Buckys Baby

The back booth wasn’t nearly dark enough, nor secluded enough to hide you entirely from view, but the insistent desire and warming liquor pounding in your blood made it difficult to care. 

Bucky’s fingers slid another inch up your thigh, pressing between your soft curves until they found the wetness that had dripped from your folds and made a mess under your skirt. His rumbling chuckle felt like another warm, summer breeze, suffusing you in a heat that burned from the inside out. 

Your thighs fell open of their own accord, giving Bucky unfettered access to the place that ached for his touch, even as a protesting whine worked its way up your throat.

“Bucky…” you mewled, your reticence clear in your tone. Your fingers closed around the sinewy forearm that was disappearing up your skirt, intent on pulling him away from your soaking heat. Your nails dug into his golden skin when his other hand darted out and grabbed you by the throat. 

With his thumb pressed to the hinge of your jaw, he turned your face to him, a warning sparkling in his ice blue eyes. A thrum of fear and excitement churned low in your belly at the way Bucky was looking at you—like you were prey, and he was a predator who had already decided he was going to eat you for dinner.

“I hope you weren’t about to tell me not to touch this pussy, printsessa,” Bucky rumbled, his voice deep and low like an oncoming thunderstorm. His hand wedged between your thighs beneath your skirt, shoving your legs wider so that he could cup your bare heat in his palm. “I hope you haven’t forgotten who this cunt belongs to.” 

Your breath was coming in short, rabbity pants, your heart racing in your chest and your blood pounding in your veins like you were running for your life. But your mind knew what your body did not—it would be pointless to run from Bucky Barnes. 

The Zimniy Soldat was the most feared boss in the city’s Russian mafia, a fact you’d learned the hard way when your father had paid off his debts by giving you to Bucky. 

Bucky’s gaze bore into your own as he pushed two fingers into your tight channel, his eyes watching hungrily as your face went slack with pleasure. 

“I’ll touch you whenever I want,” he growled, dragging his fingers back and plunging them into you again slowly, his eyes never straying from your face. “I’ll fuck you whenever I want—where ever I want.” 

His other hand held you pinned to the leather booth by your throat, your body responding so eagerly to his touch that it felt like a betrayal. His thumb and forefinger pressed into the sides of your neck making your pussy spasm around his fingers. 

Your body proved Bucky’s point before he made it as he rumbled, “This cunt belongs to me, printsessa.” 

You hadn’t said a word since his name, but your slow submission was clear in every little movement of your body—your thighs spreading even wider for Bucky’s hand, your limbs loosening and melting into his hold, your lips falling open in a soundless moan as he fingerfucked you. Bucky owned you, and you both knew it. 

And he relished your submission, even if you hadn’t quite accepted his possession of you yet. But you would.

The victorious smile that curved Bucky’s mouth was sharp and dangerous as a knife. When he spoke, though, his voice was as warm as the balmy summer breeze. 

“Good girl,” he murmured, “give yourself to me.” The ice in his eyes was slowly but surely melting as he watched pleasure dance across your face, his smile widening into something hot and hungry. “This life of yours is mine now, printsessa, but if you’re a good girl for me, I can make sure it’s filled with pleasure and happiness,” he purred, his lips brushing against the apple of your cheek, their softness followed by the rough scrape of his scruff. 

Bucky slid a third finger into your tight hole, stretching you wider and making you bite your lip hard to prevent yourself from crying out in pain-edged pleasure. Your chest heaved with the effort to stay quiet and, unbidden, a tear slipped from the corner of your eye while blood pooled on your lip. 

But Bucky never stopped fucking you with his fingers, his hand working your body expertly as the soft, wet sounds of your obscenely sopping cunt reached your ears. Instead, the Zimniy Soldat kissed the tear from your cheek and licked the blood from your swollen lip, pulling back to stare into your eyes as he watched you come undone for him. 

“You are mine,” he said with a tone of finality, as if his statement was an incontrovertible fact. Any protest you might’ve had—though in truth, you didn’t have any left—died in your throat as he choked you harder, his fingers working your pussy faster, grinding the heel of his palm into your wet, puffy clit as he continued on, pushing you to the edge of your release. “Moya printsessa, moya zhena.” 

You felt Bucky’s ring—your husband’s ring—smooth and unyielding and warm from his skin, slip inside your cunt as he buried his fingers in your body. He rubbed your clit ruthlessly until he made you come right there in the back of the pizza parlor, not caring if anyone in the crowded shop could see it.

Your left hand, bedecked in a dazzling white sapphire ring and matching wedding band, wrapped around the back of Bucky’s neck, your nails digging into his skin as you clung to the most dangerous man in all of New York City while he made you come harder than you ever had before. Pleasure tore through your body as you held Bucky’s warm blue gaze, staring at the man who’d staked his claim on you.

The man you’d married only a few hours prior because it was the only way to settle your father’s debts.

“Good girl, good fucking girl,” Bucky growled, his fingers fucking you through your orgasm, his eyes watching you hungrily, greedily.

Already, you could read him well enough to know he was thinking about watching you come on his cock as he claimed you in the most base, primal way possible. Your pussy clenched harder on his fingers at the thought, your body aching for it even as you came.

“Come all over your husband’s fingers—see how good I can be to you when you obey me, printsessa.” 

Your teeth had sunk deep into your lower lip to quell any sounds of ecstasy, but the pleasure was too much, too overwhelming, and you threw your head back. Your breathy cry was muffled by Bucky’s fingers choking your throat harder, which only wrung even more bliss out of your body as black crept into the edges of your vision. 

Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, your husband’s relentless touch dragging out your release until your strangled moans devolved into desperate whimpers. Tears gathered in your lashes, and your entire body trembled in the red leather booth at the back of the pizza parlor.

Only then did Bucky relent. “That’s my good girl,” he murmured before his lips slammed down on yours, his mouth claiming yours just as surely as his fingers had claimed your cunt. 

He swallowed the keening whine you let out when he pulled his fingers from your throbbing pussy, your body aching at the loss of him. But then he replaced his mouth with them, pushing his fingers between your lips so you could taste your release—the release he’d wrung so masterfully from your body.

“Clean up your mess, moya zhena,” Bucky rumbled, his eyes sparkling with depraved delight as you dutifully licked his fingers clean.

When he decided you were done, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and let you collapse against his chest, your cheek pressed to his white cotton dress shirt—the one he’d worn to your wedding earlier that day. 

His jacket had been shed at some point during the party at one of his nightclubs—a club decorated in neon red hearts. Bucky had smirked in amusement when you’d pointed out the irony of celebrating your forced marriage in a place where the theme was love. 

That infuriating smirk had made you decide the best way to celebrate your sham nuptials was to drink and dance the night away. You’d spent your night trying not to notice how handsome the mob boss you’d married was, or how delicious he looked with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Or how a very small part of you enjoyed the way his eyes never strayed from you for long. 

It had been your idea to get some pizza after the club, a last ditch attempt to put off the wedding night you were certain Bucky expected. You kept telling yourself you didn’t want him to touch you, but the second his fingers had grazed your bare knee beneath the simple white dress you wore, tingles of pleasure going straight to your clit, you’d known it was no use pretending you didn’t want your new husband. 

When your father told you he’d arranged for you to marry the Zimniy Soldat in exchange for having his debts cleared, you never believed you could find anything to like about your mob boss husband. But Bucky had proven you very wrong in that back booth in the pizza parlor, and you were warming up to the idea of being Mrs. James Buchanan Barnes.

“Tell me you’re mine, printsessa,” Bucky rumbled, drawing your thoughts back to the present moment. His lips pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head where it was tucked under his chin, and your heart flipped happily in your chest.

The words were no less a command for the warmth in his tone that he seemed to reserve for only you, his new wife. 

Perhaps it was because of the pleasure still thrumming through your body, or because you weren’t so convinced anymore that being married to the Zimniy Soldat would be a bad thing, but the words came much easier to your lips than you would’ve expected. 

“I’m yours, my husband.” 

A pleased sound rumbled in Bucky’s throat and you felt the way his heart beat harder in his chest with your cheek pressed to his sternum. You couldn’t help the small smile that curved your lips when Bucky threaded the fingers of his left hand through yours, your matching rings slotting next to each other and glittering beneath the yellow lights of the pizza parlor.

“You’ll be happy with me,” Bucky promised, the most recent of many vows he’d made to you that day. His words rang with determination and an emotion you’d never expected to hear from the mob boss—adoration. “So long as you always remember you belong to me, moya zhena.” 

A shiver of delight raced down your spine at his possessive words, finding yourself liking them much more than you would’ve thought. 

Something told you that you’d never forget you belonged to Bucky Barnes. Not at any point during the hopefully long and happy life you were going to live with him. You were his wife, and he was your husband, for so long as you both should live.

translations:

printsessa/moya printsessa - princess/my princess

Zimniy Soldat - Winter Soldier

"I don't know if it'll go any further," Laura says with a shrug from her seat next to you. "I mean, Clint's nice and all, but I'm not sure if I feel that spark yet."

"Yet!" Natasha repeats pointedly, squeezing her knee. "You have to give him a proper chance, Laura. He might end up being the love of your life!" The engagement ring on her finger glistens as light from one of the wall sconces bounces off of it.

Out of everyone in this friendship group, you're closest to Natasha and Laura, but you can't help but feel distanced from them during relationship talk. They're the kind of women who get asked on romantic dates and get given flowers and get proposed to, while you're not. You're the kind of woman who guys want to sleep with and keep in their roster for when they're bored late at night. At least, that's what you are to Bucky.

He could have any one of the women here tonight, but he probably knows that they'd be a lot more maintenance than you. You sleep with him without asking for more, and so maybe it's your fault that he doesn't give you anything more. Or maybe he just doesn't want to - after all, that is Natasha and Laura's dating mantra: if he wanted to, he would.

"How about you, muffin?" Natasha's question is directed at you. "Any new leads?"

You shake your head. "Haven't had much time for the apps, to be honest," You say truthfully.

"Just the same old Bucky, then," Laura says teasingly, causing you to roll your eyes.

"We've hooked up, like, two times," You claim. Closer to two hundred. You're not sure why you want to keep the truth under wraps. It isn't like Natasha and Laura would judge you for sleeping with him every week - especially if they knew it was an exclusive agreement - but something about admitting that the closest thing to a relationship you have is a guy who comes around every Tuesday and Saturday to fuck you while your friends are getting engaged and being taken on romantic dates doesn't feel like something you want to do.

"He's probably the hottest guy we know," Laura says as she looks over at him. "If I were you, I'd bag him ASAP."

"Shame about the personality," Natasha grumbles. "If he was nicer, I'd be all for it, but you deserve a sweetheart. I know you're a hopeless romantic at heart."

"Yeah, right," Laura scoffs. "Muffin and romance do not go together."

The difference between your two best friends is that Laura sees you the way you want to be seen, and Natasha sees who you really are. You don't know which one you appreciate more.

Steve's monthly get-together is a good chance for you to catch up with all your friends. Everyone's busy with their jobs and relationships, but the last Friday of every month is reserved for this. Most of these people you don't see outside of these events, but it makes you feel like a social person to be able to say you know enough people to warrant a house party. It's a low-key affair; a sports game nobody really cares about plays on the wide-screen and pizza and snacks cover the coffee table, while everyone engages in conversations and the odd dance now and then.

Everyone brings a bottle and dresses casually, and there's usually a point when Bucky steals you away so you can fool around in one of the empty rooms. In fact, the first time you kissed him was at one of these parties, six months ago. You had just been on the worst date in your life, and Bucky was saying all the right things, and one thing led to another. The night ended with him sleeping over at your place.

"You need to make time for it," Natasha tells you sternly. "Now's the time to slut it up before someone locks you down."

"I agree," Laura chimes in. "Dating is so much fun. As much as I'm not sure about Clint, it is exciting getting to know him."

You sigh inwardly but give them a smile and a nod, hoping they'll drop it. Dating is most certainly not fun for you, and while you're still satisfied with Bucky, you'll keep things the way they are.

"No, Bucky!" Sharon whines from across the room. "I was just getting into that story!"

"Nature calls," He replies smugly as he walks towards the door.

Once he's gone, you stand up and make your way to the kitchen where you make yourself a vodka cranberry. A few minutes later, Bucky walks in, stopping in his tracks when he sees you.

"Woah, are you lost?" He asks, walking over to you with a frown. "The beauty convention's actually a few blocks away."

You roll your eyes at his cheesy line but smile nonetheless, taking a sip of your drink to hide it. "Beauty convention. You're such a dork," You mutter, leaning back against the cabinets.

"How you doing, baby?" He asks as he places his hands on your hips. When he glances down at your drink, you bring the glass up to his lips and he takes a sip.

"Good," You reply simply. "How about you?"

"Good," He echoes, looking you up and down before giving you a confused look. "By the way, do you know what's going on with Sharon? Why does she suddenly wanna fuck me?"

Snorting at his question, you shrug. "Suddenly? Hasn't she always wanted to fuck you?" You wonder.

"No, not this bad," Bucky counters. "She won't stop touching me. Do you think it's my new aftershave?"

You lean forward and sniff his neck, raising a brow. "It's nice, but I prefer what you usually wear," You tell him before narrowing your eyes. "Why are you complaining about a beautiful woman chasing after you?"

"I'm not complaining," He claims. "Simply observing."

"Don't you wanna fuck her?" You ask him curiously.

He almost looks offended at the question, but he quickly returns to his smug demeanor. "That's what I have you for," He says with a wink before leaning in. You move back, paranoid that someone will walk in, and now he looks really offended. "What? I can't kiss you?" Bucky asks with narrowed eyes before he leans in again. This time, you don't move away and instead, you kiss him back.

Kissing Bucky is fun. Usually, you'd be thrown off by the amount of tongue, but something about it being him makes you weirdly okay with it.

"What's your plan tonight?" He asks with a mumble against your lips. "You drive here?"

You shake your head, resting your hands against his broad chest. "I came with Tasha," You inform him. You know better than to bring your car because Bucky always brings his, and when you have the same destination at the end of the night, why take two cars?

"I'll drive you home," He says, as though he has to say it.

Before he can kiss you again, the muted sound of the main room's door opening tells you that someone's on their way to the kitchen. You pull away from Bucky and he wraps his arm around your shoulder, keeping you close. The door swings open and Sharon walks in, taken aback when she sees the two of you but quickly recovering and making her way to the fridge where she grabs a beer.

"He-ey," She sings casually. "So, this is where the cool kids party, huh?"

"Exactly right," Bucky replies, bumping your hip with his.

You shoot him a wink before pulling out of his arm and walking towards the door. "I'll see you back at the losers' party," You call out to them before leaving the kitchen.

Sharon's demeanor visibly changes once you're gone. With a small smile, she closes the fridge door and walks over to Bucky. "Enjoying your night?" She asks him, tilting her head.

Bucky nods, feeling slightly uncomfortable that she's flirting with him when you aren't there to get jealous. So what's the point?

"I didn't get a chance to tell you this, but you look really good," She goes on to say, stretching her fingers around his bicep and squeezing it. "How often do you work out?"

"Uh, most mornings," He tells her in a flat tone. "It's all about consistency."

"I wish I had your motivation," Sharon swoons, before gasping. "Which gym do you go to? I need to come with you; you could really put me to work!"

After bullshitting his way through a conversation with her, Bucky and Sharon return to the main room, where you're dancing with Natasha and Steve.

"So, how's it going with Bucky?" Steve asks you lowly so Natasha doesn't hear. "You guys in love, yet?"

"Shut it, Rogers," You mutter, swaying to the jazz song playing softly in the background with your hands enclosed in his.

"You can't hide the truth from me," He says with a smirk. "I'm his best friend. He tells me everything. Everything."

Grimacing, you pull one of your hands out of his grip and hit his shoulder. "I won't hesitate to beat you up, Rog," You threaten him. "You may be an amateur boxer, but-"

"Amateur? I'll have you know I'm a semi-professional-"

"But I can hold my own against you," You finish boldly. "I know where a man's weak spot is."

He raises a brow at that. "We frown upon below-the-belt hits in this house," He tells you sternly, looking slightly concerned as he glances down at his crotch.

"I'm not talking about your balls," You correct him, before leaning in closer. "I'm talking about your neck." With that, you blow on his throat, making him instinctively giggle as he moves back.

His face drops and he does his best to give you an angry look. "You need boxing lessons if that's the best you've got," He says.

"I think I'd rather die than let you teach me anything," You tell him with a laugh.

"Are you offering boxing lessons?" Natasha cuts in with a hopeful look.

"Not to you," Steve quickly shuts her down. "Last time, you almost killed me!"

"I just need to hone my strength!" She whines. "It's not my fault my instinct is to kill a man who puts his hands on me - you can teach me to fight clean!"

"No, thank you," Steve grumbles just as Bucky joins you.

"Can I see your new ring?" He asks, peeling your hand away from Steve's and pretending to be awfully interested in your jewellery.

"I've had it for years," You remind him with a raised brow, while Steve just smirks to himself.

"Really? I've never noticed it," Bucky claims innocently, rubbing his fingertip over the aquamarine gem. He most definitely remembers it, and remembers the way the silver band feels when you stroke his cock. He just prefers it when he's holding your hand, not Steve. "It's very pretty. Matches my eyes."

"Want it?" You ask, pulling it off your finger before placing it on his pinky and pushing it down. "Suits you."

Natasha links her arm in yours, unable to see the clear tension between you and Bucky as she pulls you away. Sometimes it makes you wonder if she knows you at all - how is it that she doesn't notice the way you look at him, and that it's different from the way you look at anyone else? Doesn't she see that he's softer on you than the others? That you're the only one he's so touchy-feely with? He might be a flirt, but you're the only one he gropes - and you may slap his hand away, but you never tell him to stop. Why doesn't she see all of that?

Is it because it's all in your head? Is he like that with everyone behind your back? Is your selective memory stopping you from realizing that you aren't all that special to him?

"I need to pee," Natasha says as she whisks you out of the room and up the stairs.

It's something of a gathering in the bathroom - all the girls are in there already when you and Natasha arrive. She makes a beeline for the toilet while you lean against the wall, watching Maria redo her lips.

Laura bumps into you, visibly tipsy as she widens her eyes and lowers her voice. "I've cracked the code," She whispers to you while the girls chat amongst themselves. "I know why Sharon's all over Bucky."

"You've noticed that, too?" You ask her lowly, raising a brow.

She nods, resting her hand on the wall behind you and moving closer to you. "See, she may have found out about you and Bucky-"

"What?" You ask her, baffled. "How?"

"...I may have let it slip," She says with a wince. "It was at the engagement party; you and Bucky disappeared, and it was obvious what you were doing. She asked, and I couldn't help but confirm her suspicions!"

"Fuck's sake, Laura," You mutter, not too irritated as you knew the truth would out eventually.

"But she only thinks it was that one time," She assures you. "She doesn't know about the first time."

"Right," You say, surprised that Laura hasn't yet deduced that you've screwed Bucky a lot more than twice.

"Anyway - my theory," She says with an excited tone. "It's, like, psychology - women want men more when they know they're with someone else. It's linked to finding a mate back in the caveman times, or whatever. Knowing you fucked him makes him seem like a more desirable mate to her, which is why she's so into him all of a sudden."

Processing her words, you slowly nod. "Makes sense," You admit.

"Doesn't it?" She asks with a grin before being pulled away by one of the others.

"And then he sent a bunch of lilies to my office," Maria continues her story while applying some lip gloss. "He wrote the cutest little note."

"What did it say?" Yelena asks her with wide eyes.

Maria giggles, her cheeks flushing pink. "I'm not telling you word-for-word, but I'll just say he knows how to make a girl feel special," She says with a smile.

Special. When's the last time someone made you feel special - and not just because you gave them the best head they've ever had?

"I'm telling you, this thing with Kate is moving so much slower than I'm used to, but it's actually really nice," Yelena says as she moves to the side to allow Natasha to wash her hands in the sink. "I can literally feel myself falling in love - isn't that crazy?"

The girls all gush and coo at her words, and you're truly happy for her. You just wish you could relate to her. Maybe it's your own fault nobody bothers to romance you, but it would be nice for someone to sweep you off your feet with a surprise flower delivery.

"What about you?" Sharon suddenly asks you with an expectant look on her face. "How's your love life going?"

Everyone's attention suddenly falls on you and you feel like a deer in headlights. Stunned, you swallow thickly before speaking. "Uh, it's pretty... boring," You say. "Not much going on."

"Really? Why not?" Sharon pushes with a frown. "You're on dating apps, right?"

"Yeah," You confirm, praying that someone else takes the spotlight from you soon. "They haven't been very fruitful, though."

"Oh, of course," Sharon says with a small smile. "You're not really the long-term dating kind, are you? In fact, I can't remember the last time you introduced us to a guy."

"Y/N is doing what she wants to do," Laura chimes in with a slight slur as she walks back over to you. "Not everyone wants flowers, Sharon."

You know she's only trying to help, but her words sting. Who said you don't want flowers?

"I guess," Sharon mumbles, a smug look on her face. "Just be careful. You aren't getting any younger. You don't wanna be the girl that a guy just settles for 'cause he's in a rush to get married-"

"Sharon, shut the fuck up," Natasha cuts her off with a glare. "I'm the only one engaged here, so I have the authority to say that nobody here needs to be in a rush to get married. It isn't 1950."

"Oh, my gosh - I didn't mean to be offensive," Sharon says quickly, concern in her features. "I just want everyone to be happy and in love!"

"Happy and in love don't always correlate," Laura points out. "Leave Y/N alone."

Sharon rolls her eyes and sighs before walking past you. "Calm down," She says to Laura flatly before looking at you. "So, I guess you don't mind that Bucky's taking me out for dinner tomorrow?"

It feels like a slap on the face at this point but you do well to keep calm and collected on the outside.

"Why would Y/N mind?" Maria asks with a frown. "And since when are you and Bucky a thing?"

Sharon shrugs, trying hard to keep the smile on her face small and dignified no matter how much she wants to laugh in your face. "We've been talking," She says with a shrug. "He's cute."

"Bucky's always been cute," Yelena points out, while Natasha and Laura frown at you. "It's the arrogant asshole part we're surprised you'd put up with."

"He's nice to me. Anyway, it's nothing serious," Sharon assures everyone. "Just a dinner between friends."

"We all know what that means," Maria says with a smirk.

Having heard enough, you head out of the bathroom, mumbling something about needing another drink. Sharon isn't getting to you - you won't let her get to you. Even if she isn't lying, so what if Bucky's taking her out to dinner? They've been friends for just as long as you have; it's not at all odd for them to go for dinner. You've been out for dinner with male friends before. But never Bucky.

As you walk towards the stairs, you hear some chatter in one of the bedrooms. You walk in to see Scott, Hope, Tony, and Pepper sitting on the bed, looking at something on Hope's phone. Grateful for the distraction, you wander over and join them, lying down horizontally at the end of the bed.

"Watch him fall over at the end," Hope says to them, squeezing your leg in a quick greeting before looking back at her screen.

There's a short silence before they all burst into laughter, and you smile softly to yourself as Scott's face gradually starts to resemble a tomato. You watch them interact for a little while, quickly remembering they're each in happy relationships when Tony presses a gentle kiss to Pepper's face, and Hope assures Scott she still loves him even when he falls off his skateboard.

You turn around, facing away from them. You feel like an outsider, and that feeling doesn't disappear even when some of the others start pooling into the room.

"You better not be having an orgy without me in my own home," Steve says warningly as he sits behind you. You're not sure who else has come in as you're facing the wardrobe, spiralling in your emotions, but you can hear Sharon laughing which does little to cheer you up.

What's wrong with you? You're content with your life. Are you really gonna let that frumpy bitch Sharon make you feel like shit? That was mean. She's not a frumpy bitch. Just a little sly.

You can't help but imagine her dinner with Bucky. What if he realizes she's more interesting than you? What if they have tons in common and really hit it off? What if he calls you afterwards to tell you he doesn't want you anymore and he's all about Sharon fucking Carter now?

And if he is into her, why did she get asked to dinner? All you get is sex, but she deserves to be wined and dined? What does she have that you don't? Why put more effort into her?

Wiping away the tears in your eyes before they have a chance to fall, you sniffle, glad that the others are having a loud conversation that drowns out your pathetic heavy breaths. Get a grip.

At some point, Bucky walks into the room, curious as to where everyone is. Deep down, he really only wants to find you. He spots you lying at the edge of the bed, frowning when he sees you aren't taking part in the boisterous chat behind you. Sensing that something's wrong, he walks over and crouches down in front of you, taking you by surprise.

"Hey," He whispers, concern on his face when he sees you're clearly upset. "You okay?"

Even though you know he won't believe you, you nod, avoiding his eyes.

He stands back up and part of you thinks he's about to walk away, but instead, he scoops you up into his arms and walks you out of the room. Steve yells something you don't hear, but it makes the others cheer and chorus an oooooooh.

"What are you doing?" You mumble, not trusting your voice not to break if you were to speak any louder.

He takes you into another spare bedroom across the landing, kicking the door shut behind him before walking you over to the bed which he gently sits you down on. He sits next to you and pulls you closer until you're half on his lap. "Talk to me," He says lowly, his tone telling you that this isn't the time to be shy.

You take in a deep breath, deciding the best policy is, in fact, honesty. "Why didn't you ask me out?" You question him, looking down at the carpet while fiddling with a string on your skirt.

"What?" Bucky asks, his hand on your back.

Looking over, you finally meet his gaze. "Nothing," You retract.

"Don't do that," He says sternly. "What's going on? What's got you down?"

Feeling retrospective, you let out a sigh and look back to the ground. "I wasn't ever treated special," You begin, feeling horrifically vulnerable as you open up to him. "That wasn't my parents' fault. I had a lot of siblings; they couldn't afford to give any of us special treatment. But that affects you as an adult, you know? The way you grew up? I feel like now, I'm used to the bare minimum, and I don't ask for more because I'm not used to being given more. I put up with what I get, and I appreciate even just an iota of attention." Turning your head to face him, you look into his eyes. "Is- is that something you can sense? Can you see that in me? That I don't need special treatment? Is that why you didn't ask me out? Is that why... we only have sex?"

It takes Bucky a few moments to process your words, understandably so. You aren't used to dumping your childhood pain onto people, and you feel just as awkward as he probably does.

Instead of directly answering your question, Bucky decides it's his turn to be open.

"Do you remember when we first met?" He asks, to which you shake your head. "Me neither. Probably the first day of middle school, right?"

"Maybe," You reply. The fact that the day you met him isn't memorable doesn't exactly make you feel any better.

"I just remember you being there in my life suddenly," He says. "You were the funny girl who sat next to Steve in homeroom, and I remember being insanely jealous of him every fucking morning."

"Shut up," You utter. "You did not have a crush on me."

He chuckles, rubbing your back. "I did my best to ignore it. Girls had cooties, so I avoided you, but you were always my Marry option during Fuck, Marry, Kill," He admits.

"Really?" You ask with wide eyes. "Not Fuck?"

"Depended on my mood," He says with a smirk. "Most of the time, you were my Marry."

"Who was-"

"I'm not telling you," He cuts you off curtly.

"No, you have to," You say. "Please?"

He sighs, knowing you won't drop it. "Natasha," He admits flatly. "Until she started dating Sam, of course. I'm a respectful man."

"Who was it after they started dating?" You ask him curiously. Don't say Sharon. Don't say Sharon. Don't say Sharon.

"I don't remember, I think it changed every time," He answers truthfully.

"How often did you play that damn game?" You ask with a scoff.

"Anyway, once we hit puberty, we were always both seeing other people, but I always kept a little something for you," He tells you.

"Not during college," You point out.

"Are you kidding me?" Bucky asks you with a raised brow.

"Bucky, don't do this to me," You say, sitting up. "I was literally obsessed with you during college. I- just ask Tasha how many times I cried over you."

"You cried over me?" He sounds genuinely hurt at the news. "Why?"

"Because I wanted you so bad, but you never took the hint," You tell him. "I figured it was because you weren't interested."

"Oh, my God," He grumbles, rubbing his face.

"Are you telling me you've liked me this whole time?" You ask, utterly baffled by his revelation. "We - we wasted so many years."

"Hey, don't say that," Bucky says softly, wrapping his arm around you. "It happened the way it was supposed to. Maybe if we dated as teenagers, or during college, it wouldn't have lasted. We weren't ready for each other. We had to become our own people before we could come together. Cum together."

"To answer your question," He begins, squeezing your hip. "I didn't ask you out 'cause I didn't wanna ruin it. I figured you'd never take me seriously, given what a fucking asshole I am."

You snort, nudging his shoulder.

"You're not that much of an asshole," You assure him with a smile. "Not to me."

"Because I like you so much," He says, making your heart flutter. "That night you kissed me for the first time, I thought I was dreaming, so I just went with it. I was scared I'd ruin it if I tried locking you down; thought you'd laugh in my face at the thought of me having emotions. You seemed to enjoy our agreement, so I... kept on doing it. Kept on doing you."

A laugh leaves your mouth at his wording. "You mean to tell me, that all this time, you've been crushing on me?" You wonder. "You didn't even try to take me on a date."

"We've been on dates," He counters stubbornly. "What do you call our trip to the aquarium two weeks ago?"

"We were high and wanted to see the sharks," You whisper.

"How about all those times I cooked you dinner?" Bucky asks with a raised brow. "I literally cooked for you. I don't cook for anyone."

"We were hungry and bored of takeout," You say with a frown. "Those were... dates?"

"Oh, my God, you're such a fucking dumbass," He mutters, rubbing his temple.

You look at him with adoration, wondering how you didn't notice it before. You really are a dumbass.

"The next time you don't think you're special," Bucky starts, grabbing your cheeks in his big hand. "Think again, baby. You're my special girl. Y'know that?"

Your lips are pursed together due to his grip, and you feel your stomach flip. He leans forward and places a soft kiss on your pout.

"Nobody else means more to me," He goes on to say. "Nobody gets me like you. You're the only one who I care about impressing. All I ever think about is you - what you're doing when you aren't with me, what you're eating, wearing, dreaming about. If someone else is making you laugh. I'm so scared of losing you that I've convinced myself we're fragile. That if I try to get any closer than I am, you'll realize you don't want me. You'll turn around and apologize for leading me on, then realize you want Steve."

"Steve?" You repeat incredulously, shocked to hear the words come from his mouth. You've been drowning in your own insecurity for so long that you never stopped to think that Bucky might be under the same water as you.

"I don't know," He mumbles, pulling you closer. "I just think about you a lot. And my brain likes to taunt me with worst-case scenarios."

"Most of the time," He replies before shooting you a cheesy wink. "Right now, you're my Fuck."

"I get that," You whisper. Clutching his shirt, you move closer to him. "Am I still your Marry?"

You would laugh, but he kisses you before you get the chance. He pushes you down onto the bed and gets on top of you, using his knee to spread your legs and slotting himself between them.

"How could you ever think you weren't special to me, huh?" He grumbles, pinning your hands down with one hand and sticking his other hand up your skirt. "You're the only one I wanna see. The only one I think of. And I wanna be the only one that gets to touch you like this."

You suck in a sharp breath as he slips his hand between your legs.

"I don't make that obvious enough, huh?" Bucky wonders, disappointed with himself for allowing you to question what you mean to him. "Well, baby, that's gonna change." A small grin pulls at his lips and he tilts his head. "Don't want you holding back at all, alright? Want you to be as loud as you need to be to show me how good I'm about to make you feel. I want them all to know," He says, slowly grinding his hips against yours as his mouth brushes against your neck. "Want them all to know you're my special girl."

sorry to be a cockblock but i physically cannot bring myself to write smut right now and i just wanted to post something as it's been a while :)

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You’d been trailing your fingers over his bare arms and face, tickling him until his expression twisted and he grumbled in his sleep. It was immature, but you were having too much fun to stop, suppressing your giggles every time he made an unhappy sound.

Finally, you got some actual words out of him and you had to cover your mouth to stifle your laughter. Bucky sounded so cute when he was tired and grumpy. Maybe it should’ve made you stop, but instead you waited for him to fall back asleep, his soft snores joining the gentle rhythm of the rain and the hum of the movie still playing on your TV. 

Reaching up, you trailed your fingertips ever so lightly down the bridge of Bucky’s nose, skipping them off the edge before they fell to his mouth. You were surprised by how soft Bucky’s lips felt beneath your fingers, so different to the scruffy roughness of his cheeks and jaw, which seemed to be permanently covered in stubble.

Bucky’s lips parted as you were tracing them, and you yanked your hand away, turning to face the TV so you could pretend you’d only been watching the movie if he woke up. But you watched Bucky out of the corner of your eye, and he seemed to be sleeping still. Then his tongue darted out to wet his lips and your face heated inexplicably. 

Suddenly, your thoughts were filled with ideas about what it would feel like to have Bucky’s mouth pressed to yours, his stubble dragging against your skin. You couldn’t stop yourself from picturing your best friend kissing along your jaw and down your neck—his lips exploring even more intimate parts of your body…

Squirming in your seat and trying to ignore the heat curling through your belly, you turned fully to Bucky, watching him closely to make sure he was asleep. When you were certain hew as, you reached out, tracing his lips again with your fingertips, feeling their softness and the dampness left behind by his tongue. 

Your body warmed, and you pressed your thighs together against a pulsing ache building in your core. You didn’t want to think about your body’s reaction to touching your best friend, but you also didn’t want to stop or pull your hand away. You wanted to stay in the moment as long as possible.

So enraptured by the sight of Bucky’s mouth, you didn’t notice when his lips parted further, his raspy grumble surprising you so much you had to bite back a gasp.

“Cut it out.”

“What do you mean? I’m not doing anything.” Your reply was quick, as you pulled your hand away and leaned against his side like you were simply cuddling into him. It was normal for you to cuddle with your best friend, though you weren’t normally thinking about kissing him, or about doing other things with him, when you did.  

Unfortunately—or fortunately—your new position of leaning against his arm put your face close to Bucky’s. His mouth was right there, looking oh so enticing, and an impulsive thought popped into your mind. What if you just…brushed your lips against his? Not even fully against his mouth, just the edge of it. Could it really count as a kiss if you just brushed your lips to the corner of his mouth? 

You decided it didn’t. 

Leaning forward, your eyes fluttered closed as your lips ghosted over the stubble next to Bucky’s mouth, then connected with the softness of his lips. Your breath caught in your throat. It felt so good—his warm breath caressing your cheek and his velvety lips against the edge of yours. You could even taste the coffee he had that morning, the flavor rich and mixing with something that was entirely Bucky.

It occurred to you far too late that you were dangerously close to kissing your best friend, and you shouldn’t be doing anything of the sort—especially while he was sleeping on your couch. You knew you should pull away and go back to watching the movie, pretend nothing ever happened. But what you really wanted was to press closer, to sink into Bucky’s chest and slip your tongue past his lips. 

Instead, you just hung suspended in the moment, too wrapped up in your thoughts about kissing your best friend to notice the way his breathing shifted, his body tensing like a predator’s would right before it pounced. 

Then, all at once, Bucky moved, flipping you down onto your back on the soft couch cushions and covered your body with his own, his narrow waist fitting perfectly between your thighs. His hard bulge pressed to your core, making you gasp as pleasure surged through your body, your legs wrapping around him instinctively to keep him close.

“Not doing anything, huh, doll?” Bucky rasped in a teasing voice, a wide grin on his face. “Certainly not kissing your best friend while he’s asleep, right?” Bucky’s blue eyes sparkled in the dim daylight of your living room. You squirmed guiltily beneath him, but that only succeeded in grinding your heated core against his dick, making it twitch in his sweatpants.

“Bucky,” you whined, gripping his t-shirt in your fists and shaking them, neither pushing him away nor pulling him closer. Now that he was awake, you were painfully aware that your friendship was hanging by a precarious thread, but the heat flooding your body urged you to throw all caution to the wind. Still, you knew you needed to apologize for what you’d done, and you whispered, “I’m sorry,” in a small, pitiful voice.

But Bucky only grinned, ducking down and pressing a smacking kiss to your cheek. “Don’t apologize, doll,” he said in a warm, happy tone. “I’ve been awake since you started touching my face,” he pressed a kiss to your other cheek, trailing his lips down and blowing a raspberry against your jaw, which made you shriek with laughter. 

You tried to squirm away from his teasing mouth, but Bucky grabbed your hands, pulling them from his shirt and pinning them above your head. His face hovered above yours, his eyes taking you in like he was seeing you for the first time.

“I was wondering how far you’d go,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. Then, a sly smirk curved his lips and his eyes darkened, your body lighting up at the expression. “Didn’t think you’d kiss me though.” His eyes dropped to your mouth and his voice went a little distant as he murmured, “Didn’t think our first kiss would be when you thought I was asleep.”

Your lips parted and it was on the tip of your tongue to apologize when his words sank in. Had Bucky just implied that he’d thought your first kiss together was inevitable? And did his words mean he’d thought about kissing you before? How long had he been thinking about kissing you?

You didn’t have time to fully form a question in response to Bucky’s words because your best friend slanted his lips to yours, capturing them in a kiss. Immediately, the entire world fell away and your mind went blissfully blank—your guilt and trepidation melting into simple pleasure as you reveled in your first proper kiss with Bucky. 

Kissing your best friend felt like coming home and sinking into the safety and comfort and bliss of knowing where you belonged. The way your lips slid against Bucky’s, you knew you belonged with him—in his arms—always. It was overwhelming and delicious at the same time, and you never wanted to stop.  

“Taste so good, doll,” he rumbled, pulling away for only a second before he was diving back into your mouth, his tongue slipping between your lips and twining with yours. 

You moaned into him, your hips working against the bulge in his sweatpants as you writhed beneath him. Bucky groaned, trailing his hands down your arms to your sides, freeing your hands to dive into his soft brown hair. You yanked on it lightly while his hands groped your breasts in your shirt, then smoothed down your waist to grip your hips and grind himself into you.

“Bucky!” you cried, wrenching your lips from his as you clung to your best friend and writhed with him. You could feel his hard cock perfectly through the soft cotton of his sweatpants and the thin fabric of your lounge shorts. He was grinding against your clit, his lips kissing and sucking on your neck and all you felt was bliss. “Don’t stop, Bucky, please don’t stop,” you begged in a breathy voice. 

Bucky chuckled into the crook of your neck, suckling on your pulse point and groaning when you humped harder against him. “As if I could ever deprive you, doll,” he murmured, his voice warm and sweet and filling your mind with all the dirty things you could beg Bucky to do to you.

Dragging his face back to yours, you made out with Bucky, your kisses turning messy as you both got closer to the edge of your releases. Your bodies writhed together on your couch, your legs hitching around the backs of Bucky’s thighs to keep your clothed core grinding against his thick bulge. 

“Oh god, Bucky, I’m gonna—” Your words cut off on a sharp cry as Bucky rolled his hips, fucking you into couch like he was pounding into your cunt. The friction against your needy clit was perfect, and you felt the pleasure in your body surge, coiling tighter and tighter. 

“Come on, doll,” Bucky growled, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip. “Come all over your best friend’s bulge like the needy little thing you are.” He rocked his hips into yours, grinding his cock against your clit through your clothes, hitting the aching nub in just the way you needed.

The pleasure in your core snapped suddenly, and you let out a shrill cry as you came, your body going tight and taut as you clung to your best friend. Your legs held him close, your hands fisted in his hair while you moaned in his ear, your body shuddering beneath his bigger form while you rode out your release by grinding languorously against his bulge.

Then you heard Bucky groan into your neck, his hips stuttering in their rhythm as he kept humping against you. You felt a warmth between your thighs and shivered, knowing what it was and it only turning you on more that you’d made Bucky come without either of you taking off your clothes. 

A smile curled your mouth as you humped against your best friend’s twitching cock while as he came in his pants. He was groaning into your neck and you were clinging to him, feeling every trembling shudder that wracked his broad body.

“Fuck, fuck,” he muttered, riding out his pleasure by rubbing against your soaked core and milking every drop of come from his cock. “Fuck,” he groaned, drawing out the word and finally settling to lay on top of you as he collapsed. You lay entwined together for a long moment, simply enjoying each other. 

Then, Bucky pushed up on his hands and glanced down your bodies, where he’d made a mess of both his sweatpants and your shorts.

You couldn’t help but giggle, only laughing harder when Bucky shot you an accusatory look. “This is entirely your fault, y’know?” he grumbled, beginning to move off you carefully so he didn’t make an even bigger mess. “If you hadn’t felt so good coming under me…” 

You’d been about to make some flippant comment about how it’d feel much better if was inside you, but then Bucky shoved his sweatpants down and stepped out of them, walking bare-assed over to the laundry in the hallway. He turned to you expectantly, but your eyes were too busy taking in the sight of your best friend’s cock, still half-hard and swinging between his thick thighs. 

“Are you going to help me clean up, or are you gonna make me strip you out of those filthy clothes?” Bucky asked gruffly, playfulness in his tone. 

That snapped you out of your thoughts and you pushed yourself up off the couch, sauntering over to Bucky, enjoying the way his eyes drifted down to watch the sway of your hips. Once you were standing right in front of him, you tugged your shirt off over your head and pulled your shorts off, leaving you naked in front of your best friend.

Bucky’s jaw went slack, his eyes darkening as they took you in. “Christ, doll,” he muttered distractedly, his gaze taking in every inch of your bare skin with a greedy glint in his eyes. “You’re constantly surprising me.” 

“Well someone’s gotta keep you on your toes,” you teased, pushing up onto your tiptoes and pressing a kiss to Bucky’s lips before you darted around him and ran into the bathroom. You shut the door behind you and turned on the hot water, intent on taking a shower to clean up.

Before you could step beneath the warming spray, Bucky’s arms wrapped around your waist and he hauled you against his body. His thickening cock wedged between your ass cheeks and his breath ghosting over your cheek as he murmured into your ear.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” Bucky rumbled, his hand slipping between your thighs, two fingers dipping into your soaking wet slit. “You’re mine now—and I’m going to have so much fun making my girlfriend come all over my cock.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, thrusting his fingers into your needy cunt, making your knees shake as you struggled to stay upright.