yearly ˚❊༄

You lay sprawled on your back in the middle, chest still heaving as you came down from the high of your last orgasm. Your thighs trembled faintly, muscles sore in the best way and you could feel the warm, slow trickle of their combined release leaking out of you onto the ruined sheets.

Steve was glued to your left side, his massive, muscular frame taking up more than half the tiny mattress. His broad chest pressed against your arm, one thick arm draped heavily across your waist, fingers lazily tracing little hearts on the curve of your hip. His blond hair was a sweaty mess, sticking to his forehead and his baby-blue eyes were half-lidded with satisfaction.

Bucky claimed your right side like he owned it, one thick, powerful thigh thrown possessively over both of your legs, pinning you in place. His fingers rested just below your navel, right above where you were still tender, swollen and leaking their mess.

“Fuck, baby,” Bucky murmured, his voice gravel-rough and low against your ear, lips brushing the sensitive shell. “You took us so goddamn well tonight. Like you were made for it. That tight little pussy squeezed us both so perfect… swallowing every inch, every drop. Greedy girl.”

You hummed happily, too blissed out for full sentences. Your body felt deliciously used, thighs sticky with drying cum, lips swollen from kissing and sucking, neck and breasts covered in little love bites and fingerprints. Steve nuzzled into your hair, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple, his breath warm and steady.

“You still with us, sweetheart?” Steve asked, voice warm and gentle, the same tone he used when he watched you study for exams during the late nights in the dorm. He nuzzled into your hair and pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

“Mhm.” You smiled lazily, tilting your head to kiss the sharp line of his jaw. Then you turned the other way, catching Bucky’s mouth in a slow, lazy kiss. His tongue slid against yours, unhurried now, tasting like sin and the faint hint of the cheap whiskey the three of you had shared earlier. They both smelled like sex and you. The realization made something warm and possessive bloom deep in your chest.

For a while, only the sound of your combined breathing and the occasional wet shift of sweaty skin filled the small dorm room. The ceiling fan spun uselessly overhead, doing nothing to cut through the thick, filthy atmosphere. Outside, the distant sounds of a Friday night party echoed from another floor, laughter, bass-heavy music but in here, the world had narrowed to just the three of you.

That’s when the thought bubbled up, unbidden but insistent after weeks of watching them together, playful wrestling in the quad, shared glances, the easy intimacy of two men who had known each other since forever.

You trailed your fingers down Steve’s broad, sculpted chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart, then over to Bucky’s side, tracing the raised lines of old scars from a motorcycle accident he’d told you about once. Your voice came out soft, a little shy but curious. “You two… Have you ever… done anything together? Just the two of you?”

The silence was immediate and heavy.

Steve’s hand froze on your hip. Bucky lifted his head, arm shifting as his sharp blue eyes narrowed slightly, studying your face.

“Together?” Bucky echoed carefully, voice still husky from earlier moans.

“Yeah. Like… sexually,” you admitted, cheeks warming even after everything you’d just done. “I was just curious. You’re so close. It’s hot to think about sometimes.”

Steve let out a low, surprised chuckle that vibrated through his chest. He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at you with a mix of amusement and something darker flickering in his gaze. “Baby, no. Never. We’ve been best friends since we were awkward freshmen sharing a shoebox room in the dorms. Not like that. Though I gotta admit… the way you’re looking at us right now is making me wonder what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

“Fuck no,” Bucky agreed, but his thigh tightened possessively over yours, pressing you deeper into the mattress. His fingers drifted lower, teasing through the mess between your legs, spreading it lazily. “Steve’s basically my brother. We’ve never crossed that line. We’ve shared a lot- food, clothes, even girls back in sophomore year- but never each other. Why, tutor girl? You got a dirty little fantasy brewing?”

You bit your lip, squirming under their combined attention. The casual way Bucky’s fingers kept playing with their cum, pushing some of it back inside you, made heat pool low in your belly again. “I don’t know… you’re both so you. Big, strong, protective. And you’re both mine now. It just popped into my head. Watching you two wrestle on the couch last weekend… the way you pin each other down. It made me think about what it would look like if you pinned each other for… other reasons.”

Steve’s hand slid up to cup your breast, thumb brushing lazily over your sensitive nipple. “You want to watch us together… or do you want us to try it right here, with you between us?” His voice had dropped, low and rough. “Be honest, sweetheart. No judgment. Not after what we just did to you in this tiny bed.”

Bucky smirked against your neck, nipping at a fresh hickey he’d left earlier. “You imagining me on my knees for golden boy here? Or Stevie bending me over your desk while you watch and touch yourself?” His fingers pressed deeper, two of them sliding into your slick, used cunt with obscene ease, curling just right. “Because I gotta say… the idea of making you lose your mind while we figure it out is kinda doing it for me.”

You gasped, hips twitching. “Maybe… all of it. I just think it would be so fucking hot. You two are already so in sync when you’re inside me. The way you coordinate, like you can read each other’s minds. Imagine if that extended to… touching. Kissing. More.”

Steve groaned softly, his cock twitching against your thigh where it was already starting to harden again. “Jesus, baby. You really are filthy under all those good-girl study sessions.” He leaned in, kissing you deep and slow, tongue claiming your mouth while Bucky’s fingers continued their lazy thrusting. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark. “We’ve never done it. But for you? I’d consider it. Only if Buck’s on board.”

Bucky’s smirk widened into something predatory. He withdrew his fingers and brought them to your lips, letting you taste the three of you mixed together. “You want a show, doll? Want to see your boys cross that line for the first time while you’re still dripping our cum?” He glanced over at Steve, the look between them charged now, testing. “What do you say, punk? Think you could handle my mouth on that big dick of yours while our girl watches?”

Steve’s breath hitched, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his hand tightened on your waist. “Only if you can take it as good as she does, jerk.” He looked back down at you, voice rough with fresh arousal. “This what you wanted, sweetheart? To turn your innocent curiosity into us ruining each other while we ruin you all over again?”

You nodded eagerly, heart racing as the energy in the room shifted from satisfied afterglow into something even filthier. “Yes. Please. I want to see it. I want to be part of it.”

Bucky chuckled darkly, already moving, his metal hand guiding your thigh wider. “Then spread those legs wider, baby. We’re just getting started. College is for experimenting, right?”

The three of you tangled together again, laughter mixing with moans as hands began to wander between all three bodies, boundaries blurring under the glow of the fairy lights. The wrecked dorm bed creaked beneath you, and the night was far from over.

You reached up cupping both their jaws, Steve’s smooth, strong jaw on one side, Bucky’s stubbled one on the other. Your voice came out breathy and sweet, eyes wide with lust and affection.

“I want to see you kiss.”

The air in the tiny dorm room went electric, thick with the scent of sweat, sex, and the faint laundry detergent from the sheets they’d wrecked hours ago.

Steve’s eyebrows shot up for half a second, but then that golden-boy smirk spread across his face, slow and cocky as hell. He leaned down, brushing a thumb over your bottom lip. “Oh yeah? You wanna see us kiss, sweetheart? Thought you’d never ask.” His baby blues sparkled with confidence, the same one that made half the campus swoon during his games.

Bucky let out a low, filthy chuckle right beside him, fingers tracing lazy circles on your hip. “Fuck, doll. Been waiting for you to say that. You think we’re just gonna be all shy about it? Nah. We’ll give you a show. Make it real pretty for our greedy little tutor.” He winked, voice dripping with that Brooklyn swagger, like he’d been planning this for weeks instead of hearing it for the first time.

You bit your lip, thighs pressing together at their sudden bravado. “Yeah? You’re both so sure?”

“Baby,” Steve drawled, already shifting higher on his knees, chest puffed out, “we’ve been through worse than a kiss. This is gonna be hot. You’re about to see why they call us the dream team.” He shot Bucky a look, all challenge and heat.

Bucky grinned, sharp and predatory, crawling closer until their shoulders bumped. “Damn right. C’mere, punk. Let’s give our girl what she wants.”

They leaned in like they owned the moment, cocky, sure, mouths hovering with that practiced ease they used on you. You held your breath, pussy still fluttering from the way they’d tag-teamed you earlier, bodies buzzing with anticipation.

But the second their lips actually met…

Steve pulled back first, blinking hard. “Wait- shit. That felt… weird.”

Bucky jerked away too, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes wide. “Jesus, what did you put on your lips?”

Steve blinked with a confused little laugh, still half-leaning over you. “Wha- I used one of her lip balms earlier. My lips were chappy after that long practice in the wind, alright? It’s just strawberry-”

“Dude,” Bucky groaned, making a face like he’d bitten into a lemon. He wiped his mouth again, dramatically. “Strawberries and regret, Rogers. What the hell? Tastes like you made out with a fruit salad and then rolled around in her vanilla body spray. This is weird as shit.”

Steve’s cheeks flushed bright pink under his messy blond hair. He rubbed the back of his neck, that cocky grin completely gone. “Oh come on, it’s not that bad. You’ve eaten worse things off my plate in the dining hall. Remember that tuna melt incident sophomore year?”

You giggled beneath them, the sound bubbling up despite the ache between your legs. They looked so big and ridiculous up there- two massive, naked guys suddenly awkward as teenagers.

Bucky groaned, dramatic as ever, dropping his forehead to Steve’s shoulder for a second. “This is your fault, doll. We were cocky two seconds ago and now I feel like I’m kissing my damn brother. Or worse.”

Steve shoved him lightly, but he was laughing too, the sound warm and boyish. “You’re one to talk, Buck. Your stubble’s like sandpaper. And you still taste like that cheap whiskey from the party earlier. We’re really doing this?”

You stroked their thighs, heart melting and core throbbing at the same time. “You two are the cutest idiots alive. Please? Try again? For me?”

Bucky sighed, long and theatrical, but his cock was already twitching back to life against your thigh. “Fine. But only because you look at us like that. And you’re buying us breakfast tomorrow. The good diner, not the crappy campus one.”

Steve nodded, still pink-cheeked but determined. “Yeah. For her.”

The second attempt was pure comedy. Noses bumped. Bucky tilted left when Steve went right. Their lips barely brushed before both men pulled away again, muttering curses.

“Fuck, that was worse than the time we tried double-teaming that chem lab project,” Bucky complained, wiping his mouth.

“You kiss like you’re afraid of commitment, Barnes,” Steve shot back, but his ears were red. “All teeth and no game.”

You were laughing so hard tears pricked your eyes, but your hand had slipped between your legs without thinking, rubbing slow circles over your swollen clit at the sight of them, flustered, naked, bickering like an old married couple while their bodies stayed hard and ready for you.

“Third time’s the charm?” you whispered, voice husky. “I’ll make it so worth it. That tiny black skirt you both like… no panties… all weekend.”

That got their attention. Bucky’s eyes darkened. “You drive a hard bargain, minx.”

This time they committed. Steve cupped the back of Bucky’s neck, firm and steady, and pulled him in. Their mouths met properly, soft at first, testing. Then Steve tilted his head, deepening it with a surprised, low groan that went straight to your pussy. Bucky made a wrecked noise in his throat and pushed forward, fingers digging into Steve’s broad shoulder.

It turned hungry fast. Tongues slid together, wet and exploratory, the obscene sound of lips smacking and heavy breathing filling the cramped dorm room. Steve’s hand landed on your stomach, warm and possessive, thumb stroking your skin as he kissed his best friend like he was starving. Bucky’s free hand found your breast, pinching your nipple just right while his mouth stayed locked with Steve’s.

You whimpered loudly, fingers speeding up on your clit.

That flipped the switch completely.

The awkwardness burned away in the heat. They kissed harder above you, chests brushing, muscles flexing and gleaming with sweat. Bucky’s hand trailed lower, thick fingers sliding through the cum still leaking from your well-fucked pussy, pushing two inside you easily alongside Steve’s. Steve broke the kiss just long enough to growl against Bucky’s lips, “She’s clenching so fucking hard already. Our dirty girl loves this.”

Bucky laughed breathlessly into Steve’s mouth, nipping his bottom lip hard enough to make Steve hiss. “Told you she was filthy. Look at her- rubbing that pretty clit while we make out like horny idiots.” He stroked deeper, curling his fingers just right while Steve’s thumb found your clit, taking over with slow, perfect pressure.

You moaned, arching up, free hand reaching to wrap around Steve’s thick cock. It was fully hard again, heavy and hot in your palm. Bucky noticed and grinned wickedly against Steve’s lips. “She wants more, punk. Touch me while you kiss me. Give her the full show.”

Steve didn’t hesitate this time. His big hand wrapped around Bucky’s cock, stroking him in time with the fingers fucking you. The three of you moved together, messy, filthy, perfect. Their kisses grew sloppy, tongues visibly tangling, spit-slick lips shining under the cheap dorm lamp. Every moan they shared vibrated through their bodies and into yours.

“Fuck, your hand feels different,” Bucky muttered, hips rocking forward into Steve’s grip. “Bigger. Rougher.”

“Don’t sound so surprised, jerk,” Steve replied, voice wrecked as he kissed him deeper, tongue fucking into Bucky’s mouth while his fingers scissored inside you. “You’re leaking all over my fist. She’s got us both so worked up.”

You came the first time like that, shaking, crying out their names as their combined fingers and the sight of them devouring each other sent you flying. They didn’t stop kissing through it, only slowing their hands to work you through the aftershocks, trading soft, lingering pecks mixed with filthy whispers.

When you came down, they were both staring at you with matching expressions: soft affection mixed with raw hunger.

“Best fucking girlfriend in the world,” Steve murmured, leaning down to kiss your forehead, then your lips, tasting like Bucky.

Bucky kissed you next, deeper, then pulled Steve back in for another slow, exploratory kiss right above your face. “She’s still dripping. Think she wants round two of the show while we fuck her again?”

You nodded frantically, glowing. “Kiss each other the whole time. I want to feel it when you do.”

They obliged. Steve slid back inside your pussy first, thick and perfect, stretching you open with a shared groan. Bucky positioned himself behind Steve, one hand on Steve’s hip, the other reaching around to stroke you where you were joined. But they kept kissing, messy, open-mouthed, tongues sliding as Steve started thrusting slow and deep.

The dorm bed creaked under all three of you. Bucky’s cock rubbed against Steve’s ass and your thigh with every movement, leaving wet streaks. Their moans mixed, Steve’s deep and rumbling, Bucky’s rough and edged with that Brooklyn accent. Every time their tongues met, Steve’s hips snapped harder, driving you closer to the edge again.

“God, she’s so tight when we do this,” Steve panted against Bucky’s mouth. “Feel her, Buck- put your fingers in with me.”

Bucky did, stretching you even fuller while they made out sloppily above you. You came a second time, vision whiting out, clenching around both of them as their kisses turned almost violent with need.

They kept going like that for what felt like hours, switching positions, trading who was inside you, but never stopping the kisses for long. Bucky fucked you from behind while Steve knelt in front, feeding you his cock and kissing Bucky over your shoulder. Then Steve took you missionary again, Bucky straddling your chest so you could suck him while they leaned in and kissed each other right above your face, spit and moans raining down.

Filthy comments kept spilling out between kisses:

“His mouth is actually fucking addictive,” Bucky admitted, laughing breathlessly as Steve sucked on his tongue.

“Told you I was good at everything, asshole,” Steve shot back, then bit Bucky’s lip and made him moan loud enough to probably wake the neighbors.

You lost count of your orgasms. By the end, all three of you were a sweaty, cum-covered mess tangled in the sheets. Steve and Bucky finally collapsed on either side of you, still trading lazy, soft kisses across your body, your breasts, your neck, your lips before meeting in the middle again just because you asked.

“Love you idiots so much,” you whispered, voice hoarse and happy.

Bucky nuzzled into your neck, then kissed Steve once more, slow and sweet this time. “Love you more, doll. Even if kissing this punk still feels kinda weird in the best way.”

Steve smiled, soft and sated, pulling both of you closer. “Worth every awkward second. Round three?”

You grinned. “Only if you keep kissing.”

The three of you eventually collapsed again in a sweaty, sticky pile, still buzzing with endorphins and laughter. The tiny dorm bed creaked under your combined weight as Steve reluctantly untangled himself to grab water bottles from your mini-fridge. Bucky stayed behind, lazily stroking his fingers up and down your thigh, tracing little patterns through the mess still leaking out of you.

When Steve came back, balancing three bottles, he bumped clumsily into the edge of the bed and knocked over a small cardboard box you’d stashed underneath weeks ago. A couple of worn, well-loved magazines spilled out across the floor.

You sat up on your elbows, eyes widening. “Wait… you still have those?”

Bucky glanced over and barked out a loud laugh, throwing his head back. “Shit. Our old Playboy collection. I thought we lost those during the move. Looks like they found a new home under our girl’s bed.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, equal parts embarrassed and amused, his cheeks flushing that adorable pink again. “We were like nineteen and horny as hell, okay? Don’t judge us, sweetheart. It was before you tamed us.”

You reached down and picked one up, flipping it open with shaky fingers. The glossy pages showed beautiful, barely-dressed women in seductive poses, lacy lingerie barely covering full breasts, long legs spread teasingly, sultry eyes staring back at the camera. You bit your lip hard, flipping slowly. Your thighs pressed together as fresh heat pooled low in your belly, your sore, used pussy giving a needy little throb.

Bucky noticed immediately, his sharp eyes narrowing with delight. “Ohhh, look at that face. You getting wet again already, baby? Just from looking at pretty girls?”

Steve leaned in closer from your other side, voice low and teasing as he handed you a water bottle. “You like looking at pretty girls, sweetheart? Didn’t know our innocent little tutor had a secret thing for soft curves and lace. That’s cute as hell.”

“I- I just…” You turned another page, cheeks burning hot. The model on this spread was gorgeous, voluptuous hips, perfect tits barely contained by sheer fabric, lips parted like she was mid-moan. Your nipples tightened and you shifted restlessly. “They’re really pretty. Like… really pretty.”

Bucky grinned, propping his chin on your shoulder so he could look at the magazine with you, his breath hot against your ear. “You ever think about doing anything with a girl? Like… Nat, maybe? She’s always in those tight little tank tops when you two study. Bet she’d look real good between your thighs.”

Your head snapped up. “Bucky!”

Steve chuckled warmly, sliding back onto the bed and caging you in from the other side, one massive arm wrapping around your waist. “Come on, don’t get shy now, baby. You just made us kiss like horny teenagers. Fair’s fair. You ever thought about Nat like that? She’s hot as hell. We’ve seen the way you two giggle and whisper during those late-night study sessions.”

You hid your face in your hands, but you were smiling, thighs rubbing together as slick heat continued to build. “You two are the worst. I can’t believe you’re teasing me about this after what I just watched you do. You were literally making out while fingering me.”

Bucky gently pulled your hands away, kissing your knuckles with surprising sweetness before nipping at one. “Hey, we’re not complaining at all. You look so fucking cute all flustered and turned on. Your nipples are so hard right now. Keep looking if you want, doll. We’ll watch. Hell, we’ll help.”

Steve’s big, warm hand slid up your inner thigh, spreading your legs a little wider as he kissed your temple. “Or tell us what you’re thinking about while you flip through those pages, sweetheart. We can make it part of the lesson. Tell us which girl is making that pretty pussy clench.”

You peeked at them through your fingers, still sticky and sore but undeniably, shamefully aroused again. The sight of your two naked, flushed, muscular boyfriends, cocks half-hard against their thighs, looking at you like you were the center of their universe, combined with the glossy, filthy magazines in your lap made your head spin.

“Maybe… I’ve thought about it a little,” you admitted quietly, voice trembling as you flipped to the next page. This model was on her knees, ass up, looking back over her shoulder. You whimpered softly. “Not Nat specifically, but… girls are so pretty. Their bodies are so soft and curvy. I wonder what it would feel like to… touch.”

Bucky’s grin turned wicked and hungry. He reached over and turned the page for you, revealing a stunning redhead with her legs spread wide. “That’s our girl. Always full of filthy little surprises. Look at you getting worked up. Your thighs are shaking, baby.”

Steve’s fingers teased higher, brushing lightly over your swollen, leaking folds. “You’re soaked again just from looking at tits and pussy. That’s so fucking hot, sweetheart. You want to touch a girl’s soft tits while we watch? Or maybe you want one to sit on your face while we fuck you?”

You moaned quietly, hips twitching toward Steve’s hand as you kept flipping pages, eyes glued to the images. Bucky leaned in and sucked a mark onto your neck while his metal hand cupped one of your breasts, rolling your nipple.

“Tell us more,” Bucky murmured against your skin, voice dripping with teasing amusement. “Which one’s your favorite? The blonde with the big tits? Or the brunette who looks like she’d eat you out real slow and sweet?”

“I… I like the way they look so confident,” you breathed, voice getting higher and needier. Another page. Another gorgeous woman touching herself. Your clit was throbbing. “They’re so sexy. I feel all warm and tingly just looking…”

Steve chuckled darkly, sliding two thick fingers back inside your messy cunt, curling them perfectly. “Listen to you. Our innocent tutor is dripping down my hand because of some magazine tits. You ever watch girl-on-girl porn, baby? Bet that would really get you going.”

You whimpered loudly, clenching hard around his fingers as you turned another page with shaky hands. The images were blurring together now, lips, curves, fingers disappearing between thighs. You were so worked up you could barely think straight.

“I… I don’t even watch normal porn,” you confessed in a tiny, embarrassed voice, cheeks flaming.

The room went quiet for half a second.

Bucky pulled back, eyes wide with genuine surprise before a massive, predatory grin split his face. “Oh shit… yeah, I forgot. Our sweet little good-girl doesn’t even watch porn. Fuck, that’s adorable and so goddamn hot.”

Steve’s fingers stilled inside you for a moment, then started moving again, slower and deeper, his voice dropping into a rough growl. “You serious, sweetheart? You get this worked up just from looking at magazines and making us kiss? No porn at all?”

You nodded frantically, biting your lip hard as another wave of heat crashed through you. Your hips rocked shamelessly against Steve’s hand, chasing the pleasure while your eyes stayed glued to the magazine in your lap. The latest page showed two women tangled together, lips locked, hands exploring soft curves. A broken whimper slipped out of you.

“I’ve never… needed it,” you admitted breathlessly, voice high and shaky. “I just… get like this with you two. And now… with them. They’re so soft and pretty and- ah!”

Bucky laughed low and filthy, nipping at your earlobe while his fingers joined Steve’s between your legs. Circling your swollen clit with perfect pressure. “Listen to her, Steve. Our innocent little tutor’s never watched porn but she’s soaked just imagining girl-on-girl. Bet you’ve had some real dirty thoughts during those late-night study sessions, haven’t you, baby?”

Steve leaned in and kissed your neck sweetly before sucking a fresh mark right below your ear. “Tell us, sweetheart. Be honest. When you’re alone in this dorm bed, do you ever touch this needy little cunt and think about pretty girls kissing? About soft tits in your hands? About a girl going down on you while we watch?”

“Yes- fuck- maybe,” you gasped, flipping to another page with trembling fingers. This one had a gorgeous dark-haired woman touching herself, head thrown back in pleasure. Your thighs started shaking. “I… I think about how their skin would feel. How they’d taste. It makes me so wet but I never… I never finish to it. I just get all worked up and then you two come over and-”

“And we fuck the thoughts right out of you?” Bucky finished, voice dripping with teasing delight. He pressed his metal fingers harder against your clit, rubbing tight circles while Steve fucked you deeper with three thick fingers now. “Poor baby. So pent-up and curious. Never even seen girls eating each other out on video. That’s criminal. We should fix that.”

You moaned loudly, the sound downright pornographic in the small dorm room. The combination of their filthy words, their hands working you open, and the glossy images of beautiful, naked women had you right on the edge. Your free hand grabbed Bucky’s thigh, nails digging in as your back arched.

Steve kissed your temple, sweet and loving even as his fingers curled relentlessly. “You’re clenching so hard, baby. You really like this, don’t you? Looking at pretty girls while your boys play with you. So cute and filthy at the same time.”

Bucky grinned against your neck, voice low and taunting. “Bet if we put on some girl-on-girl porn right now you’d come in seconds, huh? Our pure little tutor losing her mind over lesbian shit while we finger-fuck her. Say it, doll. Tell us how bad you want it.”

“I- I want-” Your words cut off into a desperate whine as they sped up, perfectly in sync like always. The magazine slipped from your fingers onto the bed as your head fell back against Steve’s shoulder.

Bucky leaned in close, lips brushing your ear, voice dark and promising. “Well, damn. Then we’re definitely going to have to do something about that…”

— yours truly, ѕℓυtdιεr.

masterlist

Roommate!Bucky who stares at the way your tits bounce as you jump up suddenly. Remembering what you had planned for the evening. Who looks at your ass sway in those tiny fucking shorts as you rush to your room.

Roommate!Bucky who smiles all big and wide as you bring out a plastic box with a hundred different kinds of beads and charms and strings. The way your face lights up during times like this, it's almost enough to keep the dirty thoughts away.

Roommate!Bucky whose heart threatens to burst out of his chest with how hard it's beating when you take his hand and place it in your lap. so very near to your clothed cunt. so close all he'd do was curl his fingers and he'd be met with your wet, drippy heat, all ready to welcome him in.

Roommate!Bucky who enjoys the feeling of your smaller hands trying to measure the size of his wrist. He is so much bigger than you, could do so many things to you, and you'd just take them, right?

Roommate!Bucky who goes to bed that night with smooth blue and green beads clad on his wrist. Who still feels your soft touch on his, as you put the bracelet on him, telling him just how pretty he looked with it on. How it matches his eyes just right.

Roommate!Bucky who takes the bracelet off, the beads rolling on his skin, before putting it back on--the smooth glass sliding with ease.

Roommate!Bucky who sheds away his boxers, kicking them off to somewhere towards the end of his bed.

Roommate!Bucky who takes off the bracelet yet again, only to place it on top of his hard cock, coating the beads in the precum that leaked out.

Roommate!Bucky who rolls the bracelet up and down, the sensation of the glass pressing in against his throbbing cock making his eyes roll back into his head.

Roommate!Bucky who laughs at how this bracelet was especially made for him, how you made it with so much love, just to make him cum tonight.

Roommate!Bucky who looks at the way the string threatens to snap when he reaches the base, the bracelet too small to fully take him all in.

Roommate!Bucky who cums harder than he's ever before and paints the blue and green in thick, hot spurts of white. Looking at the sticky mess for a long time, before deciding to let it stay like that, not wiping away the remnants of his deed.

Roommate!Bucky who smiles and hugs you the next morning, showering you with praises about your pretty blue dress, sliding the bracelet on your wrist.

"Just fits so good, angel."

yes i know this isn't a fic and it doesn't make sense. This was written in 15 minutes and with no intention to actually make sense. I'm still tagging everyone cus... it's bucky hehe🤭🤭

Roommate!Bucky who apologises. "Shoot--sorry, angel...didn't mean to." He absolutely did mean to. Who tells you, oh so concerned, to go take a shower. That you'll feel better once you're all nice and clean.

Roommate!Bucky who, once the water starts running, palms his bulge through his sweatpants. Who walks in your room—hand still on his cock, the image of the wet, transparent fabric clinging to your breasts still in his mind.

Roommate!Bucky who looks for your worn panties in the pile of clothes near your bed. The grey one with the black bows on it. The one he knew you were wearing because he saw them peeking out when you leaned down.

Roommate!Bucky who immediately brings them up to his face, breathing in your scent. Who licks a long stripe up the fabric, tasting whatever he could of your essence while getting rid of his sweatpants and boxers to free his throbbing cock.

Roommate!Bucky who falls down on your bed, panties held tight to his face as he starts stroking his cock; who's head falls back as he chokes on a moan, your soft pillows muffling any sounds that threatened to escape.

Roommate!Bucky who imagines his cock in between your breasts, how he'd play with your nipples— twist and pull at them as he'd thrust up and down.

Roommate!Bucky who knew, right when the water turned off that he had 10 minutes, give or take, before you came back. 10 minutes of you lathering up your soft body in those sweet lotions and oils, your hands caressing and massaging them in. Who wishes it was his hands instead.

Roommate!Bucky who stops stroking his cock, turns and looks at the little wooden nightstand. The nights he spent hearing your panting and whimpering over the consistent little buzz meant only one thing.

Roommate!Bucky who held the purple vibrator in his hands—comically small in his huge hands. Who grins, as if he's found a treasure, biting his lip as he brings it up to his mouth for a taste.

Roommate!Bucky who sucks on the blunt silicone end, tiny, gentle kitten licks. It touched your precious little clit, brought you orgasms—was soaked in your juices as you writhed and thrashed around on the bedsheets like a pathetic slut, and god...he just wanted a taste of it.

Roommate!Bucky who turns the toy on. A bzzzz bzzzz! filling the room. Who encloses it completely in his fist, feeling the vibrations travel through his body.

Roommate!Bucky who smirks at the thought of you getting off with something as small as this. Did you know just how fucking massive he is? Would you even be able to take all of him?

Roommate!Bucky who drags the buzzing vibrator across his chest, lingering on one nipple. Interesting...

Roommate!Bucky who keeps going, down and down and down till he reaches where his cock stands proud and leaking and blushing a shade so red it looked like it hurt. And it did. It hurt so fucking bad for him to not be inside of you.

Roommate!Bucky who presses the toy to his cockhead, his hips immediately jerking off the bed at the sudden, intense sensation.

"Fucking shi—"

Roommate!Bucky who does it gently this time, just a whisper of a touch, getting used to the strange feeling of the vibrations.

Roommate!Bucky who feels brave now. Slow, controlled circles teasing at his slit, each dribble of precum that leaks out making each pass easier than the last.

Roommate!Bucky who drags your vibrator up and down his cock, the waves travelling deep and reaching something he didn't even knew existed. He'd never felt anything like it before.

Roommate!Bucky who believes this is technically a pussy job. It rubbed at your pussy, and it's rubbing at his cock. A pussy job at it's finest.

Roommate!Bucky who cums so fucking hard at the thought of your pussy touching his cock. At the way the vibrations never seemed to stop hitting just right. At the way you were now almost done with your after shower-ly routines and about to enter the room in a minute and a half.

Roommate!Bucky who leaves the cum soaked vibrator underneath your pillow. A little extra lube never hurt anyone, right?

hehe

He did it like he was admitting to a terrible flaw instead of looking at you with those beautiful blue eyes and telling you he wanted you all the fucking time.

“I’m not exactly normal about… sex,” he’d said, thumb dragging over your wrist. “The serum changed things. Stamina. Appetite. Um… drive.”

Your mouth had twitched into a smile. “Appetite?”

His ears had gone pink, but he held your stare. “Yeah.”

You had looked him up and down, shameless enough to make his teeth clench.

“Hm,” you’d said. “We’ll see about that.”

Bucky had been so sure. He really thought the serum meant that he’d have to tone it down. 

Then, after months of being friends with benefits, he learned what you were like when you were in a relationship. 

You might have an even higher sex drive.

You’re not exactly louder about it. Sometimes you were sweet. Domestic and barefoot in the kitchen, wearing one of his shirts, humming into your coffee like you hadn’t dragged him in bed three times yesterday.

But then you’d look at him over the rim of your mug.

That look.

Bucky would recognise the mischief in your eyes low in his stomach before you even opened your mouth.

“Buck,” you’d say, soft and sweet.

And he’d groan like a man already defeated.

“Again?” he asked once, voice rough, half laughing into the crook of your neck while you climbed into his lap like the answer was obvious.

You blinked at him, looking at him with innocent eyes and bare thighs bracketing his hips. “Is that a no?”

His hands tightened on your waist so fast it gave him away.

“No,” he said immediately. “No, of course it’s not a no.”

You smiled, smug and pretty, and rocked down against him until his head tipped back against the couch.

Bucky had been tortured, frozen, shot at, thrown through walls.

Nothing humbled him like you wanting him.

You got him messy. Everyone thought Bucky Barnes was disciplined, but you got him undone.

You got his mouth open. You got his hair ruined. You got his metal hand gripping the couch hard enough to make the frame creak while his flesh hand slid between your legs and found you already soaked for him.

“Jesus,” he breathed, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You hummed, pleased, rolling your hips against him. “I thought you had enhanced stamina.”

His laugh came out broken. “I do.”

“Then keep up.”

His eyes went dark.

“Yeah?” he murmured, and the next second he had you under him, your back pressed into the cushions, his body heavy between your thighs. “That what you want?”

You reached down, wrapped your hand around him and watched his eyes nearly roll back. 

Every time, that was your favourite part.

That ruined, hungry look when he pushed inside you and had to pause like he was praying for control he didn’t have. Not that you even wanted it.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

You smiled against his mouth, moving around him just to feel the shudder move through his whole body.

“Still think the serum makes you special?”

Bucky groaned, dropping his forehead to yours.

Then he started moving.

Slow at first, because he was still your Bucky, because your pleasure was a mission he intended to complete with military precision. But then you hooked your legs around his waist and pulled him deeper, and the sound he made was almost inhuman.

“You’re greedy,” he said, kissing your jaw, your throat, and the corner of your mouth.

“You love it.”

His hips snapped forward harder, and you gasped.

His mouth brushed your ear.

“Fuck,” he admitted, voice low. “I do.”

Boy did he love being wrong about your sex drive. 

He loved that you wanted him past the point of reason. He loved that you could make a super soldier sweat, make his thighs shake, make him press his face into your neck and laugh breathlessly.

He loved dragging you into bed after dinner because he had looked at you too long. Loved waking up to your mouth on his throat and your hand sliding beneath the waistband of his sweats. Loved the mornings where he ended up late because you had tugged him back by the chain of his dog tags and whispered, “One more.”

One more was never one more. Bucky learned that quickly. Not that he would have it any other way.

And every single time, he pretended to complain. He’d groan your name, call you trouble, tell you that you were going to get him fired from the new avengers, as if they could ever afford to fire him.

Still, his hands would already be on your waist, his mouth already open against your skin.

He would already be hard again, heavy and flushed between your thighs, because the truth was embarrassingly simple:

Bucky thought he had a high sex drive. Then he met yours. 

He realised, very quickly, that he had been outmatched.

—

❝ p*rnstar ❞ by @superbassbuck — 08.30.25 ⇢ cam!bucky x reader

you’ve never had sex before, still untouched and completely inexperienced. But when you stumble across bucky’s porn channel—you quickly become his number one fan. you’re always in his comments, always in his chats, and never expecting it to go anywhere beyond the screen.

luckily for bucky, your social media is linked to your account, making it easy for him to find you.

❝ cabernet ❞ by @blowingbarnes — 08.31.25 ⇢ virgin!bucky x reader

you decided to raid your mom’s wine cabinet and your feet took you to the fire escape right outside of bucky’s room. when everyone is home.

❝ intoxicated ❞ by @its-in-the-woods — 09.01.25 ⇢ stalker!bucky x reader

old habits are hard to break. when bucky finds himself in a new place, looking to start over, he reaches for an old comfort. he thinks he won't cross that line again, won't become infatuated with you. but what happens when you want him too?

❝ white coat syndrome ❞ by @firingstars — 09.02.25 ⇢ doctor!bucky x patient!reader

a phenomenon exists where a person’s blood pressure will rise when measured in a clinical setting, but is recorded as normal when measured at home or elsewhere. you’ve never been the type to feel anxious in medical establishments, but with your pcp retiring and transferring your care to her trusted colleague, you end up visiting your new doctor’s office more times in the last three months than you’ve ever had in the past year. 

❝ hot to go ❞ by @opheliabbarnes — 09.03.25 ⇢ firefighter!bucky x reader

what melts the cold firefighter? hint, it's not the fire.

the brush of a sundress against his arm. maybe even a pool cue hitting his chest repeatedly, held by a woman half his age. it's being seen, not looked at. it's a warmth that doesn't burn, but just thaws, enough to show love can be found in the most unexpected places. the sound of a story about something small and fussy and loved.

❝ the merger ❞ by @chateaubarnes — 09.04.25 ⇢ ceo!bucky x reader

thunderbolt records is the number one music label in the country, and bucky barnes is its founder. you, his loyal assistant, have worked under him for years, doing your best to hide your growing feelings for him, which is made harder due to the fact that he spoils you with lavish gifts constantly for a job well done. you try to brush it off as nothing more than a generous boss showing appreciation for his staff, but when the presents keep piling up on your desk, you finally decide to confront him. what you expect to be a simple, professional conversation takes an unexpected turn when he looks you in the eye and says: “you’re my girl. i don’t need excuses to spoil my girl.”

❝ five-oh! ❞ by @barnesonly — 09.05.25 ⇢ cop!bucky x reader

small town life always felt suffocating, but nothing could prepare you for sheriff james buchanan barnes showing up at your door. everyone in town knows he owns it—owns you, too, if he decides to.

❝ smoke screens and sweet saccharine things ❞ by @flockoff-featherface — 09.06.25 ⇢ mob!bucky x reader

bucky barnes, known mob boss, has been hiding a secret, just a little too long for even his own liking.

❝ sugar tits ❞ by @54nboo — 09.07.25 ⇢ chef!bucky x waitress!reader

chef james barnes doesn’t like when the waitress parades around the restaurant for tips, and he really doesn’t like it when she lets the men think they have a chance with her.

❝ interrogation tactics ❞ by @heldbybarnes — 09.08.25 ⇢ mean!bucky x reader

bucky doesn’t want mission intel—he wants your secrets. tied up and trembling, you confess every filthy thought as he edges you mercilessly, smirking, “guess you don’t want it that bad.” one orgasm is all he gives you—and you thank him for it.

❝ touchdown ❞ by @earthsmightiestbenders — 09.09.25 ⇢ football!bucky x reader

The Liberty Knights—Brooklyn Western Academy's all-star football team—are on a winning streak. Not that you care. Except that you're forced to be at every. single. game. It doesn't help that your lab partner—Bucky Barnes—is the number one linebacker in the state. And that you have to play the school song after every touchdown he makes. And maybe you can't help but stare at his ass when he's bent over…

❝ wild about you ❞ by @wildflowersandvibranium — 09.10.25 ⇢ zookeeper!bucky x reader

what’s wilder than a zoo, filled with twenty 2nd graders? the unexpected sparks that arise between their teacher and the charming zookeeper.

❝ operator, put your clothes back on ❞ by @rosesaints — 09.11.25 ⇢ phone sex operator!bucky x reader

thank you for calling the stark naked hotline, where discretion is guaranteed and satisfaction is expected. our operators are trained to meet your every need—conversational or otherwise—and our private line is always open, especially after dark.

this isn’t your typical customer service experience. but then again, bucky barnes isn’t your typical employee.

alternatively: press 3 if you’re already wet.

❝ cherry on top ❞ by @iamthatonefangirl — 09.12.25 ⇢ enemies with benefits!bucky x reader

you and bucky barnes have always been… complicated, to say the least.

but it’s really not complicated at all: you hate his guts with a passion, and he hates yours.

maybe that’s why you started sleeping together—to take out your hatred on one another in the most efficient way plausible.

it’s just the cherry on top that he’s hopelessly in love with you.

❝ the vocal economy ❞ by @houseofhyde — 09.13.25 ⇢ rockstar!bucky x popstar!reader

Then three knocks came. Sharp and heavy.

You moved your feet to the door and your stomach sank even before you opened it.

Officer James Barnes stood on your porch, leaning on the frame like he owned it. The uniform clung tight across his chest, his badge glinting in the light, and the shadow of his cap cut across eyes that were already looking you over.

“Well, ain’t this cozy,” he drawled, his gaze flicking past you into your kitchen. “Smells good.”

You tightened your grip on the door, pulse skipping. “Can I help you, Officer?”

He tilted his head, smirking. “Funny thing. Got a call about some noise comin’ from this place. Neighbors say you’ve been a little… disruptive.” His voice was lazy, thick with amusement.

You frowned. “I was just cooking dinner.”

“Mm.” He stepped closer, close enough that you had to step back or let him brush against you. “Guess I better check things out myself. Can’t ignore a complaint.”

He didn’t wait for permission. Just pushed past you, boots heavy against your floorboards, filling your little kitchen with the smell of smoke and whiskey.

“Nice place,” he said, slow, deliberate, as his eyes slid over the counter, the stove… and then back to you. “Shame if a girl like you ended up on the wrong side of the law.”

Your arms folded across your chest, though it didn’t do much to steady the nerves crawling up your spine. “What is that supposed to mean? I haven’t done anything.”

Bucky’s tongue pressed against his cheek as he gave a slow nod, like he was humoring you. His eyes didn’t leave yours, though, sharp under the brim of his cap.

“Sure,” he said finally, voice low and easy. “That’s what they all say.”

He drifted closer to the counter, his fingers brushing along the edge like he was inspecting it, like it was evidence. He picked up your glass of wine, swirled it once, then set it back down with a soft clink.

“You know how it works in a place like this, don’t you, sweetheart?” His smile was too wide, too knowing. “Doesn’t really matter if you’ve done somethin’. All it takes is me writing it down.”

Your throat tightened. “You can’t just—”

“Can’t? Darlin’, I’m the law here.” His lips curved slow and cruel, an expression that wasn’t a smile so much as a warning. 

You froze. The word died in your throat, leaving only the sound of your pulse hammering in your ears.

For a moment, nothing happened. Just the weight of his eyes on you, heavy, deliberate. You couldn’t even tell if he was waiting for an answer or simply enjoying the way your nerves were unraveling.

And then the truth hit you.

It didn’t matter what you had or hadn’t done. In this town, his word was enough. Every shopkeeper tipped their hat when he walked by. Every neighbor lowered their voice when his cruiser rolled down the street. People looked away because it was easier. Because he owned this place, street by street, door by door.

Your little house wasn’t any different.

The smirk stayed on his face, as if he could hear the thoughts tumbling through your head. As if he already knew you were realizing just how small you were here—and how large his shadow really was.

He shifted his weight forward, one boot scraping against the tile as he took a slow, deliberate step closer.

Instinctively, you moved back, the counter biting into your spine as you tried to create even the smallest sliver of space. But there wasn’t much kitchen left to retreat into—he knew it, you knew it.

“That’s the problem with girls like you,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, smoother, as if he were letting you in on some private joke. “You think you’ve got choices.”

Your palms pressed against the counter, fingers curling tight around the edge. His nearness smelled of leather and stale smoke, the metallic tang of his badge catching the light just inches from you.

“You keep tellin’ yourself you’re safe ‘cause you haven’t done nothin’ wrong.” He leaned just enough that the brim of his cap shadowed your face, forcing your eyes up to his. “But safe? Safe don’t exist here. Not unless I say so.”

The words slid through you, cold and certain, and for a heartbeat you hated yourself for noticing the way he didn’t even raise his voice. He didn’t have to. Every syllable felt like it was backed by the whole town—the quiet streets, the neighbors who wouldn’t meet your eyes, the sheriff’s cruiser parked like a sentinel.

And now, him.

He smirked again, slower this time, like he could feel your chest tighten against the press of his presence. “That’s right,” he whispered. “You’re startin’ to understand.”

Your heels bumped the cupboards, the last bit of retreat gone. He kept moving until his chest nearly brushed yours, until the air itself seemed to thicken with his closeness.

You turned your face away, desperate to focus on anything but the weight of his gaze but his hand came up fast, calloused fingers gripping your chin. The pressure wasn’t bruising, not yet, but it was unyielding as he forced your head back toward him.

“Mm-mm,” he drawled, his thumb pressing against the line of your jaw. “Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

Your breath caught, sharp and shallow, as his cruel smile deepened.

“See, I been watchin’ you a while now,” he said, slow and deliberate, every word dripping with the satisfaction of finally speaking it aloud. “Out on your porch with your laundry. Walkin’ through town with that little sway in your step. Those pretty dresses you like to wear—don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

His eyes dragged down over you, lingering, devouring.

“You tempt a man without even tryin’,” he murmured, leaning closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “And you think that don’t come with consequences?”

Your throat worked as you tried to breathe, his grip on your chin making it impossible to look anywhere but into those sharp blue eyes.

“Well?” he coaxed, voice dipping lower, darker. “You gonna tell me you didn’t want my attention? Hm? After all the times you paraded yourself ‘round town in those little slutty dresses?”

The words burned, humiliating, but the worst part was the flicker of truth they struck inside you.

Well, yeah. Maybe you did have a little crush on him. Maybe you did straighten your posture when you saw his cruiser on Main Street. Maybe you did linger on your porch just a little longer, hoping he’d glance your way. He was handsome. Powerful. And when his eyes landed on you, it made your stomach flip in ways you couldn’t explain.

But this? His hand on your chin, his body caging you in, his voice dripping ownership…  

You hadn’t asked for this.

Your lips parted, the confession tumbling out small, shaky. “I… I wanted you to notice me, but—”

He huffed, satisfaction flashing across his face like he’d just won something. He leaned in closer, his breath ghosting your lips.

“Knew it,” he murmured. “Knew you were temptin’ me on purpose. Little tease.”

His chest pressed flush to yours now, the counter digging into your back as if the kitchen itself were conspiring to trap you. You tried to shift sideways, but his body followed, closing every escape before you could even think of it.

And then you felt it—him—hard, thick, pressing against your hip through the stiff fabric of his uniform. Your breath caught, shame flooding hot in your veins.

He knew you felt it. That smug smirk deepened, his grip on your chin firming as he angled your face just so.

“Pretty girl,” he drawled, the words a mockery of tenderness. “You went and got me all worked up, didn’t you? Walkin’ ‘round, makin’ me think about what’s under that fabric.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, but his thumb brushed your jaw, forcing them open again.

“Don’t look away now,” he murmured, voice a low rasp. “Not after you begged for my eyes on you all this time. You wanted me to notice… and I did.”

His hips shifted, grinding just enough for you to feel the thick press of him again.

“You feel that?” he murmured, his lips brushing close to your ear. “You feel what you did to me?”

Your pulse thudded in your neck. You closed your eyes again for a quick moment, hoping this was just a cruel dream. Just a nightmare you’d wake up from soon.

It wasn’t.

He chuckled low, dark, the sound vibrating through his chest against yours. “Couldn’t take it anymore. You lookin’ so damn sweet, makin’ me hard every time I laid eyes on you.” His hand slid from your chin to your throat, his thumb resting just under your jaw.

“That’s why I’m here, pretty girl. Had to come all this way ‘cause I can’t take you teasin’ me any longer. You pushed me too far.”

His hand left your throat only to trail down, rough palm skimming the fabric of your dress before tugging it upward, inch by inch. The hem rose over your thighs, the cool air of the kitchen brushing bare skin where it shouldn’t.

You jerked, pressing back into the counter as if you could melt into it, but his body caged you in tight, unmovable. His other hand clamped down on your thigh, the weight of it hot and heavy, spreading you just enough that the threat was clear.

“Look at you,” he rasped, eyes drinking in every flicker of panic on your face. “Tryin’ to act innocent, but we both know better.” His fingers dug in, a bruising reminder of who held control.

“You’re gonna admit it,” he whispered, leaning close enough for his breath to drag hot across your cheek. “Gonna say you wanted me. That you’ve been beggin’ for this.”

The pressure of his hand on your thigh burned, creeping higher.

“Go on, pretty girl. Take the blame.” His smirk twisted cruel. “Tell me this is all your fault.”

“Please…” Your voice cracked, small and desperate. “Please, don’t—”

His grip on your thigh tightened, and suddenly his voice snapped sharp, cutting through the air like a whip.

“Say it!”

You flinched at the sound, tears springing hot to your eyes. They spilled before you could stop them, rolling down your cheeks as your chest heaved against his.

“Don’t make me drag it out of you,” he snarled, his face so close you could see the cold glint in his eyes beneath the brim of his cap. “I don’t want beggin’. I don’t want excuses, you hear me?”

You nodded frantically, tears blurring your vision, desperate for anything that would make him stop, make him ease up.

His expression softened into something sickeningly sweet, lips curling as though your fear pleased him. “Good girl,” he murmured, his hand leaving your thigh just long enough to stroke over your hair, slow and patronizing.

The touch made your stomach twist, but you stayed frozen, too scared to move.

“Now,” he coaxed, voice low, almost tender, “tell me you wanted it. Tell me you’ve been wantin’ me to come here and take what’s mine.”

Your lips trembled, the words clogging in your throat. You didn’t want to say it—God, you didn’t—but his hand was still tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to remind you he could make it hurt. His body loomed over yours, every inch of him pressing in until you could hardly breathe.

“I…” the sound broke apart, but you forced it out, trembling. “I wanted it.”

The smirk returned, triumphant.

“There she is,” he whispered, thumb brushing your damp cheek as if wiping away tears he’d put there. 

His hand slid lower again, dragging the hem of your dress higher until his fingers found the thin barrier of your panties. You jolted at the first press of his touch, a sharp flinch that made him chuckle against your ear.

“Shh…” His voice dripped with false comfort. His palm flattened, keeping you pinned in place. “Stay still for me. Be a good girl.”

You squirmed, legs trembling as his body caged you, leaving you nowhere to go. His fingers stroked slowly over the damp fabric, mocking in their unhurried insistence, and your breath caught in your throat.

“There we go,” he drawled, lips curling as his touch pressed firmer, deliberate. “So wet already…”

The words shattered something in you. The tears came harder, hot streaks down your face as you shook your head. “No—please, stop, I don’t want this, please—”

But he didn’t budge. If anything, his weight pressed you harder against the counter, the edge digging into your back.

“Shh,” he muttered, not even looking at your face now, his attention fixed on the way his fingers toyed with you.

They hooked under the elastic and shoved your panties aside, the cold air brushing where it shouldn’t.

You gasped, body jerking, but his hand was already there—touching your slick folds, sliding through your wetness like your pleas meant nothing.

“Goddamn—” he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. “Listen to you beg… while your pretty pussy says somethin’ else entirely.”

His fingers moved in slow, deliberate strokes, sliding over your cunt with a sickening patience, never rushing, never relenting and each pass made your stomach twist tighter.

“There now…” his voice dipped softer, cooing like he was soothing a frightened animal. “That ain’t so bad, is it? Just me takin’ care of you.”

You sobbed, shaking your head, but he only hushed you while his other hand kept spreading you open.

“Don’t cry, pretty girl,” he whispered, lips curling against your temple. “Nothin’ to be scared of. I’ll be gentle if you just stay still for me.”

Your body tensed, but his palm pressed firmer on your stomach, keeping you right where he wanted you, forcing you to take every languid touch as though it was inevitable.

His hand shifted higher, finding the swollen nub of your clit, and the touch made your whole body jolt. A sharp gasp tore from your throat, your knees nearly giving under you.

Instinct betrayed you—you clutched at him, hands fisting into the stiff fabric of his uniform just to keep yourself upright.

Bucky chuckled low, smug and steady, his fingers circling that sensitive spot with obscene care. “Easy now…” he murmured, his breath brushing your ear. “That’s it. I’ve got you.”

He acted like he was doing you some kind of favor, like this was protection instead of violation.

But inside, all you wanted was for him to stop. The shame was unbearable, heat flooding through you where his touch worked you over, your mind screaming against the pull of your own body. You clung tighter, not out of want, but out of desperation—because there was nowhere else to go.

And he knew it.

“See?” he cooed, voice soft, mocking. “Feels good when you stop fightin’ me.”

Your breath hitched, your whole body trembling as his fingers circled you with agonizing slowness. “Please… please, stop. I’ll do anything.”

For a moment he stilled, the heat of his hand heavy between your thighs. Then he gave a soft, mocking tsk, shaking his head like you were a child who still didn’t understand the rules.

“I know you will,” he murmured, his mouth curving into a slow, satisfied smirk. His thumb brushed one last time over your clit, gentle as a caress, but his words cut sharper than any cruelty. “That’s the way it’s gonna be, pretty girl. You’ll do anything I ask.”

And then—without warning—his hand shifted, two thick fingers driving inside you in one harsh thrust.

You cried out, the sudden stretch burning, your back arching as pain shot through you.

“Just like that,” he rasped, grinding his palm hard against your clit, his fingers buried deep. “You’ll take what I give you.”

You whimpered, clutching at his uniform in panic, but he only pressed closer.

“Not so innocent now, are you, pretty girl?”

You wanted to die. Wanted to melt into the floor, disappear into nothing where no one could see you, where no one could touch you again. Every nerve screamed, every instinct begged you to run, to fight, to do anything—but your body was frozen under his weight. You couldn’t move, couldn’t stop him, couldn’t even stop the sick heat pooling between your legs that betrayed the terror in your chest.

You wanted him dead. Wanted him gone. You hated him for making you feel like this, for making your body respond when all you wanted was to scream, to curl into yourself and vanish. And yet… even as the tears streamed down your cheeks, even as your sobs caught in your throat, even as your chest heaved with humiliation and fear, your body betrayed you.

It was like being trapped inside a stranger’s skin. Every shiver that wracked your limbs, every involuntary quiver at his touch, every gasp you couldn’t choke back made you hate yourself more. You weren’t safe. You weren’t strong. You weren’t even yourself anymore. 

You were just so fucking scared.

His fingers pumped hard, curling inside you until your legs buckled. Every thrust sent a sharp ache twisting into a heat you hated, a sick pulse you couldn’t stop.

“Yeah,” he growled against your ear, his palm grinding down on your pussy with every movement. “Feel that? Your pussy’s takin’ me so good.”

You shook your head, sobs tearing out of your chest, but your hips twitched despite yourself, a helpless stutter forward into his hand.

“Look at you,” he mocked, voice thick with satisfaction. “Cryin’, beggin’ me to stop—and squeezin’ my fingers like you don’t ever wanna let go.”

“Please, Officer—” you gasped, but the word came out strangled, broken, your body betraying every plea.

“Shh, babygirl,” he cooed, thrusting his fingers deeper, faster. “Can’t lie to me. I can feel the truth right here.” His thumb pressed cruelly over your clit, circling hard until your knees nearly gave. 

His pace slowed, then stopped, his fingers slipping wet and shining from your body. You sagged against the counter, chest heaving with your cries, relief flickering for only a second before you saw where his hand was going.

He held his fingers up between you, slick with your arousal, his eyes burning into yours.

“Open,” he ordered, voice low, commanding.

Your stomach dropped. You shook your head hard, turning your face away. “N-no, please—”

His hand caught your jaw in an iron grip, fingers digging into your cheeks as he forced your head back toward him. “Don’t make me say it twice,” he growled, shoving his soaked fingers against your lips.

You clenched your mouth shut, tears spilling faster as you twisted away, but he pressed harder, his grip unyielding.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he mocked, voice thick with cruelty. “You’re not too shy now, are you? Taste what you’ve been beggin’ me for.”

When you still resisted, his thumb pinched your nose, cutting off your breath until instinct made your lips part with a choked gasp—and he shoved his fingers inside, coating your tongue in your own slick.

“Atta girl,” he praised, watching your face contort in shame as his fingers moved against your tongue. Then he chuckled low, cruel. “That’s it. Suck ‘em clean for me.”

When you didn’t, he simply pushed deeper, the pads of his fingers pressing down on your tongue until you gagged. His hand held your jaw tight, keeping you still while he fucked your mouth with his wet fingers.

“Look at you,” he rasped, rocking his hand in and out, slick smearing all over your lips. “Cryin’ so pretty for me while you taste yourself. You feel dirty? Hm?” His satisfaction grew as you whimpered around his hand. “Good. You should.”

Each thrust made your throat tighten, humiliation flooding you until your eyes squeezed shut, hot tears slipping past your lashes. You clawed weakly at his wrist, but he only shoved harder, filling your mouth until you had no choice but to swallow around the thickness of his fingers.

“That’s it,” he whispered, almost tender as he worked your mouth open wider. “Get used to it. This mouth’s mine now.”

You moaned around his fingers, drooling all over yourself as he pumped them roughly.

“So good, so obedient,” he rasped, fucking his fingers into your mouth one last time before yanking them free, spit and slick shining across your lips. You coughed, choking on the air you finally pulled in, but he didn’t give you a chance to recover.

His hand fisted in your hair, spinning you around with brutal ease. The edge of the counter dug into your hips before you could even catch yourself, his weight pressing into your back.

“Bend over,” he growled, shoving you down flat against the cold surface. One palm pinned the small of your back, holding you there like you were nothing but a ragdoll.

Your hands scrambled against the counter, trying to push up, but his grip only pressed harder, forcing your cheek down against the wood.

The sharp clink of metal filled the kitchen as he yanked his belt loose, the sound making your stomach drop. You tried to push yourself up again, but his hand shoved harder at the small of your back, pinning you flat.

“Stay down,” he muttered, voice rough with hunger.

Fabric rustled as he lifted your dress, dragging it up over your hips until the cool air of the kitchen hit your bare skin. You whimpered, face pressed to the counter, as he let out a low, approving hum.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his palm smoothing over the curve of your ass before giving it a firm squeeze. “You look so perfect laid out for me like this.”

Your panties tugged tight for a moment, then slid down your thighs with a cruel, deliberate slowness. His fingers brushed the back of your leg as he peeled them away, leaving you exposed.

A zipper followed, the scrape loud in your ears, and then he was behind you—close, hot, heavy—lining himself up with no hesitation.

“Mm,” he murmured, pressing the blunt head of his cock against your slick folds. “Right where you belong.”

The tip of his cock nudged against your entrance, sliding just enough through the wetness he’d already pulled from you with his fingers.

“Shit,” he rasped, pressing closer, grinding the thick length against you. “You’re so fuckin’ tight, baby…”

A sob tore through your throat, your nails scraping helplessly at the counter. “Please, please, stop. I won’t tell anyone. I promise, just stop—”

But he only chuckled, the sound cruel and disbelieving. His hand spread wide over your lower back, keeping you pinned, while his hips rolled just enough to push at your entrance again.

“Who would you tell, huh?” he sneered, leaning over you, his breath was hot against your ear. “Whole town’s mine. Nothin’ to tell. Nothin’ to stop.”

His hips snapped forward without warning, his cock forcing into you in one brutal thrust. The sudden stretch ripped a scream from your throat, your whole body jerking against the counter as white-hot pain tore through you.

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice rough with satisfaction as he bottomed out inside you. His grip on your waist tightened, bruising, holding you still. “Feels so good.”

You sobbed, the sting overwhelming, your walls clenching desperately around him. “Please, it hurts—”

But he didn’t stop. He pulled back only to slam into you again, setting a hard, punishing pace from the start. The counter rattled beneath you with every thrust, the air punched out of your lungs as he used your body without restraint.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he growled against your ear, his cock driving deep over and over. “Cry for me. Beg all you want—still gonna fuck you just how I want.”

Your nails clawed at the wood, the sharp edge digging into your stomach as his hips smacked relentlessly against your ass, his grunts mixing with the sound of your breathless sobs.

He fucked into you hard, over and over, until your crying was nothing but broken gasps. And then—just when your body thought it couldn’t take any more—he slowed.

His thrusts dragged deep and deliberate now, his shaft stretching you to the hilt with every roll of his hips. Each one made your walls clamp helplessly around him, clenching so tight it drew a guttural groan from his chest.

“Goddamn,” he rasped, grinding in slow, heavy circles that made your stomach twist. His hand slid up your spine, tangling in your hair to wrench your head back. “Feel how full you are? Hm? That’s me, baby. Every inch of me inside this pretty little cunt.”

You whimpered, shaking your head frantically and squirming but he only pulled your hair tighter, forcing your body back against his dick.

“Say it,” he ordered, voice low and sharp. “Tell me how it feels. Tell me how full I’ve got you.”

Tears streaked down your cheeks as the words caught in your throat, shame choking you. His hips snapped once, rough and deep, making you cry out.

“Say it,” he snarled, his lips brushing your ear. “Or I’ll make you scream it.” He growled, voice vibrating against your ear. “Tell me how it feels to be split open on my cock.”

Your walls fluttered around him helplessly. Your throat tightened, the shame unbearable—but the pain of his grip, the sheer force of his body, broke you down.

„I—” your voice cracked, the words stuck in your throat. He yanked your hair harder, hips snapping deep until you cried out.

“Fuck, I—” you finally let out, tears streaming down your face. “I feel— i feel s’full, I can’t—”

“Good girl,” he rasped, pounding harder now, his cock splitting you open again and again until your legs shook. His hand tangled tighter in your hair, dragging your head back against his chest so his lips brushed your ear. „Now say you’re mine.” 

“N-no—” you gasped, clawing at the counter for something, anything to hold on to.

His hips snapped deep, his hand clamping hard around your throat this time, squeezing just enough to cut your breath. “You better or I’ll make it hurt.”

The pressure and the pain tangled together until the fight drained right out of you. Tears spilled hot down your cheeks as your voice broke.

“I’m yours!” you cried, choking on the words. “Please—please, I’m yours!”

He groaned low in your ear, the sound triumphant, his cock driving harder into you as if to claim you deeper.

“That’s right,” he whispered, “Mine. Always fuckin’ mine.”

His hand slid down between your thighs, finding your clit with cruel precision. You flinched at the touch, a strangled cry breaking free.

“Shhh, sweetheart,” he shushed you, circling hard as his cock drove deep. “Gonna make you come for me, pretty girl. Gonna make you fall apart on my cock.”

“No—” you pleaded, shaking your head, but your body betrayed you, clenching tighter around him with every drag of his fingers. The pressure coiled sharp and unbearable.

“Cry all you want. This pussy knows who it belongs to,” he rasped, thumb pressing relentless against your swollen clit.

Your sobs tangled with broken moans and whimpers as the tension snapped, your body shuddering violently. Heat flooded you, pulsing around him, the climax ripped from you against your will.

“Fuck—yes, just like that,” he growled, grinding deep inside you as your orgasm shook through your trembling body. „You’re fucking mine, baby. Cuming on my cock so prettily like a sweet girl you are.”

You collapsed against the counter, body limp, trembling from the orgasm still wracking through you. But he didn’t stop. His thrusts turned harsher, desperate now, his cock driving into your overstimulated walls with punishing force.

“Fuck—” he panted, his grip bruising your hips as he buried himself deeper, chasing his release. “So tight around me. Gonna fill you up, baby. Make sure you never forget how well I fucked you.”

“No, please—don’t—” your cries barely left your lips before his hips snapped forward one last time, his cock pulsing hot and thick inside you.

A guttural groan ripped from his chest as he spilled deep, holding you pinned down, forcing you to take every drop. His weight pressed heavy into your back, his breath ragged against your ear.

“Mm,” he sighed, satisfied, grinding slowly to push it all in deeper. “That’s it. All mine now.”

You sobbed weakly, face wet against the counter, his words echoing in your head as his seed seeped into you, sealing the humiliation.

Then he smirked against your skin, his hand stroking almost tenderly down your spine. “Good girl. Sheriff’s girl.”

⋆⁺₊✧ BWA MASTERLIST

Week 2 on Tour

Durant, OK

"So," Steve says, leaning against the dressing room wall while Bucky tunes his guitar. "That girl, she sticking around?"

Bucky's fingers still on the strings for just a second. "For now."

"For now?" Steve grins. "Come on, man. It's been what, two weeks? That's basically a record for you."

"It's casual," Bucky says it too quickly. "Just convenient. She's here, I'm here, why not?"

"Right, casual." Steve doesn't sound convinced. "That why you look at her like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like she matters."

Bucky's jaw tightens. "She doesn't, it's just sex."

"Sure it is." Steve is quiet for a moment, watching him. Then: "She's hot though, I'll give you that."

Bucky's grip tightens on his guitar. "Yeah, she is."

"You gonna share your new toy, or is this one different?"

The question lands like a punch. New toy. That's all she is, right? Just another girl, just fun, nothing serious. That is the test. This is where Bucky proves it's not different, that she's just another girl, that he's not in too deep.

"Why?" Bucky forces his voice to stay casual. "You interested?"

"I mean, if you're offering…" Steve shrugs. "We've done it before, always worked out fine. Unless she's special or something?"

Bucky should say yes, should tell Steve to fuck off, that this one's different, that the thought of anyone else touching you makes him want to break things. Instead, he hears himself say: "She's not special, just a good time." The words taste like ash. "Yeah, sure, like old times."

"Yeah?" Steve looks surprised. "You sure? Because if she's more than just casual I can step back."

"She's not." Bucky cuts him off, going back to tuning his guitar. "She's just—she's fun, that's it. No point being possessive over something that's not serious, right?"

"Alright then." Steve grins. "Tonight?"

"Tonight." Bucky's fingers move mechanically over the strings. "I'll set it up."

Steve leaves and Bucky sits there, staring at his guitar, telling himself this is fine. This is proof he's not getting attached, proof you're just another girl, proof he's still in control.

The sick feeling in his stomach says otherwise, but he's already say yes. And backing out now would mean admitting you matter more than he's willing to say. So he doesn't back out.

You should've known something was different when Bucky suggested getting drinks after the show instead of going straight back to the hotel.

"Steve's coming," he says casually, too casually, and you look up from your laptop at the booth table.

"Okay?"

"Just thought it'd be nice. The three of us." He's scrolling through his phone, not meeting your eyes. "We haven' really hung out, you know? Outside of the bus."

You don't paint out that you and Steve hang out plenty—you beat him at Mario Kart sometimes, and you make him coffee, you've had full conversations about his childhood in Brooklyn. What Bucky means is: the three of us haven't hung out with the sexual tension acknowledged.

"Sure," you say because you don't know how to say no to him. "Sounds fun."

The bar is low-key, divey, the kind of place where rockstars can blend in if they try. You're squeezed into a booth—Bucky on one side, you in the middle, Steve in the other. You can't help but feel like it's deliberate.

The conversation flows easier after the second round. Steve is charming, funny, easier to talk to than Bucky in some ways. He asks you more questions about your life, your work, actually listens to the answers. Bucky's hand stays on your thigh the whole time, occasionally sliding higher.

By the third round of beers, you notice the glances between Steve and Bucky. Brief, communicating something you're not privy to, like they've had a conversation you weren't part of… because they have.

When Steve opens his fourth beer, his hand comes to rest on your other thigh, and you flinch at that, looking at Bucky with wide eyes.

"So," Bucky says, leaning in close to your ear. "You trust me?"

"Yes," you say automatically.

"Good." His band squeezes your thigh. "Because Steve and I have done this before, on previous tours."

Your stomach flips. "Done what?"

"Shared." He says it simply, like it's obvious. "We've got a system we're good at… and I think you'd like it."

You look at Steve, whose hand has slide higher. "You two have—"

"A few times," Steve confirms. "With girls who were into it, it's always been good. Fun. No drama."

"And you want to—" You can't quite finish the sentence.

"I want to watch Steve make you feel good," Bucky says bluntly, hand sliding higher on your thigh. "And then I want to make you feel even better… together, the both of us." His thumb brushes over you trough your jeans. "He's a bit different than me. I think you'd enjoy it."

Your breath catches. This isn't spontaneous, this was planned. They've talked about this, coordinated this, decided you'd be into it.

"We don't have to if you're not interested." Steve says quickly. "No pressure, we can just finish our drinks and forget about it."

But Bucky's hand is between your legs now, and Steve is looking at you with those kind eyes, and you're desperately turned on by the idea of both of them.

"I want to," you hear yourself say.

Bucky grins. "Yeah?

"Yeah."

"Well, if you're sure, then let's get out of here." Bucky says, already pulling out his wallet.

The hotel room feels different with three people in it.

You're standing near the bed, suddenly nervous, while Bucky pours whiskey from the minibar. Steve is more relaxed than you expected, but after all, this wasn't new for either of them.

"First time doing this?" Steve asks gently.

"Yeah."

"We'll take care of you," he promises, and something about the way he says it makes you believe him.

Bucky hands you a glass, his eyes dark with intent. He takes a sip of his own whiskey, then sets it downs and cups your face. "You trust us?"

"Yes."

He kisses you, and you melt into it like you always do. When he pulls back, he looks at Steve. "Let's get her ready."

They move with practiced ease, like they've done this choreography before, Bucky behind you, Steve in front, four hands undressing you carefully, two sets of lips on your skin.

"So beautiful," Steve murmurs, kissing your shoulder as Bucky unclasps your bra. "Look at you."

Your bra falls away and both men pause, staring at your breasts.

"Yeah, look at you," Bucky breathes. "Told you her tits were perfect."

"You weren't lying." Steve says, his hands come up to cup them gently. "God you're gorgeous."

"Such perfect tits," Bucky says, hands joining Steve's, rougher. "Love these, could play with them for hours."

Having both of them focused on your breasts, touching them, praising them, makes your knees weak. Steve leans down and takes your nipple in his mouth, gentle and teasing, while Bucky's fingers pinch and roll the other one, harder, bordering in pain.

"Oh god—"

Steve's mouth is warm, sucking softly, tongue circling. Bucky's fingers twist, pinch, pull. Pleasure and pain, gentle and rough, all at once. They trade sides—Steve's gentle mouth on the nipple Bucky was tormenting, soothing it, while Bucky's rough fingers attack the other one. The contrast makes your head spin.

Steve's hands slide down to your jeans, removing them carefully while his mouth stays on your breast. Bucky's hand slides into your panties from behind, fingers finding you already wet.

"She's soaked," Bucky says, two fingers pushing inside you roughly while Steve's teeth graze your nipple gently. You gasp, caught between the dueling sensations.

They get you fully naked and on the bed, both of them still clothed, and the power dynamic makes you throb. Bucky strips off his shirt, then Steve does the same. They're both muscular, covered in tattoos, but different—Steve broader, Bucky leaner.

"On your back," Bucky says.

You obey and they flank you on the bed. Steve's hand cups your face, turning you toward him for a kiss. While his tongue explores your mouth gently, Bucky's hand comes down in a sharp slap on your pussy, making you cry out into Steve's mouth.

"Shh," Steve soothes, still kissing you. "You're okay, you're doing so well."

Another slap from Bucky, then his fingers rubbing roughly where he just struck. Steve kisses down your neck, while Bucky's rough fingers work between your legs.

"Spread wider," Bucky demands.

You do, and Steve rewards you with soft kisses on your collarbone. "That's it, good girl, so perfect…"

Bucky spreads your folds, exposing you completely, and delivers another sharp slap directly to your clit. You arch off the bed, but Steve's there, mouth closing around your nipple softly, grounding you with sweetness while Bucky delivers pain and pleasure in equal measure.

"Look how wet she gets when I slap this pussy," Bucky says. "Such a dirty girl."

Steve pulls off your nipple with a soft sound. "You're not dirty, you're beautiful." His hand strokes your hair while Bucky's fingers push inside you roughly, three at once.

"She's both," Bucky says, curling his fingers hard.

Steve's mouth travels down your body—soft kisses on your ribs, your stomach, your hip bones. Meanwhile, Bucky's fingers are punishing, fucking into you hard and fast, his other hand coming down in periodic slaps in your inner thigh.

"Want to taste her?" Bucky asks.

"Yeah," Steve mumbles.

Bucky pulls his fingers out and moves aside. Steve settles between your legs, and the first touch of his tongue is so gentle after Bucky's roughness that you nearly sob. Bucky moves up to your breasts, and while Steve's mouth works softly between your legs, Bucky's teeth bite down your nipple hard enough to make you gasp.

"That's it," Bucky murmurs, soothing the bite with his tongue before biting again. "Take it."

Steve adds his fingers, curling them gently while his tongue circles your clit with the lightest pressure. Bucky alternates between biting and soothing, his hand coming up to wrap lightly around your throat—not squeezing, just holding. The combination is overwhelming.

"She's close," Bucky observes. "Can always tell."

Steve doesn't answer, just adds a second finger and increases the pressure of his tongue slightly, and that's all it takes. You come with a cry, Steve working you through it gently while Bucky's hand tightens just slightly on your throat.

"Beautiful," Steve murmurs, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh.

"My turn." Bucky switches places with Steve.

Steve moves up to kiss you—soft, sweet, you can taste yourself on his lips—while Bucky settles between yor legs. His first touch is completely different. He devours you, rough and intense, three fingers pushing inside you immediately while his tongue attacks your oversensitive clit.

You moan into Steve's mouth and he swallows the sound, kissing you deeper, his hands gentle in your hair, while Bucky is absolutely ruthless, adding a fourth finger, stretching you, finger-fucking you hard. Steve's mouth moves to your neck, kissing you tenderly while Bucky bites your inner thigh hard enough to bruise, his fingers relentless.

"Please, it's too much—"

"Shh," Steve soothes, lips brushing your temple. "You can take it, you're doing so well sweetheart."

Bucky slaps your pussy, then goes right back to devouring you. Steve's hands are soft on your breasts, gentle touches and caresses, while Bucky's free hand grips your hip hard enough to leave fingerprints. You come again, harder, and Bucky works you through it roughly before pulling back.

"Delicious," Bucky says with a grin.

"Now," Steve says. "We'll take care of you properly."

They both stand and strip completely. You're on your knees at the edge of the bed, eye level with both their cocks.

Steve's hand cups your face gently. "Take your time, sweetheart. No rush."

You take him in your mouth first, and he's patient—lets you set the pace, his hand gentle in your hair.

"That's perfect. God, your mouth feels amazing."

While you work Steve, Bucky's hand tangles in your hair from the other side. After a minute, he pulls you off Steve—not gently, a firm tug—and guides you to his cock instead.

"Open wider," he demands, and when you do, he pushes in deep, fucking your mouth while Steve watches. The hand in your hair controls the pace, rough on demanding.

They trade you back and forth—Steve letting you control it, praising you softly, while Bucky fucks your mouth and talks dirty.

"Such a good cocksucker. Love watching you choke on it."

"You look gorgeous," Steve counters, cupping your face. "So perfect."

After a few minutes, Bucky pulls you off. "Time to prep you properly. Now I'm going to claim your ass."

Steve lies down on bed. "Come here, sweetheart."

You straddle him, and he guides himself inside slowly, so slowly. His hands are gentle on your waist and he kisses you softly as you sink down into him. "Perfect, you feel perfect."

Behind you, you hear the click of lube. Then Bucky's slick fingers are pressing against your ass. One finger, slowly, while Steve distracts you with gentle kisses and soft praise. Bucky adds a second finger, rougher now, and you gasp into Steve's mouth. Steve soothes you with soft sounds, his hands stroking your sides gently, but Bucky's fingers are relentless, scissoring, stretching.

Steve's hands find your breasts, palming them gently, thumbs brushing your nipples with feather light touches. Bucky adds a third finger and the stretch burns, but Steve's there, kissing your neck. "You're doing so well for us."

Bucky's free hand comes down in a sharp smack on your ass, and you jolt forward against Steve, who catches you with gentle hands. Another smack, harder this time, while Bucky's fingers work your ass open. Steve kisses you through it, his hands tender on your face.

"Almost ready," Bucky says, adding more lube. "Gonna feel so good with both of us inside you."

"Wait," Steve says softly, looking up at Bucky. "Come here first."

Bucky pauses, fingers still working you open. "What?"

"Just—come here." Steve's hand cups the back of your head gently. "Before we do this."

Bucky leans forward over you, and suddenly all three of you close—faces, inches apart. Steve's hand is gentle on your face, Bucky's is in your hair, and then Steve's pulling you both in.

Your mouths meet—all three of you—messy, intense, tongues sliding together. It's overwhelming, being kisses by both of them at once while Bucky's fingers are still inside you and Steve's cock is buried in you. When you break apart, gasping, Bucky immediately yanks your hair back roughly.

Bucky finally presses his cock against your ass, Steve's hands are on your hips, steadying. "Breathe, sweetheart. We've got you."

Bucky pushes in slowly—the only gentle thing he's done all night—and the burn is intense. Once he's fully seated, you're completely full, stretched beyond what you thought possible.

"How do you feel?" Steve asks softly, lips brushing yours.

You get lost in it for a moment, in the sweetness of Steve's kiss, and then suddenly Bucky's hand is in your hair, yanking your head back, breaking the kiss roughly.

"Mine," Bucky growls against your ear, hand tightening in your hair. His other hand wraps around your throat from behind—not squeezing, just claiming. "Don't forget who you belong to."

He forces your head to turn toward him and kisses you—possessive, brutal, all teeth and tongue, completely different from Steve's sweetness. When he releases you, you're breathless.

"Both of us, Buck," Steve says mildly. "Tonight she's both of ours."

"Tonight," Bucky concedes. His hand is still around your throat. "But she knows who she really belongs to. Don't you, baby?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good girl." He releases your throat and pushes you back town toward Steve. "Now let's make her scream."

They start to move—alternating, so you're never empty. And the contrast is overwhelming. Steve's hands are gentle on your hips, his thrusts measured and controlled. Bucky's grip is bruising, his thrusts harder, punctuated by occasional slaps to your ass.

Steve's hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and circling gently. Bucky's hand in your hair yanks your head back roughly, exposing your throat. Steve leans up to kiss your exposed throat gently while Bucky bites the other side hard.

The dual sensations push you over the edge. You come with a scream, clenching around both of them.

"That's it," Steve encourages softly. "So beautiful when you come."

"Fuck—squeezing me so tight—" Bucky's rhythm falters. "Gonna fill this ass up."

They both come within seconds of each other—Steve with a soft groan, Bucky with a harsh curse. You feel them pulsing inside you, and it's overwhelming.

Carefully, they pull out, and you collapse between them.

Steve immediately gathers you close, gentle hands stroking your hair. "You were incredible, so perfect. Did so well."

Bucky's hand grips your hip possessively from the other side, then slides up to cup your breast. "You're fucking amazing, knew you could take us both."

You're bracketed between them, both still touching you like they can't help themselves. Bucky leans in to kiss you—not as rough as during sex, almost tender. Then he pauses and looks at Steve, something passes between them, and then Bucky's pulling Steve in for a kiss over your shoulder.

It's something brief but familiar, comfortable—like they've done this a hundred times before. When they break apart, Bucky grins. "Just like old times," he says.

And you realize: they've done this before. Multiple times. This is their thing—this practiced choreography, this good cop/bad cop routine, this perfect contrast… and you're just the latest girl between them.

The thought should bother you more than it does, but you're too blissed out, too wrecked, too satisfied to care right now.

Steve holds you gently, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder, Bucky's grip is possessive, his thumb still absently stroking your breast. Both of them touching you, claiming you in different ways.

And you let them. Let them clean you up with soft touches and rough efficiency, let Steve whisper sweet things while Bucky says filthy ones. Let yourself exist in this space between them, caught between two different kinds of desire.

Try not to wonder if this is all you'll ever be to Bucky—something to share, something to use, something that exists only in the space between rough and gentle. Try not to think about him calling you his, but not his girlfriend.

Just try not to think about anything at all.

After, in the shower, it's just you and Bucky. Steve excused himself, said something about giving you two space.

"You okay?" Bucky asks, surprisingly gentle as he washes your hair.

"Yeah, that was…"

"Intense?"

"Yeah."

"You were perfect," he kisses your shoulder. "So fucking perfect."

You want to ask him what this means. Want to ask if this proves you're just casual, just a body to share. Want to ask if he feels anything for you beyond the physical.

Instead, you just say, "Did you like it?"

"Watching Steve fuck you?" He considers. "Yes and no."

"What do you mean?"

"I liked seeing you feel good. Didn't like seeing someone else make you feel that way." His arm wrap around you from behind. "Realized I'm more possessive than I thought."

Your heart jumps at that. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." But then he adds, "But it was fun. We could do it again sometime if you want."

And just like that, the moment of vulnerability closes. It's back to casual, back to fun, back to undefined.

"Sure," you say, because what else can you say?

That night, he falls asleep holding you tighter than usual. Like he's afraid you'll disappear.

You don't sleep at all.

Steve's waiting at the bus the next morning, coffee in hand. He hands one to you as you climb aboard.

"You good?" he asks quietly.

"Yeah, you?"

"Yeah." He pauses. "That was… that was a lot."

"You know—" He stops, like he's deciding whether to say something. "You know you don't have to do things like that to keep him interested, right?"

Your stomach drops. "I wanted to."

"I know, I just—" He runs, his hand, through his hair. "I've known Buck a long time. And I've seen him do this before. Keep things casual, keep things fun, never let it get real."

"We are casual," you say, even though it hurts.

"Are you?" Steve looks at you. "Because from where I'm standing, you're in love with him. And he's using that to get what he wants without giving you what you need."

"That's not—"

"I'm not judging, I'm just saying—you deserve better than scraps. He's my friend, and I love him like a brother, but you're also a good woman. Nothing like the other girls we've slept with."

Bucky climbs on the bus then, interrupting. "What are we talking about?"

"Coffee," Steve says smoothly. "How she makes it better than you."

"Everyone makes it better than me," Bucky says, and just like that, the moment passes.

But Steve's words stay with you: You deserve better than scraps.

Do you?

Bucky's alone in his department, laptop open on the bed, his door locked even though no one's coming over. It's become a routine—every few nights, sometimes more, he finds himself here… waiting.

The notification pops up: StarryKitten is live.

He clicks immediately.

The stream loads, and there she is. No face, she never shows her face—just that perfect body in black lace, the camera angled to show everything from her neck down. She's on her knees on the bed, and even through the screen he can see how her skin would feel under his hands.

"Hi everyone," she says, and her voice—fuck, her voice is what hooked him in the first place. Soft and breathy and just a little teasing. "Missed me?"

The chat explodes. He watches the usernames scroll by, all desperate and pathetic, and then he types his own message.

oldsoul17: Always.

She laughs, and he swears, he can hear the smile in it. "Well, aren't you sweet."

He's been watching for months now. He found her by accident—late night, couldn't sleep, scrolling through sites he probably shouldn't be on. And then there she was. Something about her pulled him in and wouldn't let go. The way she moved, the sounds she made, the little freckle on her left hip that the camera caught sometimes when she shifted positions.

He's spent more money than he cares to admit. Tips, private requests, custom videos. He's become one of her regulars, and she knows it—she calls him out by the username he uses, thanks him specifically.

"I see you there, old soul," she says now, shifting onto her back. "That mean it's going to be a good night."

His hand is already on his belt.

She touches herself slowly, teasingly, and he follows every movement. He's memorized her body at this point—the curve of her waist, the way her hips roll, the little sounds she makes when she's getting close. He knows what she likes, what makes her gasp.

When she comes, he's right there with her, and afterward he sits there in the dark, heart pounding, feeling like a fucking creep.

He doesn't know who she is. Doesn't know her real name, her face, anything beyond what she shows on camera.

It's safer that way.

The July heat is brutal, but your dad's summer house has a pool, and you're taking full advantage. You're stretched out on a lounger in your new bikini—white, high-cut, the kind that shows off your legs and draws the eye.

Bucky's here this weekend. Your dad invited him up, something about work and fishing. You've known him for years—he's been your dad's friend and business associate since you were sixteen—but lately, something's shifted.

The way he looks at you has changed.

You've noticed it over the past few months. The lingering glances, the way his eyes track you when you walk into a room. The way he stands just a little too close, lets his hand rest on your lower back a second too long when he passes behind you.

You've started testing it, wearing shorter dresses, leaning over in front of him to grab something, brushing against him in hallways… just to see.

He always reacts. A sharp inhale, a tightening of his jaw; but he never acts on it.

You're starting to wonder what it would take.

"You want something to drink?" your friend calls from the pool.

"I'm good!" you call back, adjusting your position on the longer. You tug at the waistband of your bikini bottoms, pulling them a little higher, and that's when you feel it.

Someone's staring.

You glance toward the patio, Bucky's standing there, frozen, beer in hand. But he's not looking at your face, his eyes are locked on your hip, on the small exposed stretch of skin where your freckle is visible. His face goes completely still. You watch his throat works as he swallows, his knuckles white around the bottle. His eyes are dark, intense, and when they finally drag up to meet yours, there's something in them that makes your stomach flip.

He looks almost… stricken.

Then he turns abruptly and walks back inside.

You sit there with your pulse racing, wondering what the hell just happened.

The afternoon drags on. Your friends eventually leave, pilling into cars with promises to meet up next week. Your parents head out for their dinner reservation, and Bucky claims he's not feeling well, that he'll just stay back and relax.

"Make yourself at home"your dad says, clapping him on the shoulder.

The door closes. The house goes quiet.

You're in the kitchen, still in your bikini with denim shorts pulled over it, bare feet on the cool tile. You're pouring yourself water when you sense him behind you.

You turn, leaning back against the counter. "Hey. Feeling better?"

Bucky's standing in the doorway, and the way he's looking at you it's different from before.

"Yeah," he says, but his voice sounds restrained.

You take a sip of water, watching him over the rim of the glass. "You sure? You left pretty quick earlier."

"Just needed to cool off."

"It is hot," you agree, setting the glass down. You stretch, arching your back slightly, and you don't miss the way his eyes track the movement. "I might go for another swim later."

"You should put more clothes on."

The words come out harder than he probably meant. You tilt your head, playing innocent. "Why?"

"Because—" He stops. "Because your parents will be back soon."

"Not for hours." You push off the counter, taking a few steps toward him. "It's just us."

You watch him fight it. Watch the tension coil in his shoulders, the way his hands curl into fists. You're close enough now to see his pupils dilate, to hear his breathing change.

"You should go upstairs," he says quietly.

"What if I don't want to?"

For a long moment, neither of you moves. Then you do something reckless—you reach up and adjust your bikini top, fingers grazing the tie at your neck, and his eyes follow the movement like he's starving.

"Shit," he mutters under his breath, turning away. "I—I'll be right back."

He disappears down the hall, and you hear a door close. The bathroom.

You bite your lip, because you know exactly what he's doing in there.

Bucky braces his hands on the sink, his head bowed, trying to breathe.

This was insane.

He knows that freckle. He's seen it dozens of times, hundreds, in videos and live streams and photos. Right there, just under the waistband of your left hip.

StarryKitten. You're the girl he's been watching for months, the one he's jerked off to more times than he can count, the one he's tipped thousands of dollars… you've been right here the whole time.

And you had no fucking idea he knows.

He's watched you parade around in those little outfits, leaning over in front of him, brushing up against him. You think you're just teasing your dad's friend. You don't know he's seen everything.

His cock is painfully hard against his jeans. He palms himself through the denim, groaning quietly. He shouldn't. He should get the fuck out of this house, drive back to the city, block your account and never think about this again.

But then he remembers the way you looked at him just now. The way you've stretched, arched your back, adjusted your bikini.

You want him.

Maybe not the way he wants you—you don't know about the months of watching, the obsession, the desperate need—but you want him.

He unbuckles his belt with shaking hands,.

Just once, just to take the edge off. Then he'll get his shit together.

He wraps his hand around himself and the relief is immediate. He braces against the sink with his other hand, eyes closed, and all he can see is you. In that white bikini, in those videos on your knees, on your back, touching yourself while saying his username.

"Fuck," he breathes.

It doesn't take long. He comes hard, biting back a groan, and in the aftermath he just stands there, forehead against the mirror, trying to catch his breath.

This can't happen.

But he knows deep down it's going to.

When Bucky comes back, his hair is damp like he splashed water on his face, and his eyes are darker than before.

"Better?" you ask innocently.

"No."

The honesty in his voice makes you shiver. You're standing in the living room now, the evening light slanting through the windows. The house feels huge and empty, but also full of possibilities.

"Your parents will be back soon," he says again, but it sounds less convincing this time.

"Two hours at least," you take a step closer. "Maybe three."

"You should—" He stops, exhaling roughly. "You don't know what you're doing."

"Don't I?"

You close the distance between you, and you can see him fighting not to back up, not to run. You're close enough now to feel the heat radiating off him, to see the muscle jumping in his jaw.

"I see the way you look at me," you say softly. "I've seen it for months now."

His hands curl into fists. "You're my best friend's daughter."

"I'm also an adult."

"You have a boyfriend."

"Do you care?"

The question hangs between you. His eyes are locked on yours, and you can see the war happening behind them.

"I should," he says finally. "But no, I don't."

Your heart is pounding. "Then why are you holding back?"

"Because I'm trying to be the responsible one between us."

You reach up and untie your bikini top. It falls away, and his eyes drop immediately, his breathing going ragged.

"There's no need to be responsible here," you whisper.

And that's all it takes. His hands are on you in a second, pulling you against him, and his mouth crashes down on yours. It's not gentle—it's months of build up tension breaking all at once, desperate and overwhelming. You kiss him back just as frantically, fingers tangling in his hair.

"We should go upstairs," you murmur against his lips.

He takes you to your room, and the second the door closes,he's on you again. His hands are everywhere—your waist, your hips, sliding up your ribcage to cup your breasts. You're pulling at his shirt, desperate, and when it finally comes off you run your hands over his chest, his shoulders.

"I've wanted this for so long," he mutters, backing you toward the bed. "You have no fucking idea."

"Tell me," you breathe.

"Every time you walk into a room, every time you lean over in those little dresses, every time you brush against me—" He groans, his hand sliding into your hair. "I've thought about bending you over and making you mine."

"Do it."

He pushes you back onto the bed, and you land with a gasp. He's over you in a second, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his mouth on your neck.

"Do you know how perfect you are?" He murmurs against your skin. "How fucking gorgeous?"

His hands slide down to your shorts, and he makes quick work of the button and zipper. You lift your hips and he drags them off along with your bikini bottoms, and then you're completely bare beneath him.

"Christ," he breathes, his eyes raking over you. His hand slides up your inner thigh, and when his fingers finally touch you, he groans. "You're soaked."

"For you."

"Yeah?" He pushes one finger inside, and you arch into the touch. "All for me? Not for that little boyfriend of yours, huh?"

"Yes—fuck—Bucky—"

"That's it baby, say my name." He adds another finger, curling them just right, and you're already trembling. "Does that little punk makes you feel this good?"

You just can shake your head while he works you with his fingers, his thumb finding your clit, and you're already gasping and writhing beneath him. But before you can get too close, he pulls away.

"Not yet," he says, and there's something wicked in his smile. "I want to taste you first."

He moves down your body, pressing kisses to your stomach, your hip—right over that freckle that started all of this. Then he's settling between your thighs and the first touch of his tongue makes you cry out.

He eats you out like a man starving, his hands grip your hips, holding you in place as his tongue works over you, and the sounds he's making—low groans of appreciation, like you're the best thing he's ever tasted—are almost as overwhelming as the sensation itself.

"Bucky—oh my god—"

"That's it," he murmurs against you. "Let me hear you, gorgeous. Let me hear how good I make you feel."

You're already so close, the tension coiling tight in your belly, but then he pulls back. Before you can protest, he's moving up the bed, lying on his back.

"Come here," he says. "I want you to ride my face."

"But I can suffocate you!"

"Get up here, sweetheart, it wasn't a question."

The command in his voice makes you move without thinking. You straddle his chest, thighs shaking, and he grips your hips and pulls you forward until you're positioned right over his mouth.

"Perfect," he breathes, and then he's pulling you down.

The sensation is overwhelming. His tongue is everywhere, licking and sucking and fucking into you, and his hands on your hips are guiding you to grind against him. You're gasping, one hand braced on the headboard, and the other tangled in his hair.

"Fuck—Bucky—that's so good."

He groans against you, the vibration making you jolt, and his grip tightens. He's relentless, working you higher and higher until you're shaking, until you can't hold back anymore.

"I'm gonna—oh god—I'm—"

"Come for me," he growls against you. "Come all over my face, kitten."

The nickname hits you like a shock. Your eyes fly open, but before you can process it, your orgasm crashes over you. You come with a cry, hips rolling against his mouth as he works you through it, licking up everything you give him.

When you finally slump forward, trembling, he eases you off and you collapse next to him on the bed, your chest heaving.

"What—" you start, but your voice won't work. "Did you just—did you call me—"

He sits up, and when you see his face—lips swollen, chin wet—your stomach flips. "StarryKitten," he says, and his voice is pure gravel. "That's you, isn't it?"

Your heart stops. "How did you—"

"This freckle." He reaches out, thumb brushing over the spot on your hip. "I've seen it before, dozens of times, in your videos."

Oh god. "You're oldsoul17," you whisper.

"Yeah," he moves over you again. "I've been watching you for months, baby, touching myself to your videos. Tipping you, messaging you… and the whole time, it was you."

You should be embarrassed. Mortified even, but instead heat floods through you. "Bucky—"

"I've wanted you for so long," he mutters, his fingers rolling your nipple, making you arch into his touch. "Both versions of you. The girl who walks around here in those little dresses, teasing me. And the girl on my screen who makes the sweetest sounds when she comes."

His other hand finds your other breast, and he's playing with both now, watching your face as you writhe beneath him.

"I've watched you touch these," he says. "Watched you pinch and tease yourself. But I've always wanted to be the one doing it."

"Then do it," you breathe.

He leans down and takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, and you cry out. His hand continues working the other, pinching and rolling, and the dual sensation is overwhelming. He switches sides, teeth grazing sensitive flesh, and you're already getting wet again. But you need to touch him too.

You push at his shoulders, and he pulls back, confused. "What—"

"My turn," you say, and push him onto his back.

"Baby—"

"You've watched me," you say, moving down his body. "Now let me show you what I can do in person."

You settle between his thighs, and up close, he's even more impressive. Hard and thick, already leaking. You wrap your hand around him, and the groan he lets out makes you clench.

"You don't have to do this—" he grits out, but his his jerk against your touch.

"I want to," you stroke him slowly, base to tip, and lean down to press a kiss to the head. "I want to taste you."

You take him into your mouth, just the tip at first, swirling your tongue, and his hand immediately tangles in your hair.

"That's it," he mutters. "Just like that."

You take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, and the sounds he's making are even better than you imagined. Low groans and muttered curses and your name over and over. You work him with your mouth and hand together, finding a rhythm, paying attention to what makes him grip your hair tighter, what makes his thighs tense. You pull off to lick along the underside, tracing the vein, and he nearly comes off the bed.

You take him deeper again, and his control starts to slip. His hips rock up slightly, and you relax your throat, letting him.

"Look at you," he groans, propping himself up on his elbows to watch. "So fucking perfect with your lips wrapped around me. I've imagined this, but nothing compares to the real thing."

You moan around him, and the vibration makes him curse. You can feel him getting close, his cock pulsing against your tongue, and you double your efforts.

"I'm close, you don't have to—"

But you want to. You want to taste him, feel him come apart because of you. You take him as deep as you can and swallow, and that's all it takes.

He comes with a shout, hips jerking, and you take everything he gives you. When you finally pull off, you look up at him through your lashes, and the look on his face is of someone absolutely wrecked.

"Come here," he growls.

You crawl up his body, and he pulls you into a filthy kiss, tasting himself on your tongue. His hands are on your breasts again immediately, kneading and teasing, and you're so turned on you're trembling.

"I need you inside me," you whisper against his mouth. "Please, Bucky—"

"Greedy girl," he mutters, but he's already hardening again. "Want more already?"

"Always."

He flips you onto your back, settling between your thighs. His mouth finds your breast again, sucking and biting while his hand works the other. You're writhing beneath him, desperate for more.

"Bucky— fuck—I need—"

"I know, I know sweet girl."

He lines himself up and pushes in slowly and the stretch is perfect and overwhelming. You grip his shoulders, nails digging in, and he groans against your neck.

"You feel incredible," he grits out. "So tight and wet."

He starts to move, slow and deep, and every thrust makes your toes curl. His mouth finds yours, kissing you deep and filthy while he fucks you into the mattress. One hand is braced by your head, but the other finds your breast again, rolling your nipple between his fingers.

"You're so perfect," he mutters against your lips. "My good girl, taking me so well."

"Faster, please—"

He shifts the angle, and suddenly he's hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision blur. You're gasping and moaning and he's talking you through it.

"That's it, baby. Let me hear you. Let me hear those sounds you make. I've heard them through my speakers for months, but this—" He thrusts harder, deeper. "This is so much better."

"Oh god— please—"

"You're close, aren't you? I can feel you getting tighter." He pinches your nipple again, and you cry out. "You gonna come for me, kitten? Gonna come all over my cock like a good girl?"

"Yes—yes—Bucky"

"Come on, let me feel this perfect pussy squeeze me."

Your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave. You cry out, back arching, and he fucks you through it, his rhythm getting rougher, more desperate. The hand on your breast slides down to grip your hip, fingers pressing into that freckle that gave you away.

"You're so fucking perfect when you come." He mutters before burying himself deep and groaning your name as he comes, and the feeling of him spilling inside you sends another wave of pleasure through you.

After, you're tangled together in the sheets, his hand tracing lazy patterns on your back. Your breasts are pressed against his chest, still sensitive from all the attention, and every time you shift you feel the pleasant ache.

"Your parents," he says eventually. "They'll be back soon."

"I know."

"This is insane."

"I know."

He tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip. "I'm not done with you yet."

Your stomach flips. "Good."

"This isn't a one-time thing," he says, and there's something fierce in his voice. "Now that I have you, I'm not letting you go."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you're mine now." His hands slides from your breast down to your hip, over your freckle. "Secret. No one else gets to know. Not your boyfriend, not your parents…"

You should feel guilty. Your boyfriend, your parents, the risk. But all you feel is a thrill running through you.

"Okay," you whisper.

He kisses you again, slower this time. You can feel him hardening against your thigh again.

"Again?"

"I've waited months for this," he says before rolling you onto your back. "I'm not wasting a single second."

And he doesn't.

By the time you hear your parents' car I the driveway two hours later, you've come three more times, and you can barely walk straight. But you both know this is just the beginning.

The Staring Problem

 Avengers Tower, various locations, two weeks running.

You've been keeping a mental list with the grim focus of someone building a legal case, and it's up to eleven incidents. The evidence is circumstantial but it is consistent.

At this point you're less interested in understanding it than in figuring out at what number you escalate to Fury.

It starts at the coffee machine. You reach for the pot and when you look up he's already looking at you. Not glancing, looking — with an expression that gives you absolutely nothing to work with. You say good morning and Bucky says nothing. You take your coffee and leave at a quicker pace that is definitely not a jog.

It happens in the elevator, the common room, and even in the hallway outside the training floor. Always the same: you look up and he's there, already watching, and he never looks away first. You've started taking the stairs.

You run through the list of possible offenses. You were loud in the kitchen once. You accidentally used his mug, but you washed it? You beat his time on the obstacle course three weeks ago, but surely that's not, surely he's not still—

You mention it to Natasha, very casually, purely as a logistical concern for your continued survival. She looks at you for a long moment, says "hm," and walks away. It’s somehow the least reassuring response she could have given.

He is, for the record, not thinking about any of your eleven incidents. He is thinking about the way you laugh when you think no one's listening, and it's been living in his head for three days, and he has absolutely no idea what to do about that.

The Rifle 

Pre-mission briefing, loading bay, five minutes before wheels up

You're running through your gear check with a focus that has nothing to do with the gear and everything to do with the fact that Bucky has been watching you for two weeks and you are no closer to understanding why.

Especially when he appears at your left shoulder without sound and holds out his rifle like that's something people do.

You take it, obviously you do. You don't know what else to do. He gives a single nod and walks away to the quinjet like he hasn't just handed you something that costs more than your apartment and is probably also somehow an heirloom.

You hold it for the entire mission like it's a live grenade. You make every shot count. You are not going to be the person who scratched Bucky Barnes' rifle and lived to tell about it.

Your shots are, objectively, incredible. You don't register that at the time because you are too busy being careful.

He watches your form from across the ridge with an expression nobody else would clock as anything. Sam clocks it, filing it away.

You hand it back after debrief, two-handed, like returning something sacred. He takes it one-handed, casual, and there's something around his eyes that might be — you don't finish that thought. You go to your debrief, trying not to seem scared shitless.

"We Should Shoot Together"

Post-mission corridor, still in tactical gear, he has clearly been waiting

You're tired in the specific way that comes from twelve hours of sustained adrenaline, and you want a shower and about eight hours of not thinking about anything, which is why it's particularly unfortunate timing when Bucky falls into step beside you. He’s got that calm, unhurried energy of someone who has made a decision and is simply waiting for the moment to be right.

He stops walking. You stop walking. He looks at you with the full weight of his complete attention and says, completely evenly: "Your shots were incredible out there."

You say thank you and mean it and wait for the other shoe.

"Use my rifle next time." You think about the last time. You think about how carefully you held it. So, you wonder if your performance didn't meet the standard and this is somehow a test.

"We should shoot together." He says it like it's a normal sentence, like those words in that order constitute a fun activity and not what your nervous system has just interpreted them as — a proposal, a hunt, prey selected.

He turns and walks away. And here is the thing, the thing that keeps you up later: he's smiling. Small, private, to himself. The smile of a man who just executed a plan perfectly.

He has, in his own assessment, just asked you out. It went great. You are currently reconsidering whether your go-bag is packed.

The Smile

Common room, the morning after Sam and Steve got involved

You have faced things that scared you — real things, things with actual stakes — and come out fine, which is why it's genuinely surprising that you're standing in the kitchen at eight in the morning holding a piece of toast and feeling, for reasons you cannot immediately articulate, like something is deeply wrong.

Sam and Steve, well-meaning and catastrophic in equal measure, pulled him aside the previous evening. The conversation reportedly involved the phrase "just smile more, it makes you seem approachable." Steve demonstrated, while Sam refined it. Bucky practiced in the mirror with the focused intensity he applies to everything.

He comes in, sees you, and then — and you will think about this for a long time — he smiles. At you. Directly at you. It is the most deliberate, considered, technically-executed smile you have ever seen on a human face. There are too many teeth. The eyes are not involved. It lasts exactly three seconds too long.

You put down your toast.

He holds it for another beat, nods once like a mission objective completed, and leaves. You hear Steve in the hallway say "how'd it go" and Bucky say "good" with complete sincerity.

You are still standing there when Natasha comes in. She looks at your face and says "what happened." You don't have the words yet.

Twenty minutes later — you're still in the kitchen, the toast long forgotten — he comes back for something and doesn't see you around the corner. Someone says something from the hallway and he laughs, actually laughs, and then this smile, this real one, quiet and a little crooked and completely unguarded, just sits on his face for a moment before he schools it back.

He doesn't know you saw it. You don't know what to do with the fact that you did. You look down at your coffee. Something has shifted and you can't quite name it yet. You're not scared anymore; that's the problem.

$ tag @twentytomidnight (@froggibus here's the horror movie in play 🧍‍♀️)

$ vi don't-shoot-your-shot-v2

Bucky was good in bed. Everyone in the tower knew that by now because you weren’t exactly quiet. How could you be though? You had never been fucked this good in your life. You’ve truly been missing out. You’re making up for lost time with all those exes of yours and climbing on Bucky every chance you get. It got so bad that Tony actually soundproofed both of your rooms.

Of course, sometimes you didn’t make it to either of your rooms which caused you to be temporarily banned from that area “until further notice”

Bucky actually preferred to have you in one of your rooms, cause then he could see if he could make you scream any louder. One of these days he is actually going to split you in two. At least that’s how it felt.

Today was no different. Bucky had you faced down on the mattress, relentlessly pounding into you. His fingertips gripping your hips so hard they were surely going to leave permanent dents.

You were boneless. Sprawled over the mattress, your ass only now slightly in the air since your knees gave out. You were gone. As far as you were concerned right now, you were in space due to how many stars you were seeing. All you could do was moan and scream and let out the occasional heavy breath.

The soundproof system Tony built worked for the ears of the people on the outside. But there was a slight flaw. Some people just don’t think before entering.

You were too lost in pleasure to even process what was happening other than the feeling of Bucky’s thick, long cock buried deep between your thighs but you felt him slow down.

"OH MY GOD!" the intruder yelled.

“Can I help you?” you heard Bucky’s deep voice say with a tinge of irritation laced in it. You felt a cool piece of fabric get draped over your sweaty bare skin and a hand placed gently on your lower back to keep it from moving.

“Can you lock the door?” you heard the other person say but you still couldn’t tell who.

“The door was locked!”

“Bucky,” you whined, moving your hips against him.

“I know, sweetheart, I’m here,” he whispered, his other hand reaching to gently stroke your hair. His head snaps to the intruder, “Get out, Wilson!”

“You two need to calm down,” he said before rushing out the door and slamming it behind him.

“Now” he started as he removed the sheet. He flipped you over onto your back and hovered over you, “Where were we?”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside you. Bucky let out a deep chuckle at your neediness.