Blue

After his parents passed, the deed to the home passed on to him. If he were to decide between a shoebox in the big city or a not-so-little house on the prairie, it’s a no-brainer. After years of war, or at least that’s all he remembers, it’s nice to be somewhere quiet where he starts his morning with birdsongs and the sounds of life. 

There’s also you. You’re the cherry on top of his much-needed sundae. You — his neighbor who spends your days toiling away at your farm, helping out with markets in town, running community fairs. An all-around girl-next-door. 

He had been worried about what people might think about him moving in here. After all, his case had been highly publicized. But this little town had welcomed him with open arms. They remembered his parents and made space for Bucky to slip right back in. 

You had been a big help in his transition into the town. Showing him around town, inviting him to dinners with your friends, and even doing weekly movie nights with him. With you, Bucky finds parts of himself that he may have lost. You look at him with faith. You don’t see what he sees when he looks in the mirror.

Not an ex-assassin. Not some hundred-year-old grump. Just Bucky.

Now, life should be all fine and dandy, right? Right. Except, Bucky has been thrown another curveball that he isn’t quite sure how to manage. 

When he pledged to use his powers for the greater good, he knew he wanted to focus his efforts on giving people a second chance. These are powers that he never asked for, but are ones he still has all the same. As they say, with great power comes great responsibility. 

Trading one massive organization for another, Bucky decided to join SHIELD — or at least do some contract work for them. He only takes on jobs that give people an opportunity to make amends. To make right all the wrongs as best they can. Think of it as a product of his guilty conscience. 

In this line of work, he never expected to stumble into the path of RJ Boyle. 

Well, stumble is an understatement. RJ had been sent to commit cold-blooded murder against him, vibranium sword in hand to take out Bucky’s own arm. The kid was lethal, trained to be the near-perfect child soldier. He was arrogant and mouthy — and a little bit broken. 

This kid is just that. A kid. A kid born into unfortunate circumstances. A kid whose weaknesses, whose vulnerability, had been used against him. Bucky knows more than anyone how HYDRA works; they break you down to build you back up, mold you into whoever they want you to be. 

It’s like looking at a reflection of himself. Younger. Angrier. 

It’s why Bucky decided to take him home — to his home. Show him a slice of the peace that he has managed to create since he left. Show him what his life could be outside of HYDRA. No longer does he need to follow orders to survive. He could just live.

But it’s hard to teach someone how to live when he himself is not yet familiar with the concept. He still has one foot in the real world and the other in the past. Shelbyville has become his safe haven, but parts of it still feel foreign to him. It’s like he’s playing house in a place that is not his. A story that doesn’t belong him, that is being narrated by someone else. A puppeteer from high above. 

RJ probably feels the same way, especially since Bucky uprooted him from the only thing he knows. Every time he thinks about this, that vein in his head pulses for attention. 

“You need to cut yourself some slack,” you smile at him, setting the coffee cup on the table. 

Bucky presses his fingers against his forehead, hoping that some of the pressure would ease his throbbing mind. He offers a grateful smile in return as he tips the cup back to his lips. “Thank you, needed this,” he murmurs. 

“Well, you do only come to me when you need coffee and eggs,” you say with a smirk, leaning back against your kitchen counter as your eyes sparkle at Bucky at your dining table. 

His heart slams against his ribcage, a common response to the way you curl your lips so easily at him. Part of him deep inside screams that he wants more than coffee and eggs, an internal voice begging to be declared out loud. He wants mornings and evenings with you. He wants to wake up with your face nuzzled up against his chest or the whiff of your lavender shampoo lulling him to sleep. But he doesn’t know how to ask for what he wants just yet. Not when it’s something that’s for him and only for him. 

Oblivious to his mental turmoil, you continue, “How’s the kid doing?”

When he took him in, he thought RJ would be thankful, that he would want this as much as Bucky had. But he knows better than anyone that you can’t just transition someone from a life built on pure survival and instinct and battle scars into a suburban, fictitious fairytale without consequences. 

For the first time in a while, Bucky has to admit that he is at a loss. He is dealing with a trained child assassin who is clearly traumatized from decades of having his brain torn apart, washed, rinsed, and repeated. Trained to do what he was told to do to stay alive. 

It also doesn’t help that the kid is a teenager, which means he is dealing with a severe case of age-appropriate rebellion. 

Doc Sampson, Bucky’s godsend of a therapist, is still working with him but obviously doctor-patient confidentiality prevents him from actually sharing anything meaningful. Bucky is constantly tempted to break into the office and steal the files, but he thinks that may be crossing some ethical and personal lines. 

“I…” he pauses, “I don’t know.” His answer is honest, desperate even. “Never raised a kid before. He’s not my biggest fan, which isn’t surprising since he did try to kill me. Failed, but tried nonetheless.”

“You’re a first-time parent. He’s a kid with a temper. Give yourself some grace. It’ll take him a bit to warm up. Going from back-to-back wars and missions to a quiet farmhouse with sheep bleating in your backyard is a big change.” 

Bucky understands that. The lack of stimulation and noise out here is something he had to get used to. His fingers are always itching to do something — anything. He wants to throw the white noise machine that Sharon had gifted him as a joke out the window. 

“Raising goats is easier than this.”

You laugh and the sound is sugar in his veins. He’s an addict and he’s not even sure he wants to quit. “Not as expensive too, but also presumably less rewarding. RJ seems like a good kid, I wouldn’t stress too much. He’ll come around.”

He wonders how you could say that so easily. Confidence laced into your syllables when you’ve barely met the kid. The only time RJ said more than a word to you was the first time you came over, saw him on the couch, looked at Bucky, and said, “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

RJ was quick to point out, “He’s not my brother!”

Ouch. 

“You’ve got a lot of faith in people,” Bucky mutters under his breath.

“Never had a reason not to,” you shrug. “Life gave me good people. It brought me you, didn’t it?”

A blush is quick to furiously sprawl across his face, burning the skin with the heat of a thousand blazing suns. His lips unconsciously stretch into a ridiculously wide grin and he has to hide his childish delight behind the mask of his mug. Part of him knows that you like to tease him, say sweet nothings to see him squirm. Even now, he can see that devious little twinkle in his eye. Still, he can’t help but drink your compliments in like a man starved for affection — which he is. 

“Don’t get shy on me, soldier,” you grin at him again, eyes cataloging his face to identify what shade of scarlet he has turned into this time. 

It’s almost shameful how obvious he is with his crush. He might as well be writing your name on the margins and praying that you would say yes to sitting with him at lunchtime. Before he got turned into the Winter Soldier, before he replaced an arm with a hunk of metal, Bucky liked to think he was better with women. He was suave. He was charming. He always knew the right things to say. 

With you, he is in a perpetual state of being tongue-tied and carrying the perfect color of sunburnt. He is the epitome of constant embarrassment. 

He didn’t think it could get worse — he’s heard enough of Sharon’s not yet, Barnes? and Tony’s wow, you’re embarrassingly slow for a super soldier — but even RJ, who has been here all of five minutes, has caught on. 

The two of them are on a quick rendezvous to extract a former HYDRA scientist and relocate him into Sharon’s very safe hands. Right before they left, you had leaned against his doorframe, having visited to drop off some eggs.

“Dinner tonight?” You ask. “I can whip up some food for you and RJ if you aren’t back too late.”

Bucky should be focused on preparing for his mission. He’s mentally calculating the travel time while also counting the number of lashes in your eyes. You’re an incredibly delicious distraction in your dirt-covered overalls. 

He can only dumbly respond with, “Hm?”

“I said I’ll get kidnapped by aliens before you come back.”

Jerking up from looking at his gear, he cocks a brow at you. “Uh, dinner, right? You said dinner.”

“Yes, soldier.”

Bucky clears his throat, feeling that familiar weight of gratitude sit on his chest. “Dinner sounds good. You don’t have to, though. We’ll probably be back late.” 

“I can put something in your fridge.”

“You really don’t have to do that. We’ll raincheck it.”

“Always too busy for me, sarge.”

Bucky freezes, eyes darting up to meet yours. Are you saying— no, it can’t be right? You have so many friends. You probably have suitors lined up at your door, he should know this since he’s always checking on your front porch. 

But there’s no way that you would be flirting with him. Not seriously at least. “I’m not… too busy.”

You only hum, arms crossed over your chest. “Good luck. Be safe.”

He hates these moments the most. Leaving you behind. You’re not even his and he dreads the idea of saying goodbye to you before he jets off to his next mission. He never knows if this will be the last time he’ll see you, if he’ll get picked off without ever telling you how he feels about you. 

But then there is that niggling reminder that nudges the back of his brain, the one that drops a heaviness on his chest that makes the words on his tongue taste like lead. So he doesn’t say it. 

So he does what he always does. He murmurs his thanks before he slips onto his bike with RJ on his back. As he drives away, he watches your shrinking silhouette from his rearview mirror until you’re a speck in the distance. 

Now, he and RJ are both on the lookout in this cabin. 

“Dude, you’re so lame.”

“What?” Bucky frowns, still frowning out into the woods as his most recent target packs up his bag. When RJ doesn’t respond, Bucky reluctantly drags his eyes away to focus on the kid next to him. “What are you talking about? Also, did you really just call me dude?”

“You’re sitting here mooning over a woman who lives right down the street from you. You spend every second of free time you have with her and you still can’t ask her out?”

The kid may as well have struck him with a bullet, a clean shot straight through his chest. Bucky knows he isn’t exactly subtle about his affections, but he didn’t think he was that obvious either. At least, not to a point where even a moody, indifferent teenager would realize that he’s been secretly pining over his neighbor for the better part of his time here. 

“It’s not that simple, alright. Focus on the mission,” he grumbles, redirecting his gaze back into the quiet woods. He should concentrate on keeping the man safe, keeping RJ safe.  

Except, now he’s thinking about you and what you’re doing, so he isn’t exactly functioning at a hundred percent.

“I’m just saying, it’s kind of pathetic to see you like this. I thought the Winter Soldier was supposed to be formidable.”

Bucky releases another grunt as he waves the kid away. “I don’t go by that moniker anymore.”

“Can’t erase your past, dude. So what’s the hold up?”

The answer sits on the tip of his tongue. The words, the truth, are there. But it’s not one he is fully ready to reckon with yet. It’s not a problem with a solution, not an easy one at least. Not one that may even come in his lifetime. 

Saying it out loud would be admitting defeat. It’s a confession that he would never even say to a priest, let alone the kid next to him. It is a surrender he isn’t ready to commit to, especially when it means giving you up. It means being selfless one more time. 

When the two of them return home, exhaustion sitting heavy on his shoulders, Bucky instinctively goes to the fridge first. He already knows what he’s going to see there, but the anticipation still has his blood thrumming in his veins. The cool air greets him before he is met with the sight of tupperwares stacked on the glass shelves. Inside, he spots his favorite dishes in a true farm-to-table experience. 

It’s a sight he welcomes and appreciates whenever he goes on these late-night extractions. It only took one comment from him about how he’s terrible with maintaining his schedule for you to step up and take the mantle. 

It is in this moment of weakness, when his heart feels more tender in his chest, that he lets the admission slip. 

At first, it is only to the silence of his home. But Bucky’s no longer alone. 

His words are barely above a whisper, as if he is praying that the chilly night air would swallow them up and whisk them away. “I’ve done a lot of things. Things I’m not proud of. Things that I probably can never forgive myself for. While I’ve been working on atoning for my sins, it’s my burden to bear. I don’t want her to shoulder that with me.”

The fridge closes with a quiet thump as desolation swiftly sinks into his bones, like the swipe of a blade across his artery. The good doctor has always told him that it’s normal to carry the guilt, but that he shouldn’t let it linger. However, when his entire life has been riddled with a darkness that breeds that conscience unconsciously, Bucky has never learned any different. 

What he doesn’t expect is for RJ to say, “You’re a fucking hypocrite.”

His brows instantly furrow as he turns to look at the kid. 

RJ rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his body as he glares at Bucky. His gaze is a mix of irritation and fury, tinged with a disappointment that hits harder than anything else. “You’re the one who told me that you knew what it’s like to have your life stolen from you, that you knew what it’s like to take it back. You told me that I wasn’t alone, that I didn’t have to be. But you can’t even practice what you preach, so how am I supposed to trust you?”

It’s ice cold in his veins. Like he’s been struck by lightning. Bucky knows he’s right, he’s always known it deep down. The demons that live in his mind will persist, but they shouldn’t stop him from trying to get some semblance of normalcy in his life. To find love and happiness again. It had been a dream once upon a time — the house with the white picket fence and children running across the lawn — but that dream has changed. 

The vision has morphed into a life that combines his past, present, and future. A life of protecting those who need it most, a life of living in the peace of his current existence, and a life of pursuing this lifelong fantasy to turn it into a reality. 

And all he has to do is take the first step forward. He has to gather the courage and stuff down pieces of his bitter guilt one at a time until he can live with himself again. Until he can forgive himself and realize that he deserves it. 

Deserves better things. Deserves you. 

RJ won’t believe that redemption is possible unless Bucky believes in it himself. So he swallows thickly, resolve hardening in his veins. “Alright then, watch me.”

The kid gives him a questioning look, following hot on his trail as Bucky marches out the door into the midnight that blankets his lawn. Your place is right next door, visible enough from his porch where RJ stands with a flickering light. Alpine curls around the kid’s legs curiously. 

His fist lifts and he moves on habit alone. He knocks on your door three times as he always does. 

When you open the door, clearly half awake and rubbing the sleep from your eyes, he stills. “Buck?” Your voice is a little raspy, the way it is in the morning when Bucky comes a few minutes too early. “What’s going on?”

“Shit, sorry, did I wake you up?”

Maybe he should’ve thought this through. He doesn’t even know what time it is. He probably looks like an asshole banging on your door at this forsaken hour. He’s also a mess. He smells like sweat, dirt, and gasoline. Adrenaline pumps through him faster than those hours earlier under the threat of enemy fire. 

What he should’ve done was shower, sleep, buy some fresh flowers from the farmer’s market, then ask you out at a normal hour. Like a normal person.

But when he glances at his house again, RJ waiting expectantly with that damned cocky eyebrow raised, he knows he can’t back down now. 

You yawn and stretch, a sliver of skin exposing as your shirt lifts. Bucky swallows. He needs to keep it together. “I fell asleep on the couch so I needed to get up to move to my bed anyway. What’s up?”

Don’t think about you in bed. Do not. He is not a child, he has self-control. Or so he likes to think. But then he sees the poutiness of your lips and Bucky has to subtly pinch himself to stop himself from kissing you. 

Because that would be crazy.

Right?

Once again, the words fall off somewhere in their journey from his heart to his mouth. His heart stutters against his ribs, flesh pulsing against his bones. His eyes dart around in search of comfort. 

And they land on you with your kind eyes and your bare feet. They land on RJ who stands there slightly doubtful, slightly hopeful. They land on Alpine who still regards him with cool affection, but a year of trust. They land on his home, this land, and the stretch of space between all of the things that formulate his life today. The redemption he is working towards. The peace etched onto every surface. The work in progress that persists. 

And he braves himself.

With a deep breath, he smiles gently at you. “I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me.”

Your lips quirk up as you slump against the doorway, tilting your head in that way that makes him want to kiss you senseless. “Came over at midnight to get a booty call? Bold even for you, Barnes.”

Bucky chokes on nothing. Absolutely nothing. Panic flares at his chest over how his actions look. Of course, you’d think he’s being a complete and utter fool. A dog that his parents would be ashamed of. “No, not a— definitely not. Not that I wouldn’t appreciate that, but I figured I should take you out to dinner first. I want to take you out to dinner first. That Italian place down Second Street, the one with the green logo with the ravio that you like. I thought—”

A warm hand settles on his arm. “I’d love to,” you interrupt softly, “tonight at seven?”

He clears his throat, nodding his head a little too eagerly. “Yes, I can pick you up.” Which sounds dumb in hindsight because he lives right down the street. 

“On that death trap?” You eye his bike warily. “Absolutely not. I’ll meet you there.”

“No, I’ll get a car. I’ll borrow someone’s.”

You snort softly, lips twitching with a smile. “How about I pick you up in my car? Don’t need a knight picking me up on his white steed.”

Bucky tinges pink again. Good thing it’s dark out. “Sounds good.”

“See you tomorrow night, sarge.” Your voice is still gentle, kind. Then you look over his shoulder and wave at the sight behind him. “Night, RJ! Alpine!” 

He watches from his periphery as RJ gives a small wave back. For the first time in a very long time, his chest feels lighter — not in a way that it is empty, but that it is alive with hope. When he catches the shit-eating grin on RJ’s face and Alpine’s look of I-told-you-so, that voice inside his head quiets. 

Perhaps redemption is not his acts of heroism to compensate for the guilt that plagues his every slumber. Perhaps redemption comes in the unsaid forgiveness, the acts of kindness, and the optimism for something more. It starts with coffee and eggs and a promise of dinner at seven.  

As he stands on that porch, Bucky finally lets himself believe it, even a little — that he’s home, that he’s healing, and that this time, he might just deserve it.

+ sam: thank you for reading if you've made it this far!! see below for one of the scenes that inspired this fic! obviously not fully canon compliant but yknow it's the vibes

bucky is kissing (taglist): @superbassbuck @earthsmightiestbenders @houseofhyde @its-in-the-woods @flockoff-featherface @winterdecember18 @chateaubarnes @54nboo @phoenix-in-writing @tofuonfaiya @avengersfan25 @miraclediviner @averyhotchner @hailmary-yramliah @catclaw1 @heldbybarnes @blowingbarnes @stanmarvelous @pinksplace @lunexiax @54nboo @it-is-rebel-owl-ma-dudes @esunarint @captain-shannon-becker @lunaryoongie @sergeantsebastian @alli0-0 @amoremarveloustime @avgdestitute @natskisses @sarah1barnes @parker-barnes-af @sarah1barnes @onecojg @iamthatonefangirl @stegosaurussims @angelryex @evelynstanmarvel @lokisgirlie @mathcat345 @flippedccc @lynnidc @winnichu173 @singulartoast @zhaixiaowen @c3liaaaaa @buckysdecaflove @epiphanyrogers @itsmadamehydra @cutttteeee

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.

His pecs are ridiculous—thick, sculpted muscle honed by decades of serum-fueled perfection, smooth and taut under your touch.

You had teased him about them before, called them your favorite pillows, even joked that they could use a bra.

But you didn’t feel like joking that day. You ached to touch, to explore, to have more.

You leaned down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along his collarbone, nipping at the salt of his skin. He sighed contentedly, his hands settling on your thighs.

“Baby," he murmured, voice gravelly, "Let me—"

"Shh," you whispered against his sternum, feeling the rapid thump of his heart.

Your tongue traced the edge of his pectoral before your lips closed around his nipple, soft and warm against the firm swell of muscle.

You sucked lightly at first, rolling your tongue over the tight bud while your teeth grazed just enough to make him shiver.

He froze beneath you, a sharp inhale breaking the quiet, his fingers digging into your thighs with delicious force.

You pulled back to watch, and that was the moment you noticed it: his nipple glistening wet from your mouth, pebbled and flushed, and Steve biting his lip to stifle a whine.

His cock, half-hard against your thigh, twitched visibly, thickening as his hips bucked once, involuntarily.

“Oh,” you breathed, realization blooming hot in your core. “You like that.”

He flushed crimson from his chest up to his face, avoiding your gaze, but his body betrayed him the moment you latched on harder, sucking with a wet pull that echoed shamelessly in the room.

A broken whimper escaped him, nothing like the commanding growl you were so used to. His hands slid up to your ass, gripping you for support as if your weight kept him from tipping over.

“Fuck, honey,” he gasped, voice trembling, you felt him throb against you, fully hard, precum seeping onto your skin.

You had barely ventured lower, and he was already a mess—chest rising and falling rapidly, nipples swollen and begging under your teasing.

That first time, you didn’t push too far—easing off with a final swirl of your tongue before kissing your way back up, capturing his mouth as he panted, dazed and pliant beneath you.

But the seed was planted, and over the following weeks, you nurtured it—trailing teasing licks during makeouts on the couch, pinching through his shirts until he squirmed, whispering promises of what you’d do when he was ready to let go.

Steve fought it as best he could, but always ended up pressing you beneath him, fucking you deep and thorough, as if he had to prove he was still the one in control.

But you saw it in his eyes, the flicker of want he couldn’t quite hide and the way he lingered when your lips drifted too close to his chest.

You knew it was only a matter of time.

The night you fully claim it, he’s worn thin from a brutal week—Avengers chaos stacking up until he’s all tension and quiet fatigue, muscles tight beneath sun-kissed skin.

You find him stretched out in the low light of your bedroom, shirtless, eyes fixed on the ceiling, his body marked with faint scars your fingers have memorized.

“Come here,” you murmur softly, guiding him back onto the pillows until he’s lying flat.

His blue eyes stay fixed on you, wide and trusting, as you climb over him. There’s no rush, no pressure—just you, warm and naked, settling onto his hips.

Steve's hands come up instinctively, cupping your breasts, his thumbs brushing slow, familiar circles with that quiet reverence he always shows you.

You stop him gently, catching his wrists and pressing them back into the mattress.

"Not tonight, Captain. Tonight, you let me take care of you."

His throat bobs as he swallows, a brief flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. He’s not used to this. To being the one laid out and taken care of, but he nods, breath shallow, his cock already straining thick and heavy against the taut cotton of his underwear, pressing against your slick folds as you grind down once, slow and teasing.

You tug his underwear down just enough to free his cock. It shoots up hard and thick, slapping against his abs with a heavy smack, veins standing out along the shaft, the swollen head already glistening with precum.

You slowly ease yourself down onto him, watching his face contort as your pussy swallows him inch by tortuous inch.

He’s huge, always is, filling you with that exquisite stretch, your walls fluttering around his girth until you’re seated completely.

You don't move. Not yet.

You lean forward, breasts brushing his chest, and drape yourself over him, your weight pinning him sweetly.

His cock throbs inside you, trapped in your heat, and you clench—hard, squeezing him in rhythmic pulses that make your own breath hitch.

"Jesus—fuck," Steve’s voice breaks into a soft, helpless sound, head tilting back against the pillows, throat stretched and exposed.

His hands twitch beneath yours, a restless urge to touch, to hold, but he keeps them still, giving himself over to you.

You loosen your hold on his wrists, letting your hands glide down his arms. Your fingers trace the lines of his torso before sliding back up, settling over his chest, over those glorious pecs rising and falling with each ragged breath.

You start slow, hands gliding over the solid planes, kneading gently, feeling the warmth of him seep into your skin.

Steve reacts to every bit of it—each press and squeeze drawing a soft, breathy sound from his throat, his hips trying to lift until you press him back down, holding him steady.

“Ah, ah—stay,” you murmur, soft but firm, and he obeys, catching his lip between his teeth as he nods.

Your thumbs circle over his nipples, the sensitive peaks quickly tightening, begging for attention.

Steve's breath hitches, chest arching into your touch.

"So sensitive here," you coo, pinching one lightly between your thumb and forefinger. He gasps, eyes squeezing shut. "Bet you could come just from this, couldn't you, Stevie?”

"Y-yes,” he confesses, the word slipping out on a shaky breath. His thighs tremble beneath you, abs contracting as he fights the urge to move.

You roll both nipples between your fingers, tugging just hard enough to make him cry out—a high, broken sound that goes straight to your clit.

Leaning down, you take one into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around the pebbled bud, hot and wet, sucking with gentle pressure.

Steve's back arches off the mattress, a keening whine ripping from his throat. “Oh, fuck… please, please, don’t stop.”

His cock throbs violently inside you, more precum slicking your walls as you clench down in response.

You hum against his skin, the vibration making him shudder, your teeth grazing the underside before you suck harder, hollowing your cheeks.

Your hand works the other nipple, pinching and twisting in time with your mouth.

Steve's a wreck already—whimpering mess of a man.

“F-fuck… feels so good,” he babbles, voice wrecked. “Your mouth… God, baby.”

His hands slide up to your hips, gripping like you're his lifeline.

"Look at you," you pull off with a pop, saliva stringing from your lips to his shiny, abused nipple. "My big, strong super soldier, falling apart from a little nipple play. You love it, don't you? Love having your pretty tits sucked while I strangle your cock with my pussy."

The dirty words slip from you effortlessly, fueled by his unraveling—Steve’s eyes glassy, lips parted in endless pleas, hips twitching helplessly against your hold.

"Please, need you, can't—fuck—your pussy's so tight… please move." he whimpers, voice pitching higher as you switch sides, latching onto the neglected nipple with insatiable hunger.

You suck harder, tongue flicking relentlessly while your pussy continues to clamp down in brutal pulses, grinding your clit against his pubic bone for your own pleasure.

Minutes stretch like this—your mouth and hands worshipping his pecs, nipples swollen and red from your assault, his cock still trapped in your fluttering heat.

Steve's reduced to babbling filth he doesn't even know he's saying: "Suck harder—need it—pussy's choking me—gonna come, please say I can—"

Finally, when his whimpers turn to outright sobs, tears pricking his lashes, you relent.

You sit up slowly, hands still toying with his nipples, lifting barely an inch before sinking back down.

Steve's eyes fly open, a guttural moan tearing free. "Yes—fuck, yes—"

You set a torturously languid pace: rising until just the tip kisses your entrance, every veined inch dragging against your walls then lowering with a wet, slap grinding forward to smear your slick onto him.

“Mmm, just like that," you moan breathlessly, leaning back to brace on his thighs, giving him the view of your breasts bouncing softly, your pussy devouring him.

"Feel that, Stevie? My tight little cunt owning you. You gonna come, baby? Gonna come inside me, huh?”

Steve's hands come up to your breasts, kneading desperately, but his focus is shattered, hips stuttering up to meet your glacial pace. “Y-yes, please… inside… oh, fuck… so good…”

You lean forward mid-grind, capturing a nipple between your teeth, tugging as you rock back.

The dual sensation breaks him.

Steve cries out, back arching, cock pulsing rapidly. Hot, thick spurts of cum jet deep into you, rope after rope painting your walls white, his release so forceful it leaks out around the base despite your tight clench.

"F-fuck—coming, baby, can't stop—" he wails, voice cracking into pathetic moans.

His pecs jump under your mouth, nipples diamond-hard, tears streaming down his flushed face while he thrashes helplessly beneath you, every pulse of his cock drawing another broken sob.

The flood of his hot cum tips you over—your clit grinding relentlessly against him, his throbbing length stretching you full, pushes you into bliss.

Pleasure coils tight in your core and shatters; you cry out, walls convulsing wildly around him, milking every last drop as your orgasm crashes through you.

"Shit, Stevie—yes, fill me up, making me come so hard on your cock," you gasp, body shaking, vision blurring while you rock through the waves, soaking him further with your release.

But you don't stop, riding through both your climaxes slow and filthy, clenching rhythmically to wring him utterly dry, prolonging the ecstasy until he's a shuddering, oversensitive mess.

You keep going, grinding lazily through his oversensitivity, sucking his nipples until he's twitching, begging incoherently. "Too much… please… more" His cock gets hard again, super soldier stamina kicking in, and you grin, lifting to ride again.

Hours seem to pass, your slow rolls and deep grinds making obscene wet sounds, dirty talk spilling from your lips.

"Love how good you fill me up, baby. Gonna keep you hard all night, suck these pretty tits until you come again."

By the umpteenth time he spills inside you, you're both wrecked, sweat-slick and trembling. You collapse onto his chest, lips brushing his abused nipples one last time.

“You did so good for me,” you whisper, and he lets out a soft hum as his arms wrap around you.

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.

Swinging your legs up on the couch to sit cross-legged and facing him, you pinned your gorgeous farmer with a look.

“Actually, no, the worst thing about our relationship is when we’re apart, and you already fixed that by building me a whole—“ you gestured out the window through the rain that battered the farmhouse in the vague direction of the house on the hill.

Bucky frowned. “I built you a studio so you could work from here and have yer producer friends stay here.”

“Exactly.”

His brow was furrowed so deep it was comical. “Yer annoyed I built a fix for the singular problem in our relationship?”

“I’m annoyed we have no problems! Where’s all the yelling and screaming? Where’s the begging and the promises to make things better?”

You weren’t annoyed at all, not really, but now you’d sparked something you couldn’t let it go.

His eyes softened and his sigh was long and steady. “Darlin’, I know you didn’t have the best relationships before me but that don’t mean that’s how things are done.”

Your heart beat so hard and so fast you wanted to jump out of your skin. He was right; your past hadn’t been so kind to you. That’s what made this relationship a treasure, what made you want to cling to your country boy and never let go.

“You’re so … so …”

“Yes?”

“Perfect!” The word erupted out of you like a gunshot. “Fight with me!”

Bucky’s face screwed up into the most bemused look he could manage. “You want to fight?”

You picked up a cushion and threw it at him, pushing down the giggle that bubbled inside you. “Fight me, Sarge.”

“Nope.” He batted the pillow away like it was nothing. “Not fightin’ with you.”

“If you don’t fight with me then—then you don’t really love me.”

His serious expression cracked instantly, barking out a laugh so loud it almost startled you. Your cheeks hurt with the need to smile but you tried so hard to resist.

“I’m not fighting with you and that’s final.” His tone was gruff and stern, but the twitch of his lips gave him away.

It was on.

“Fine!”

You stood up, throwing your book down hard on the couch.

Bucky looked up at you, his eyes warm and sparkling with mirth. “Now where you going?”

“I’m leaving!”

And you turned tail and stalked toward the front door.

“Oh no you don’t …” he reached over the back of the couch to grab at you, but you were too quick.

“If you don’t fight with me then you obviously won’t fight for me.”

The rain outside fell in thick, heavy drops, a constant downpour that sounded heavenly on the tin of the verandah.

But Bucky’s heavy footsteps pounded louder than the sound of the rain and you dashed out the door and down the three steps leading out to the yard.

Gasping at how instantly the cold of the water struck you, you got four paces into the open before Bucky grabbed your arm and twisted you back to face him.

“Now, listen here, missy—“

“I’m not listening to another word!”

“Crazy city girl,” he muttered and you threw your arms wide.

“See! See how easy it is!”

You don’t even know what you’re saying anymore, throwing words and attitude at him for the hell of it.

“You think a little rain’s gonna put me off?” Bucky said, stepping into you. Craning your neck to look up at him, rain splattering against your face, you couldn’t help but marvel at how pretty he looked.

The rain was making his hair curl quick, locks twisting around his face just so. A couple raindrops caught in his lashes and that stunning blue gaze captured and held you, like it always did.

“You think I won’t fight for you? I braved fuckin’ New York for you, honey. I built that house ‘cause every time you leave I wonder if that ain’t the last time I see your car disappear.”

You shivered, not just from the cold. Suddenly the joke was less funny as Bucky’s words hit hard.

“You’re the love of my life,” you whispered, words only loud enough to be heard between you, a secret for the cloudy skies above to bear witness to.

A wave of gratefulness washed over you, like standing out in the rain on his farm again was a renewal of some kind.

Here you were, staring up at him, rain lashing at your legs and arms, your farmer before you the only shelter, and you never wanted to be anywhere else.

Play-fight forgotten, your hands grabbed at his shirt and you pushed up to plant a kiss into your fiancé’s lips. 

“Taste like rain,” he mumbled into you, and your wild giggle answered.

He pulled away, but before you could say a word you were suddenly flying. Bucky stooped to pick you up by the thighs, hoisting you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing at all.

“Bucky!” You squealed, scrambling to grip the back of his shirt as he headed back toward the farmhouse, muttering the whole way.

“Girl don’t know a good thing when she’s got it,” he grumbled, but you could hear the smile in his voice. “Traipsin’ around in the rain like I ain’t gonna chase after her.”

Stomping up the stairs and back into the farmhouse, Bucky paused just inside the door.

“You done?” He half demanded, jostling his shoulder making you bounce in his hold.

You gasped but a spark of that earlier urge still simmered. “Done with what?”

The sharp sting of his hand landing hard on the back of your thigh made you suck in a shaky breath.

“I said, are you done?”

Huffing, you paused only long enough to see if he’d spank you again, then relaxed in his grasp. “I’m done.”

Bucky carefully hauled you forward and planted you at his feet. His eyes were piercing and you could see the heat banked in their depths from this close.

“Love you?”

You grinned. “Love you, cowboy.”

“Alright. Don’t go pulling that nonsense again,” he murmured, eyes roaming from your face down to your rain soaked body, following the way your clothes clung to your curves.

“Or what?” Your eyes sparkled with mischief and Bucky shook his head.

Taking you by the shoulders he turned you around and urged you toward the hall.

“I got better ideas for gettin’ you riled up,” he growled, swatting your ass lightly. “Bathroom. Now.”

a/n ! I can’t leave these two alone for five minutes, I swear. Tell me y’all love them as much as I do and aren’t sick of them yet?

“So it could literally be anyone. There were hundreds of people at the party last night,” you sigh, folding the letter back into the envelope, carefully placing the lavender back in. 

“Well I mean not anyone if it was left under your door this morning.” Nat looks around the room, eyeing out the potential prospects. 

“What’re you looking at Barnes?” She spits out, chin jutting in his direction.

Bucky had been glancing over at the two of you, trying and failing to be discreet — barely listening to Steve sitting across from him. He squints at Nat, staring her down with the kind of intensity that would make anyone else wish the ground would swallow them. You give him a small smile and his face softens.

He’d always been softer with you than anyone else. When Steve had first brought him to the tower, you’d been first to greet him with a smile on your face — gentle, inviting. Where others had been wary, you’d been curious. Where they had been avoidant, you’d been caring — buying him his favorite tea, checking in on him, dropping off books you had read that you thought he might like. You had slowly become his confidant, his safe space and he yours. 

“Nothing,” he grumbles, walking out of the room without another word, his heart pounding out of his chest, face hot and throat tight like he hadn’t drank water for days. 

Fuck fuck fuck why did I leave the letter? 

Bucky paces back and forth in his room, chewing his lip and raking his hands through his already messy hair. 

But she looked so happy. 

Bucky smiles to himself as he remembers your little jump, your bare feet hitting the floor, hair messy like you had just woken up. He remembers the way you hadn’t stopped smiling all morning, your voice high and excited as you showed Natasha the letter.

She doesn’t even know it’s from you, idiot.

He lets out a loud groan as he falls back onto his bed, landing with a soft thump, hands running down his face in frustration. He contemplates his desk — the envelopes laid out next to the scrunched pieces of paper (the letters he’d started and thrown to the side, exasperated), the sprigs of lavender that had fallen on the floor, his pens sprawled out, and sits down to write out another letter. 

He ponders what to write, determined to sign his name this time. He decides to keep it simple, adding a poem he had read that reminded him of you. 

Just write it. Just write your name. Just sign it. Bucky Barnes. Or just Bucky. Write it. 

He doesn’t. 

He folds the letter up, puts it into an envelope, adds another piece of lavender (you had seemed to like that — he had noticed you taking it back out of the envelope, pressing it to your nose with a smile). He waits until he knows you’ve gone to sleep, and slides it under your door. 

“What’s that smile you’ve got on?” Nat eyes you out as you walk into the kitchen — the way you’re rocking back and forth on your heels, cheesy grin on your face, hands clasped behind your back. 

“I got another letter,” you giggle, pulling it out from behind you. 

You’d always wanted a secret admirer. A valentine. Always were a hopeless romantic in a way you hardly let show. Previous partners had never really indulged that side of you — always treating it like a burden that you wanted flowers and spontaneous gestures and planned out dates — so you had slowly let it go, convincing yourself it was too much. 

“Ooh show me.” Nat reaches for the envelope. 

“It’s just soooo,” you let out a squeal, before quickly covering your mouth, regaining your composure.

“It’s so sweet, the little poem he added. I love it. I wonder who it could be from.” 

“Who even writes letters anymore?” Nat lets out a small scoff, before muttering a ‘sorry’ and handing the letter back when she notices your face fall.

Bucky’s sitting at the counter, eating breakfast when he chokes on his cereal and the two of you look over at him, questioning. Sam gets up and slaps him on the back — much harder than necessary, laughing as Bucky glares at him.

He’d been quietly eavesdropping, smiling into his bowl at your little squeal, his heart picking up when you’d said you love it. 

You go about the next week as usual — attending meetings, training in the gym, working on your latest project and coming back from a successful mission — trying hard to not think about your secret admirer. You had received a new letter each day. 

They were all simple messages. Sometimes they included a small gift — a small chocolate, a bookmark, more flowers. You had been giddy all week, however the excitement had started to die down once you realized they may never sign their name. 

It’s Friday and you’re exhausted from the long week, showering the day off and settling into a soft pink t-shirt and matching shorts, tying your hair loosely behind you before making your way into the living room. Bucky and Steve are sitting on the couch next to the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching a movie, a bowl of popcorn settled between them. Bucky’s sprawled out in his black sweatpants and grey henley, smiling up at you when you enter the room. He shifts without realizing, making space for you — the way he always does. 

Bucky can’t help the way his heart stutters when you curl up next to him, legs tucked under you, fuzzy socks resting against your bare thighs. Your knee presses against his — your body naturally gravitating towards his. The smell of your shampoo wraps around Bucky like a warm blanket — coconut and mango and something so you — he wants to drown in it. Wrap his arms around you and pull you into him. But he doesn’t. His fingers twitch at his sides instead.

He reaches for the popcorn, hand brushing yours when you reach at the same time. He’s focusing harder on trying to not look over at you than what’s playing on the screen. You lean your head on his shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world — because it is. Bucky feels something melt inside him when your hair brushes his neck and it takes everything in him to not reach over and brush aside the piece that had fallen into your eyes. 

You sigh softly, eyes drooping as the tiredness of your day washes over you. You settle into Bucky’s side further, trying to not make it too obvious that you’re melting into him like that’s where you belong. The smell of his soap mixed with that warm smell that was so Bucky makes your head spin and your eyes flutter shut. 

You don’t remember going to your bed before falling asleep. Don’t remember the way Bucky had carried you while you grumbled nonsense against his neck. The way he had placed you down gently, hovering over you like he wanted to kiss your forehead, but had decided against it in case you woke. Bucky looked at the letters placed out on your desk — open like you had been reading them over and over — and makes his mind up to tell you they’re from him. 

Tomorrow. When you wake up. 

Bucky gets dressed the next morning — a pair of sweatpants and a worn t-shirt he uses for the gym — brushing his teeth and fussing with his hair like it might change. He trims his beard slightly, never shaving it after he’d overheard you one day saying you like a man with a beard. Gives himself a pep talk in the mirror, taking a deep breath before shaking his head at himself. He paces back and forth a few times before mustering up the courage to walk down the hallway to your room. 

Before he reaches your door, he notices it slightly open, your voice travelling under the door. He’s about to take another step when he hears Nat.

“So who do we think the secret admirer is?” 

“I don’t knowww.” You pause, thinking to yourself before continuing, “maybe it’s Nate from research? He’s kinda cute and he seems like the romantic type, he asked me on a date last week.”

Bucky feels jealousy rise hot and fast in his chest, hands clenching at his sides. Fucking Nate. 

“Did you say yes?” 

“I said I’d let him know.” 

“He didn’t mention the letters?” 

“No… but maybe he wanted to wait until I said yes?” 

You hear a crash from outside your door — Bucky having stumbled when Steve had turned the corner and bumped into him full force. 

You hear a muttering of ‘Sorry man, didn’t see you there’ and ‘S’fine’. 

“You lost, Barnes?” Nat questions with a smirk on her face, arms crossed over her chest as she pushes the door open to look at them. 

“No I was just—” Bucky trails off, walking away before he embarrases himself further. 

“Imagine it was Bucky.” Nat gasps, laughing. 

Bucky stops in his tracks, heart speeding up as he tunes in to your conversation. 

“What? No way.” You scoff, laughing louder at the suggestion. 

Bucky’s heart drops. He feels the hope die in his chest, his dreams crushed in a split second. He drags himself away from your door, trying to swallow the raw feeling in his throat, heartbeat ringing in his ears. 

He had mistaken your tone for indifference — your nervous laugh for humor.

Little did he know how hopeful you were — how your heart had skipped a beat at his name, flaring with hope at the thought of him sitting there carefully writing out letters, writing out your name. There was something so intimate about the thought of his hands carving your name out in ink, marking it like it was something important to him. 

You had silently hoped it was him, your heart fluttering at the possibility that he liked you back. It was stupid. If he did — he would’ve said something. Would’ve hinted at it, shown some sort of sign. But he hadn’t. At least, in your mind. 

So stupid Bucky, why would she want the letters to be from you? She probably thinks they’re from some great guy who’s right for her, someone who’s good. Not him. 

His head drops to his hands, heart aching with a loss he didn’t quite understand. You weren’t his. Never had been. He thinks back to all the times you’d made him breakfast, all the times you’d offered him books like they were small pieces of yourself. The way your body rested into his like he was safe. Like he was yours. You were probably just being nice to him. Probably took pity on the guy no-one else bothered much with. 

Yeah it had to be that. 

So Bucky stops. He stops sending letters. He stops trying to impress you, hoping you’d turn around and notice him. He stops following you around like a lost puppy. He stops leaning on you when he’s tired. Stops coming to you when he needs to vent. The loneliness of it hits him harder than he expected. It hits you too, but you’d never been one to push Bucky — always letting him come to you, never wanting to scare him off or make him uncomfortable. 

So you sit back quietly and watch as the man you care for so deeply pulls himself away. 

With no explanation. 

You had become accustomed to receiving the letters, disappointed when there isn’t one at your door. You treasure them — have a small stack of them carefully placed on your desk, your heart giving a giddy jump every time you see them. You admire the handwriting — something familiar about it in that way where you remember the tune to a song but not the lyrics — driving you crazy trying to figure it out. 

The scent of lavender and something warm and comforting you can’t quite place your finger on. The soft smudges of ink, like he had been worrying over what to write next. The careful way the seal was pressed down, the way there was always a little pressed flower with each. 

It had been weeks since the last letter. Weeks since your last movie night with Bucky. And the loneliness hits you hard. You scroll on your phone until there’s nothing left to look at, text friends that take hours to respond. Swipe through dating apps, answering messages like ‘wyd?’ and ‘u up?’ 

You miss the letters. 

But you miss Bucky more. 

“What’s going on with you Buck?” Steve sits across from Bucky in his room, watching as his best friend shrugs with a blank look on his face. 

Steve probes further; asks about you, why Bucky hasn’t been talking to you much, why he’s been avoiding you like no tomorrow. 

Bucky sighs, dragging his hand down his face. He’s tired. He feels it deep in his bones, the questions dragging through him like sandpaper. He winces at the sound of your name. 

He misses you.

More than he cares to admit. 

So he tells Steve about the letters, about how he’d overhead you with Nat, laughing at the thought of it being Bucky that had sent them. 

Steve shakes his head in disbelief. 

“God, you can be stupid sometimes Buck.” 

Bucky looks up so fast, frowning at Steve in a way that could only mean he had no idea what Steve was talking about. 

“She likes you. Anyone can see it. You know you’re the first person she asks about when we get back from a mission. The first person she runs to when she’s been hurt. She curls up to you like you’re the only thing that keeps her safe. I’ve seen it, Buck.” Steve places his hand on Bucky’s knee, punctuating his words.

Bucky feels like he could cry as he takes it all in. He’s looking at the floor, shaking his head in disbelief. 

Keeps her safe. 

He couldn’t imagine anyone thinking of him as their safe space. Not after everything he’s done. Everything he is. Was. 

He remembers the way you’ve come to him late at night when you’d had a nightmare, trusting him to be the one to bring you back to reality. The way you’d call him when you felt unsafe on a night out. The way you’d tuck your face into his chest when watching a scary movie. 

Bucky furrows his brow, head dipping to rest in his hands as he lets out a loud groan. 

“Buck, listen, her laughing and saying ‘no way’ was probably at herself because she wants it to have been you, but she doesn’t want to get her hopes up.” 

“You think?” 

“Yeah I do.” And who couldn’t believe Steve when he nods at you all solemn and smiles like he’s got all the answers. 

They talk for hours; Bucky finally starting to believe that maybe — just maybe — you feel the way he does. That you’d wanted the letters to be from him. That you wanted him to be yours. That the only reason you hadn’t said anything is because you wanted him to be ready. 

You’re dragging your feet down the hallway to your room. You were supposed to be on a mission — a quick in and out — when Tony had insisted you take the day off. You had protested loudly but he wasn’t having it, sending you to your room to rest after your eyes had slipped shut for the fourth time during the briefing. 

“Bucky?” 

He’s standing at your door, back turned when he whips around at the sound of your voice. 

“Doll— you’re— I um—” He scratches the back of his neck, eyes avoiding you like he might catch on fire if he looks at you. 

Your eyes land on his metal hand. 

Your heart stops. 

A letter. 

You feel as though you could fall over — a million emotions running through you at once. 

Bucky’s frozen. Feet stuck in place like they’ve been cemented to the floor. 

Say something. Anything. 

“I was just—” 

“Bucky, I swear to god if this is some kind of joke—” Your eyes tear up, blood rushing to your face fast. 

Bucky’s head whips up at that, moving over to you so quickly, it knocks the wind out of you. You inhale sharply as his eyes meet yours. So blue and beautiful. He’s so close.  

“It’s not a joke doll, I swear.” 

“So…so they were from you? And you weren’t joking?” Your breathing picks up, eyes boring into his, heart slamming against your ribs as his scent washes over you, his warmth. 

“I’m sorry. It was so stupid. I only meant to leave you one. But then I saw you grinning and showing off to Nat and you looked so happy…I just—” He trails off, flesh hand coming to meet yours, letting his finger hook into the bracelet on your wrist, as if to ground himself.

“I just— I just wanted to see you smile like that again. I wanted to be the reason you laughed. The reason you were so happy. I— I always…” his voice trails off, his head hanging like he’s ashamed. 

“Bucky…” Your voice is warm, torn around the edges, limbs heavy and chest burning bright. Your right hand comes to rest on the side of his face and Bucky melts into it, eyes fluttering shut. 

“Do you— do you want to read it?” He’s holding out the letter. You pull your hand away from him, stepping back slightly and Bucky involuntarily leans towards you. He wants to pull you back in by your waist — wants you to crowd his personal space like his and yours are one and the same. 

You bite your lip, holding back a smile as you nod slowly, already reaching for the letter. 

“Bucky I— I—” You let out a soft sniffle, wiping your nose with the back of your hand, hands shaking slightly as you grip the letter, creasing the edges. 

Bucky’s eyes search your face frantically. 

“Fuck sweetheart you’re crying. I knew I shouldn’t have—” 

He’s cut off by your hands on either side of his face, the letter scratching his skin slightly. 

“Bucky. I love it. I’ve loved every single letter.” 

You fold the letter into your pocket, hands coming to rest on his face again, thumb stroking his jaw lovingly as you gaze into his eyes. His flesh hand comes to rest over yours, breath catching in his throat at how close you are. You’re so beautiful like this. All soft and teary and looking at him like he’s the most precious thing in the world. 

Your arms wrap around his neck, hugging him close to you, hands tangling in the hair on the base of his neck as your lips come to rest at his ear. Bucky pulls you in closer, metal hand resting on the small of your back as his face molds to the shape of your neck. 

“I forgive you Bucky. Thank you, I mean it. For the letters, for the flowers, the poem, the bookmark; for apologizing, for telling me how you feel. All of it. It was…perfect.” 

You pull back to look at him, fingers still gently tracing the skin on the nape of his neck. 

“And— and I’m kind of crazy about you too. You’re my safe space. The only person I want. I was…” Your head drops shyly. 

“I was secretly hoping they were from you.” 

Steve was right. 

Bucky lets out a soft laugh, letting his forehead rest gently against yours. His fingers trace your waist softly, palms pressing into your sides.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” You can’t help the stupid smile on your face, grinning through tears as Bucky’s nose nudges yours in the softest, gentlest moment. 

“Can I— can I kiss you?” He says it so softly, he’s worried you don’t hear him. 

You nod.  

Bucky’s lips meet yours — soft and sweet and full of every single feeling he’s been holding back — pouring everything he has into the way his lips move with yours. You taste like strawberry gum and cherry chapstick. 

It’s intoxicating. 

Bucky wants more, more, more. He kisses you harder, hand gripping your jaw, guiding your mouth along his. Your knees almost give out when his tongue softly traces yours, pressing yourself into him until there’s not a single part of you that isn’t consumed by him. 

You pull back, lips swollen and breathless, forehead resting against his. You let out a soft laugh as Bucky’s lips chase yours, leaving soft pecks before he pulls back, grinning. 

Your eyes meet his — soft like he can't quite believe this is happening.

“Yes, I’ll go on a date with you Bucky.”

a/n: i might post a version where the letters are just text because they're a bit hard to read as pics.

taglist: @quantumbarnes @daydreamgoddess14 (if you'd like to be added, please leave a comment on this post)

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.

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.