’t—I have to control myself and teach you how to take me again.”

The red light of the camcorder flickered in the dark room as he began rocking his hips, his cock sliding in and out of you—capturing every moment of him claiming you a second time.

The bed started to creak, accompanied with his grunts and your soft moans of pleasure.

Bucky’s breathing was heavy, every deep, punishing roll of his hips making your eyes roll back.

The tip of his cock was kissing your cervix so sweetly, you felt your body giving out. He was right—your pussy was acting like a vice, wrapping impossibly tight around his thick shaft, refusing to let him go.

The camera shook in his hand as he aimed it directly at your hips. He had failed to capture the moment he pumped you full of his cum last time, and he was going to make damn sure he got it right tonight.

“Not a single drop going to waste,” he panted, his hips rutting uncontrollably against yours. “Gonna pump you full—God. Should fill up your womb so you’ll never leave me again.”

Your heart started to race as his words danced in your mind. Surely, this was just make-believe dirty talk. A performance he put on for the camera to secure a good payout from his loyal subscribers, right?

But as his body moved even more erratically, the bed groaning under every hard, bruising thrust, you began to fear otherwise.

“Fuck—this little slut thought she could use my cock to practice for other men,” he laughed, the sound deep and condescending. “Said she wanted to learn how to take dick for her future boyfriend. What a fucking joke.”

Your face burned with humiliation. You couldn’t believe Bucky was airing out your private confessions to his viewers like this.

“Oh my god! Bucky, please don’t say that—”

But your protests were useless. Your pussy was already spasming, clenching around him in a tight, weeping mess at every degrading taunt that left his lips.

“Ah, fuck. My sweet girl is milking me so hard—she doesn’t want to let go.” He chuckled, watching the wet friction of your hips through the camera screen. “You want to cum for me?”

You nodded, letting out a pathetic whimper.

Bucky leaned over you, shoving the camera close to your face. “Come on, baby. You’re on camera. I need you to speak up so everyone else can hear you.”

Pleasure was coursing through your body in ways that a simple vibrator could never match. Ten months without Bucky—and without touching anyone else—had left you chasing a high you couldn’t replicate. It was never like this.

You nodded frantically, losing all control over your own autonomy as tears of pleasure blurred your vision.

“Yes, Bucky! Please—please, please, I want to cum!”

Your cries were loud enough to peak the camera’s built-in microphone. Your walls clamped down around his cock, pulsing and fluttering as your back arched off the mattress with a loud moan, letting the climax rip straight through your core and down to very tip of your toes.

Bucky groaned, his entire body going stiff as your pussy milked him ruthlessly. Fuck. He missed this. He missed the tightness of your cunt. He couldn’t find this sensation anywhere else.

“Christ. Look at that,” he growled into the camera, his hand shaking as he kept the lens focused on where you squeezed around him. “She’s squeezing me so tight—it nearly hurts. Fuck, I’m gonna cum too.”

His balls slapped against your pussy with every hard thrust. He was chasing his release—his face twisted into a mask of pleasure as he felt his balls tighten and his cock twitch. You were already past your high, but Bucky forced you to ride it out for him.

“Shit, the idea of her having sex with someone else...” he snarled to the camera, his voice breaking as he slammed deep into your pulsing heat. “...of someone else’s cock buried deep in what’s supposed to be mine. I’m gonna fucking lose it.”

You cried out his name, your nails digging into his back as he used your body ruthlessly, just like one of his sex toys.

“Fuck, fuck—shit—fuck!”

A litany of curses spilled from his lips as his cock buried all the way to the hilt.

He shuddered violently, pinning your hips flat against the mattress as his orgasm tore through him, flooding every surface of your womb with thick, warm seed. He held himself deep, marking you from the inside out, leaving his cum to fill you completely until it was dripping onto the sheets.

Bucky brought the camera down with a shaky hand, capturing the way your puffy slit was pulsing around his cock, and the way his cum trickled out of you.

“There we go,” he breathed, satisfied. “Captured every second of it, baby.”

Ensuring that you kept your end of the bargain, Bucky uploaded the video to his profile.

Before hitting post, he texted you multiple times to make absolutely sure you were comfortable with your face and username being shown.

When you finally agreed, you never expected the video to blow up overnight. You knew Bucky was a popular content creator, but perhaps the sight of a woman’s body—your body—in the thumbnail stood out against his usual solo content.

Today, you sat at your desk, pulling up his profile out of habit, just like the ritual you used to have ten months ago. Your mouse hovered over the video, and you hesitated before clicking.

Two million views.

A wave of nerves hit you—the thought of being perceived by two million strangers while completely bare and vulnerable was overwhelming. Yet, for some reason, the idea of it excited you more than a girl like you should admit.

You finally clicked the link. The video started with you stripping for him, then dropping to your knees, and just minutes later, you were sprawled out bare on the mattress while he pumped you full of his cum.

You were already soaking through your underwear just watching it, your thighs rubbing together shamelessly from the memory of being filled by Bucky. The way his breathy moans sounded so much more enthusiastic than they ever did in his solo videos filled you with absolute pride.

You made him feel that good.

And apparently, you made his entire comment section feel good, too.

Daddywants2play: hooooooooolyy fuck. she’s so hot. my balls are so heavy just from watching her tits bounce. u lucky dog

Bwasexual: Omg!!! Do you guys need a third?

pegm3please: God so fucking hot. Is she going to upload anytime soon?? Just gave her a follow.

Your brow rose at the last comment.

Gave her a follow?

Instinctively, your mouse hovered to the top right of the screen where the notification bell was displayed.

It showed over 99+ alerts. You were used to seeing two at the absolute maximum—a like from Bucky on one of your comments, and his reply.

Bracing yourself, you clicked it, and a wall of notifications flooded the screen with dozens of different usernames following you. Your follower count had gone from exactly one—Bucky’s account—to well over a thousand in just a single night.

You couldn’t believe it.

People loved watching you.

They loved you enough that, despite you having zero videos posted, no profile picture, and an entirely blank description, they were hitting follow anyway—eagerly expecting to see more. You mentally patted yourself on the back for having the foresight to remove the links to your personal social media accounts beforehand.

A warm flush traced your face. The crazy part was, it wasn’t from embarrassment at all.

It was pure excitement.

Without thinking, you snatched your phone off the desk and dialed a familiar number. It only rang twice before a deep, sleepy voice answered on the other end.

“Hey, doll,” Bucky rasped. “Everything okay?”

“I just saw the video,” you said, the words tumbling out fast. You couldn’t contain your excitement. “I woke up to a little over a thousand followers—and there are so many comments!”

He paused on the line. You could hear the rustle of sheets as he sat up.

“… And are you okay with that? Do you want me to take it down?”

You bit your lip. You couldn’t believe what you were going to say next. “I’m more than okay with it. But… um…”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. He pulled the phone away from his face for a split second to make sure you were still on the line.

“Sweetheart, what is it?”

A breathy sigh left your lips. “I… I want to become a content creator, too. Will you teach me?”

And just like that, the air left Bucky’s lungs completely.

Everything he could possibly want—and more—was finally being served to him on a silver platter.

This meant more videos, more collaborations, and endless opportunities to have you completely to himself.

“Yes,” he swiped at his camcorder and car keys. “I’m coming over. Be ready for me.”

hopping off the bed turn my swag on. happy almost one year anniversary to pornstar bucky and the first bwa collab. once again, thank you to my dear friend @unificsation for the premise. thank you to @barnesonly for the cyber sex bucky edit she made inspired by this fic that i goon to nightly. thank you to @blowingbarnes and @buckybunni for being pornstar bucky's number one fan (i never forgot) thank you to @houseofhyde for giving me the inspiration to write this after sum silly joke. and thank you for all the love and support for part one. i would like to dedicate this oscar to you guys /j

I do not have a tag list. to get notified for fic updates, please follow @notify-superbassbuck and turn on notifications.

“I was in the middle of getting myself off.” 

After hearing Steve knock, he watched you shuffle to the door trying to put clothes on, trying to pretend you weren't leaking with him still. 

As he hid in the doorway of your closet, in the dark trying to tuck himself back together, he heard your voice trail off, and bit back a growl in distaste. He didn't like Steve knowing you that intimately. “Like. Fully committed. Lights low. Door locked. Very enthusiastic.”

He heard the silence and then Steve's voice. “Oh.” A few other murmured words, and he heard you again. 

Cleary, this time. “You don’t want to supervise?” The thought of Steve touching you like that in any way, shape, or form, made him want to snap his neck like a twig. 

You.

Steve's shadow and neighbor. Steve's friend.

He remembered your scent first. The strongest sense tied to memory. Peonies and musk and vanilla bypassed his thalamus and landed straight into his hippocampus and amygdala, burrowing deep there. 

As he walked the halls of the exhibit, more and more pieces came back, slow and disjointed, like shards of painted glass scattered across the floor of his mind.

He passed the stand of pictures of him and Steve, the Howling Commandos, and what seemed to be his own fucking funeral. Bits and pieces battled for space in his brain he didn't have yet, giving way to a pounding sensation on the inside of his skull, sudden enough it made his vision blur for a few seconds.

Like some version of him was trying to break out. 

His hand came up instinctively, fingers pressing against his temple as the museum hallway tilted slightly beneath his feet.

The exhibit around him blurred into color and glass and distant voices as another memory tried to surface, clawing its way up through the conditioning Hydra had hammered into his skull.

He staggered sideways, gripping the edge of a display case to steady himself. The metal fingers of his prosthetic curled against the glass with a faint screech that made a nearby tourist glance over.

Bucky pushed away immediately.

The air inside the museum suddenly felt wrong — too clean, too loud, too full of ghosts trying to claw their way back into his head.

He turned sharply and walked toward the side corridor he’d noticed earlier when he came in. A service hallway.

His footsteps echoed off concrete instead of polished marble now, each step sending another dull pulse through his skull. The headache hadn’t eased — if anything, it throbbed harder the farther he moved from the exhibit.

Like his mind was angry at him for walking away before the picture was finished.

He pushed the door under the glowing red "EXIT" sign, and as soon as the sun hit him, the overhead of the exhibit faded away and the busy noise of D.C. filled his ears, he could feel oxygen in his lungs again. 

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

As he breathed deep, he noticed an unmarked black car parked there. All tinted windows. 

Bucky's heart raced again and his body tensed automatically. Predator instincts snapping into place before conscious thought could catch up.

Did they find me? Already? 

His brain was going a million miles a minute and overheating. 

He looked around, planning a getaway, looking for traps, snipers, and before he could get much further than that, the door opened, and out of the car you stepped. 

He didn't recognize you, per se. But his body somehow… knew. 

There was a manila envelope tucked under one arm, thick with papers and creased from being held too tightly. Your clothes were practical — thick, dark leggings, what looked like running shoes, a jacket zipped halfway up over a hoodie, and sunglasses.

Sunglasses that did nothing to hide the purple blooming on the apple of your cheek. 

His fingers flexed as his stomach twisted at the sight, a little part of him knowing that was probably his doing. A small, ugly thought flickered through his mind.

You stopped a few feet from the car, studying him like you’d been doing it for a long time already.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You could see the tension in his body, the uncertainty and distrust flashing in his eyes. 

When he spoke, his voice came out rough, shaking at the beginning of the sentence, from not being used. "Who did that to you?"

The question seemed to surprise him almost as much as it did you.

He studied you for another second, like he was trying to fit you into the fractured spaces in his mind.

“That,” you said quietly, “is a long story.” You walked to the other side of the car, opened the passenger door and threw the envelope on the seat, tuning back to him. "You coming?"

Washington faded in the rearview mirror in slow increments — traffic thinning, buildings lowering, glass and steel turning into brick and then eventually trees. The late afternoon sun filtered through the windshield in long, warm streaks that flickered across the dashboard as the road curved deeper into Virginia.

Bucky.

It felt so weird he had a name now. 

You wondered exactly how much he remembered. You read the files as you gathered them before it all went to shit, you knew whatever twisted version you had of him, it wasn't the same one Steve tried to save. 

Bucky didn’t speak much.

He sat angled slightly toward the window, one arm resting loosely on the door, metal fingers flexing every so often like they had their own restless thoughts. His eyes moved constantly — mirrors, tree lines, passing cars.

You kept the drive steady, hands loose on the wheel, like this was just another quiet afternoon road trip instead of the first time you’d seen him since the causeway.

Eventually the paved highway gave way to a narrow two-lane road, then a gravel path that wound through thick woods. Tall trees leaned overhead, their branches forming a natural tunnel that swallowed the last hints of civilization behind you.

The cabin sat tucked beside a wide, slow river that caught the sunlight like glass. It wasn’t large, but it was well kept — simple wood siding, a small wraparound porch, wide windows facing the water.

You parked the car near the edge of the clearing and turned the engine off.

For a moment neither of you moved.

The sudden silence of the woods settled around the car — water moving gently over rocks, leaves rustling in a breeze that smelled like pine and river mist.

Bucky’s eyes swept the property. He narrowed his gaze at the lack of findings. His jaw tightened, “Too clean,” he muttered under his breath.

You snorted. “Yeah, well,” you said as you opened your door and stepped out onto the gravel, “I vacuum.”

His boots crunched lightly against the gravel when he got out of the car, as he stood beside the door, scanning the cabin again with the same sharp caution he’d had since the alley behind the museum.

As you walked to the trunk to get your duffel bags, one of your belongings and the other of food, you decided you'd be the chatty one. As it's always been. 

You lifted a hand, gesturing vaguely toward the surrounding forest.

“Off grid. No utilities tied to my name. No property record in any government database worth a damn. Bought it under three shell companies and a retired fisherman in Montana who thinks he owns a lake house he’s never seen.”

“Hydra doesn’t know it exists.” You tilted your head slightly. “And neither does SHIELD. That part made his eyes narrow a fraction. You pushed the trunk closed and started toward the cabin steps. “Just me.”

As he followed you in, his eyes took inventory of the inside of the cabin. Warm air spilled out — wood smoke, clean linen, something faintly herbal from the kitchen.

Simple furniture. Neat. A couch near the fireplace. A small table at the center, over a rug. A bookshelf. A kitchen tucked into the back corner with the smallest kitchen island known to man. 

"Bathroom's that way," you nodded your head to your left, dropping the duffel bags in the kitchen by the cabinets. "Bedroom's the door before."

No surveillance. No technology. Just quiet.

You put refrigerated things in the small fridge by the kitchen corner, and grabbed the duffel bag, handing it to him. "I figured you and Steve were the same size." He looked at you puzzled. "Got a few changed of clothes for you, washed away all his star splangled piousness."

Bucky didn't say anything, just stared at you like he was trying to grasp at a thread in his brain that kept slipping away. 

You looked back at him, and nervously chuckled. "Okay, tough crowd."

Bucky’s gaze drifted back toward the table. Toward the envelope. It sat there like it had weight far heavier than paper should.

You followed his line of sight. “Yeah,” you said after a beat, pushing away from the counter. “That.” You fidgeted with the corners of the envelope. “It’s everything I could find.”

He tilted his head, as if spurring you on to keep talking. You stepped back again, folding your arms loosely.

“On Bucky,” you continued. A small pause. “On the Winter Soldier.” Another pause. “On whoever the hell you decide you are when you’re done reading it.”

“HYDRA records. SHIELD files. Soviet archives. Mission logs.” Your mouth tilted faintly. “Some things even Natasha doesn’t know exist.”

The cabin creaked softly as the wind moved through the trees outside.

It took Bucky two full days to feel some semblance that his body belonged to him again. He didn't feel underwater — at least not fully — anymore. 

The envelope stayed unopened.

It sat on the small table near the couch like a quiet third presence in the room, its corners curling slightly from the humidity drifting in through the cracked windows. Every so often Bucky’s eyes would land on it, linger for a moment, and then move away again.

Instead, he watched you.

Not in the way he used to — not from rooftops with the cold focus of a rifle scope — but with a quiet, almost instinctive attention. Like his body had decided something before his mind could catch up.

He followed you without realizing he was doing it.

When you moved around the small kitchen in the morning, he drifted closer under the pretense of getting water. When you stepped outside to the porch with a mug of coffee, he appeared a minute later, leaning against the railing like the river had been calling him there all along.

Sometimes he didn’t even seem aware of it.

You’d turn around and find him standing in the doorway watching you chop vegetables, or sitting on the edge of the couch while you flipped through one of the battered paperbacks on the shelf.

Whatever pieces of Bucky Barnes were trying to claw their way back had nothing stable to attach to yet.

Except you.

Which was… complicated.

You were standing by the kitchen counter when you finally said it.

“I’ve gotta head out tomorrow.”

“You’re leaving.” Not a question.

You grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, twisting the cap off with one hand. “Couple days,” you said casually. “Maybe three.”

His shoulders squared slightly, tension threading through the relaxed posture he’d had moments earlier. “For what?”

You took a sip before answering. “Gotta check on a couple people.” His eyes narrowed a fraction.

“Steve.” You gave a small nod.

“And Nat.” The reaction was tiny. So small most people probably wouldn’t have noticed it.

“Why?”

You shrugged one shoulder. “Because they’re probably looking for both of us.” Another pause. “And because they’re my friends.”

That word hung in the air longer than the rest.

Bucky stood in the doorway for a long time after the sound of the car disappeared, staring out at the quiet river like he was waiting for something to change.

Eventually, he turned back inside, sitting at the table, staring at the envelope like it might catch fire if he didn't. 

He decided that was as good time as any. 

Minutes passed, then hours. Probably more. 

The files inside were organized by date, the only sort of thread he could actually follow. The beginning painted a picture he could barely remember. You even managed to find things that only someone who went digging for his little sister's diary could find, anecdotes of the type of childhood he could imagine he had, pictures of his childhood, his sisters, his parents. 

Then it got… darker. 

The experiment in Azzano, the rescue, his missions with Steve, all the way to his fall of the train. How he survived hypothermia, the operative report when they attached his arm. The first real wiping session. 

HYDRA mission reports.

Redacted SHIELD intel that you somehow got unredacted.

Grainy satellite photos. Black-and-white surveillance stills.

The Winter Soldier. Asset.

Target eliminated. Location secured. Memory wipe required.

Bucky read the words on the paper, old and new, until his eyes ached. The pounding headache came back, too many versions of himself stacked on top of each other, and he decided it was enough for the night. 

He looked through the bookcase, finding stacks of crossword puzzles, sudoku, a deck of cards, all on the second drawer below the books and board games. 

The New York Times wednesday crossword was the lucky one he picked. He laid on the couch with the newspaper in front of him, and by the end, there was only one clue that had him, well, puzzled. 

Ooh, la, la!

What the fuck kind of clue was that?

Four letters. 

He tilted his head one side, then the other, trying to crack his neck, and when he stretched, he buried his face in the cushion. 

It was peonies, and soft musk, and vanilla. It was your sweatshirt that you left over the arm of the couch. 

Before realization hit, a flash went by behind his eyelids, sending his heart straight to the pit of his stomach. 

"Please, you don't have to do this, please, don't!— ah!" It was your voice, distant, far away, but there. Yours. "No! Stop! I- mmmnnghhh!"

He heard himself then. "You can tell me, it'll be our little secret." A rush of heat trickling down his stomach like lava. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

Bucky opened his eyes and sucked in a breath like he had just come out from underwater, scared of his own mind.

He had a blurred visual of what accompaied the words, was that a memory? Was it a dream? Were those his intentions with you? Were you safe with him in this remote cabin?

His thoughts raced with speed one would get a felony charge for, and he looked around to see if he was still alone. He shuffled away from the sweatshirt like it was covered in cactus spines.

His hands dragged over his face, and he decided the coldest shower the safehouse could provide would fix whatever was wrong with his mind. “You’re fine,” he muttered to himself.

He walked to the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror for longer than he'd like to admit, trying to find pieces of the James Barnes he read about. 

The shower didn't do much, but it did enough to soothe the tense muscles in his back and ease the throbbing ache in his skull. The instant ramen he made settled okay in his stomach. He settled on the old creaky bed and stared at the ceiling like it held all the answers to his questions until his eyes drifted closed. 

The chair was cold. Metal against his spine. His wrists locked down tight enough that he can feel his pulse fighting against the restraints. The room smells like antiseptic and something burned—wires, maybe, or skin. It’s dark and smells musty. Too old.

He can't move his head. 

He heard the whirring of the wiping machine, heard his own teeth grind together, and then dull footsteps walking in circles around him like a shark circling wounded prey. 

Longing, Rusted, Seventeen, Daybreak, Furnace, Nine, Benign, Homecoming, One, Freight Car.

He felt flashes of memory crumbling down like weak concrete.

And the voice spoke again. 

"Soldat?"

He heard his voice with so little emotion it didn't even feel like him. "Ya gotov otvechat'."

And before he could remember what orders he was given, the nightmare changed. 

"I'll be good! I'll comply!" Suddenly he wasn't in a HYDRA base that smelled of rust and old water, no. He was somewhere much softer, much better taken care of, much more pleasant to be in. 

You. 

He saw himself blurred, almost like he was watching it happen but feeling it all the same, heard himself coax agreement out of you, and heard your voice, broken and wet and needy, say the words. "Ya gotov otvechat'."

Bucky woke up in a cold sweat, breathing like he just choked while running a marathon.

The room was dark, a bedside table clock telling him it was barely past 2am, and when he looked down he groaned in shame at the sight of the tent he was pitching in his pants, aching and leaking enough to wet a spot on the front of his pants.

He decided to toss. And turn. And toss again, trying to go back to sleep. 

He threw the covers off of him, walking to the kitchen and side eyeing the sweatshirt tossed on the couch like it might lunge at him. Tried to mush down the heat in the back of his throat with a glass of water, which proved unsuccessful.

He laid back in bed, covers over his legs and waist, and closed his eyes, wishing, hoping, praying he'd drift away into anywhere his shitty ability to maladaptive daydream would take him. 

Which was right back to you. 

The synapses in his brain just wouldn't stop. 

"You didn't show up for days." Your voice was distant, like a weird doppler effect was happening. You sounded sad, like you felt forgotten about. 

It kept coming to him in flashes, “You disappear,” you said, ticking it off on your fingers. “You come back. You act like nothing happened. Rinse. Repeat.” This time he could almost feel the supple skin of your cheeks under the pads of his fingers. 

His hand twitched on the pillow above his head, and he sighed deeply. Each inch his hand moved lower, the clearer the picture got. 

When it tickled the skin on his stomach, he got a flash of you looking up at him. 

You sucked the digit into your mouth, metallic tang on your tastebuds, as you tugged fabric down just enough so his cock would spring free. Thick, hard, mouth-wateringly big. "Missed my cock that much, mmm, pretty girl?"

Bucky whined, hand going lower over the sweats and palming himself through it. 

He slotted himself between your open thighs and rubbed his length up and down the wetness dripping from you, making you moan at the feeling, "Please…"

He felt dirty, and like he was doing something he shouldn't. But no one would know. He was alone for miles and miles, and you were gone checking on your precious Steve.

He palmed himself harder and sucked in a harsh breath through his nose, his hand coming up slightly to go under the sweats and grip himself, his body jolting at the feeling of skin against skin. 

"Let your pretty girl see you…" Another strangled whine left his lips, like it hurt. Like it hurt to feel what he was feeling and be confused as to why, have no outlet for such emotion, not know what to do with the memories.

You lifted you hips and sank back down slowly, little gasps and moans you tried not to let out, coming out anyway.

“I don’t like it when you’re gone.” The words came out muffled against his hand, his thumb tracing your lip again. 

The moan that escaped his lips when he stroked himself at first was broken, like it knocked the wind out of him. He didn't mean to let it out but the imagery got clearer with each movement. 

"Mne ne khochetsya tebya pokidat'." I don't like leaving you.

He stroked again, each slick sound from him fucking his fist reminding him of how you sounded fucking yourself open onto him. 

"Ya ne khochu, chtoby ty ischezla." I don't want you to disappear.

It hurt. It felt good. Tears rimmed his eyes in confusion and overstimulation of all his emotions hitting him at once. The more the knot in his core tightened at the thought of you, the less oxygen he felt existed. 

He stroked, up and down, swiping his thumb across the leaking tip of him, eyes shut tightly trying to remember the feel of your spongy walls wrapping around him, then clenching. 

He moaned your name and stroked faster, a flash of memory showing him how you begged him to let you be on top, metal hand glinting around your throat. 

He squeezed his hand around himself, and as soon as the image of you biting your lower lip and begging him to cum through teary eyes popped in his head, he was done for.

Like releasing a spring that was coiled too tight, the relief was immediate, making a shudder run through his body as hot spurts of cum painted his stomach and some of the sheets around him. 

The next time it happened, it was the wine.

You had gotten back already, and he was looking for something to drink in the fridge, though maybe a bottle of water and a flavor packet that you called Liquid I.V. would be nice, when he saw the bottle out of the corner of his eye. 

The label seemed familiar, familiar enough for a flash of a syringe and a needle to pass by his mind, no other context or explanation. 

When he took the half-sticking-out cork out, the smell of it flooded his nostrils, and another flash appeared. 

Your kiss. 

It was messy, urgent, nothing like the soft kiss he remembered before. This one he could almost taste, wine, lip balm, and, well, what he imagined you tasted like. 

Your eyes squeezed shut at the eerily familiar feel of his lips on you, kissing you open as he held your thighs apart. “Oh, God—“ 

He licked, and sucked, and bit like the solace for his miserable existence could only be found in the oasis between your legs. Squelching was loud in the room already and it only got worse when he put two fingers inside of you. 

"S'tight, baby." 

He groaned in annoyance, his body responding to the memory faster than he could tell his own brain to repress it. 

He took a deep breath, then two, and when it became clear his dick was winning this one, he turned on the balls of his feet and bee lined for the bedroom, hoping to be done before you got out of the shower. 

He paused, however, by the couch. Looking at your sweatshirt, then the door, then the sweatshirt again, until he decided to stop fucking thinking and just grabbed it. 

This time, he did it with the fabric close to his face, where he could turn around and bury his face in it, feel how soft it was and imagine it was the skin between your breasts, imagine your sweet little whimpers in his ear, your hands tangled in his hair tugging it as he grazed the skin with his teeth. 

"If you keep being good maybe I'll give you my cum. Mm? You'd like that wouldn't you?"

"No, I'm not on— please—"

He built rhythm easier this time, the images weren't fractured glass as much as they were reflections off of a river stream now, flowing and fleeting. 

"Feels... so- oh! Good! Good.. So full."

There wasn't a headache anymore, just a throbbing need behind his ribs and low in his spine, shame and want blended so well together he didn't know which was which. 

"Please, don't stop."

His hand stroked faster, up and down his shaft, until it was weeping with need, precum coating his entire fist. Your voice in his head kept echoing, closer, and closer, bringing him to the edge of a precipice he had all intentions of falling from. 

"Too much." You tried to squirm away, but his grip was too strong.

"Never too much, baby."

He bit his own fist as he spilled onto his hand, trying to muffle any sounds coming out of his mouth, but it wasn't much avail. Blood rushing in his ears, he didn't hear you turn off the shower, or open the bathroom door.

You'd recognize his moans in any environment though.

The timbre of his voice when he was close, almost choking on his own groans trying to keep quiet, not knowing you were outside the door listening to it, unaware he was thinking of you. 

The cards were worn.

Soft at the edges, corners bent from too many hands, too many games that were meant to pass time instead of… whatever this was.

"Ha! That's four," You said, scooping the pair of cards from the coffee table and onto your pile. "Are you even trying? Your memory cannot be that bad."

The rain sounded heavy outside, thick drops of water crashing down on the roof, the wind making them thud against the window in harsh pitter-patter patterns that comforted the loneliest souls. 

He sat across from you, elbows resting on his knees, one hand resting on his chin and the other hanging from his lap, the deep crease between his brows making an appearance. His gaze wasn’t on the cards. 

You raised a brow, taking your glass of wine in your hand to take a sip. "Do I have something on my face?"

"You smelled like vanilla."

It was out of context, almost like he was just thinking out loud and not exactly planning on filling you in on what the conversation was in the first place. 

You raised your forearm to your nose, smelling the skin on your wrist, and furrowed your own brows, a chuckle escaping you. "It's the moisturizer, Bucky, I can—"

"And after it was peonies."

Oh?

Oh.

He… remembers. 

"I remembered those nights." Your blood ran cold, you could see his throat bob like he was swallowing words too thick for his tongue. "I remember—" He shut his eyes, both trying to recall and erase the memory of the very first night you were together. 

"Bucky—" You sat up on your knees, making the motion to get a couple inches closer to him, and he moved away the same distance. 

"You cried— fuck— you begged me to stop and I just—" His hands were up in the air, as if keeping space between you would make whatever he did to you less worse. 

"Bucky, please—"

"Why are you kind to me?" His question was almost demanding. Scolding. "After everything I did to you?" His eyes looked into yours, searching your face for answers to a question he didn't have the words to ask. "After I r—"

"Because I liked it." You blurted out. "A deep, twisted, dark part of me wouldn't let the rest of me hate you for it." You sighed, Bucky tilting his head as if nudging you to elaborate. 

You looked everywhere but him, fidgeting with your hands on your lap. "I didn't even last that first night before I… felt things I couldn't name." You picked at the fabric of your pants. "I woke up the next morning feeling hollow that you left. Every night after that I waited for you to come back."

"Why would y—"

"I don't know." You interrupted him, looking into his eyes. "I can't explain why, but every night you didn't come I felt like jumping off of the tallest building I could find." You looked away again, chuckling at how idiotic you thought you sounded. 

"I sound stupid."

You pulled away to get up and walk away, getting as far as having to step over him to find somewhere to bury your shame. 

Bucky wouldn't let you, though. His hand reached up as you were walking over him, pulling you down.

Your knees hit the rug on each side of him with a soft thud, his hands cradling your face and looking for any sign of protest. 

He didn't find any. Would never find any. Not from you. 

You looked into his eyes, watching him watch you, and leaned in, kissing his lips softly.

So softly he'd have thought it was a dream. 

Your lips moved together as if it was the first kidd you'd shared. And technically, it was, no matter how much muscle memory he had of the Asset and you. 

He deepened the kiss and your hips twiched as his hands fell to rest at your side, grinding yourself onto his pelvis, making him groan into your mouth. 

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling it lightly and sighing into him. "I missed you." You breathed against his mouth before he pulled away to kiss down your neck. "Missed you so much I wanted to—"

"M'here." Muffled against your collarbone, hands going under the hem of your ribbed tank top, gripping your waist with a little more want. He reached up to tug the collar of the shirt to the side, giving him more space to lap and kiss at your clevage.

Your hands found the hem of his shirt and tugged it up, his arms extending upwards to help you take it off for him. 

You touched the scars on his shoulder, and he watched you carefully. The sliver of humanity you saw in the Asset the first night he left you undress him coming out now, in full unadultered awe. 

Your lips kissed each old divot of skin, eyes closing at the memory as your hips ground deeper into him, until you felt his hard length straining against his jeans, the seam of it catching just right into your that you felt a zing straight to your clit. 

His hands travelled up your shirt, bringing the fabric up with them, until it was your turn to let him undress you, hair falling behind your back and over one shoulder. 

He looked at you like a man seeing the sun for the first time. 

His pupils were blown with desire and adrenaline flowing through his veins, mouth coming to claim yours in a kiss again. 

A big hand splayed against your back, his hips tilting so he could lay you down on the rug, your hair fanning out around you as he kissed down your jaw, your neck, your sternum.

His hand came to rest around your ribs, thumb dangerously close to the underside if your breast, and then daring to flick the hardened nipple there. 

"Buck—"

He sighed against your skin as he kissed the skin of your torso lower and lower, kissing down the skin of your stomach, "You don't know what it does to me hearing you say my name like this."

He kissed lower and butterflies bloomed in your stomach when his lips brushed the hem of your shorts, eyes flicking up to yours as if asking for permission, or wanting you to beg, he wasn't sure.

He just wanted to hear the sound of your voice for the rest of his life. 

His fingers hooked into the shorts and pulled them down your legs along with your panties, tossing them over the couch. 

Calloused palms rubbed up your legs, squeezing when he got to the top of your thighs, and you sighed as you let them fall open so he could settle his broad chest between your legs. 

He inhaled deeply when he got to be eye level with your core, memories floosing every groove of his brain. 

His tongue licked a long, flat strip up your core and your breath caught in a moan. "Missed your scent." He kissed your clit. "Missed your taste." He groaned. "Without even knowing I was missing it."

He devoured you like a man starved. 

Like he'd forget you all over again if he stopped lapping at your cunt for even a second. 

And the thought of forgetting your face, your sounds, your smell, your taste, the thought of forgetting you was more painful than anything he had endured. 

Bucky alternated between long, deep licks up your core, and quick flicks of his tongue around your clit before sucking the bundle of nerves into his mouth, while his fingers played with your nipples. 

The feel of your thighs squeezing around his head every time you did that was more comforting than any soothing mechanism he'd ever tried. 

His hands pushed your legs open once again, wider, so he could lean down and thrust his tongue in and out of your drooling pussy, making you whine and buck your hips into his face. 

The temperature of the cabin suddenly was a hundred degrees hotter, a sheen coat of sweat over your bare body making you glisten against the firelight. 

Your hands in his hair tugged, until his glistening face was flush with yours in a hungry kiss that had you tasting yourself.

Deft, manicured fingers worked on the buttons and zipper of his jeans, shoving them down awkwardly as your legs were wrapped around his waist, his cock springing free between the two of you. 

You gasped against his lips when it landed against your folds in a wet slap, leaking precum over your stomach, the patch glistening.

God, you missed him. 

His right hand reached for the length of him, lazily rubbing the tip between your folds, collecting slick, and then pumping it slowly to spread it.

He did that torturously slow, almost as if he was giving you time to back out. Decide you were right in the head and wanted nothing to do with him, actually. 

But instead you waited until his tip was notched by your entrance, and pulled him forward with your legs. his forarms bracing against the floow beside your head as his length impaled you on him, stretching you impossibly wide around his cock to the hilt.

The familiar sting made a loud, lewd moan escape your lips and stumble straight into his mouth, his lips open hovering over yours.

His metal hand cradled the top of your head, eyes locking with yours and noticing tears rim your waterline. 

Panic set in his gut mixing with the heat licking up his ribs, and you noticed the way his body stiffened. "I'm okay." You nodded. "Just—" The words getting caught in your throat as his flesh thumb traced your bottom lip. "Missed you. Need you."

You hand gave his ass cheek a firm squeeze, his eyes narrowing at you as his flesh hand reached to hike your ankle up around his waist higher, and he gave the first tentative thrust, eyes locked with yours. 

He pulled out more, and pushed his hips forward again, hitting the sweet spot inside of you that only he could reach. He leaned down, continuing his movements, and kissed down your chest, pulling a nipple into his mouth, swiling his tongue around it. 

The wet noises coming from where your bodies joined were louder than the rain outside now. Your moans getting gradually more high pitched and his groans getting deeper and deeper, as if it hurt to have you like this again. 

"You feel—" a particularly harsh thrust interrupted you. "oh my God! You feel so good, Bucky, please—"

"Dreamt of you—" Another groan. "Dreamt of you every day."

All of his sentences were punctuated by thrusts, the thick drag of his cock inside of you making your skin feel like it was on fire, sweat from you both dripping down onto the rug. 

"Fuck, Bucky—"

"Thought you were in my head." He confessed. "Until I smelled you again— fuck— on the Causeway—" Harsher thrusts, like he was losing himself in the feel of your cunt strangling him. "Knew you had to be real then." And then a needy, higher pitched moan from him. "Knew it had to be you."

You cupped your hands one each side of his face, making him let go of whatever patch of skin he was sucking on, a purple mark being left behind, and made him look at you.

Blue eyes lost is a black pool of lust and need and want. 

"Don't leave me." You pleaded, as he started thrusting hard enough to slap his pelvis against your clit with each thrust. "Please, don't ever leave me again."

He kissed your palm. "Not gonna." Muffled against your hand. "Never gonna let you go."

He strained his neck to capture your lips in a kiss again, feeling your gummy walls spasm around his length, pulsing like you wanted him to fill you up as your orgasm crashed over you and drowned you in him. 

"G'nna, cu-um…" His hips stuttered. "Need t— fuck—" You nodded against him, locking your legs behind his back, making him groan at the thought that you couldn't bear him gone as much as he couldn't bear to be away.

A symphony of passionate moans from you at the overstimulation of not even being over one orgasm and already feeling the coil in your stomach tighten again threw Bucky over the edge.

Hot, thick ropes of cum filled you, your eyes rolled back at the feeling of it, so much that it dripped out of you. 

He slowly stopped his movements, brushing your hair away from your face, kissing everywhere in your flushed chest and cheeks as he came down from his high. 

You tilted his head towards you again. "No more running."

"No more running." He agreed, kissing your palm in earnest.

me writing that smut scene with wet eyes and a wet pussy as always TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK PLEAK!!!!!