#buckybarnes

It’s a drizzly Sunday afternoon—too gray and wet to go outside, so the living room floor is spread with every craft supply the girls could drag out of the cupboard: sheets of shiny stickers, tubes of glitter glue, little pots of safe paint, ribbons, and sparkly gems.

“Daddy, sit still! Don’t move!” your oldest insists, gently guiding his vibranium arm onto the cushion between them. Bucky just huffs a soft, fond laugh and settles back. “I’m not going anywhere, sugar. Do your worst.”

They treat his arm like the most precious canvas in the world. First they run their small hands over the cool, smooth plates, tracing the lines and seams like they’re mapping something wonderful. Bucky watches their faces—utterly focused, soft and bright—and his heart swells so much it almost aches. He’s spent so many years seeing this arm as something heavy, something sharp, something to hide. But to them? It’s just Daddy’s arm, and it’s perfect.

The youngest starts first, carefully peeling off stickers: unicorns, stars, tiny flowers, little hearts. She presses them one by one along his forearm, chattering happily. “This one’s for bravery! This one’s for bedtime stories! This one’s for carrying me on your shoulders!” Bucky listens to every word, nodding solemnly. “Best job I’ve ever had,” he murmurs, and she beams like he just gave her the world.

Then comes the glitter glue. Lots of it. Swirls and stripes, little dots along the edges. It dries tacky and bright, catching the light so his whole arm glimmers. Your oldest even paints tiny, delicate flowers along his wrist, her tongue poking out in concentration. “There,” she says, stepping back to admire her work. “Now you’re beautiful, Daddy.”

Bucky looks down at his arm—once a weapon, now covered in rainbows, sparkles, and tiny, lopsided blooms. His throat feels tight. He lifts them both in a hug, careful not to smudge anything, and presses soft kisses to their hair. “You two made it the best thing in the whole universe,” he whispers, and he means it more than anything he’s ever said.

When you come home later, you have to bite back a laugh. His metal arm is completely covered—bright, messy, wildly colorful. But what gets you is the look on his face: pure, unashamed adoration.

He refuses to wash a single bit off. Not before dinner, not before bed, not even when Steve drops by and raises an eyebrow. Bucky just holds his arm up proudly, glitter catching the light, and says, “My girls did this. Isn’t it amazing?” He sounds like he’s wearing a medal of honor.

At night, when they’re asleep, he sits by the window, gently touching the stickers and the paint. Some will peel, some will fade—but he doesn’t mind. He remembers every small hand, every giggle, every “I love you, Daddy” pressed into cool metal. For the first time in his life, this arm doesn’t feel like something that was done to him. It feels like something that belongs to them.

The heat hit you like a physical wall the second you stepped through the front door, work bag slipping off your shoulder with a heavy thud. The whole apartment hummed with that sweltering, still kind of heat that sticks to your skin, and you were already halfway to stripping off before you even registered the faint, soft splashing coming from the bathroom.

"Bucky?" you called, wiping sweat from your forehead as you wandered down the hall. "You home? It’s absolutely roasting out there—"

You pushed the bathroom door open and the words died in your throat.

There, submerged up to his broad shoulders in the tub, was Bucky Barnes. His dark hair was pushed back, chest glistening, and the entire bathroom was thick with soft, sweet-scented bubbles that drifted right up to his chin. The water looked cool and clear, pale flecks of something sparkling floating through it.

He turned his head to look at you, one eyebrow raised like he was the picture of innocence, and lifted one wet hand to gesture lazily at the water.

"Hey, doll," he said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. "Figured this was the only way to survive today."

You stared. Then you leaned against the doorframe, and started laughing so hard your sides ached.

Because you recognised it instantly. The jasmine and honey bubble bath you’d saved for special occasions, the expensive mineral bath salts you’d splurged on and told him very specifically were not for everyday use, sitting empty on the edge of the tub right next to him.

"You" you managed to get out between giggles, wiping tears from your eyes, "used my luxury stuff. The one I said was for when I’ve had a terrible week."

Bucky sank a little deeper, bubbles swishing around him, and gave you that lopsided little smile that always made your heart flip. "Well," he said, completely unrepentant, "I had a terrible week too. And it’s forty degrees out. Felt like treating myself. Figured you wouldn’t mind." He lifted a handful of bubbles and let them drift back down onto the water. "Smells nice. Makes my skin feel soft, too."

You laughed harder, doubling over. Of all the sights you’d expected to come home to—definitely not the former Winter Soldier, six feet of broad, formidable history, floating in a mountain of scented bubbles, absolutely glowing with how good the cold water felt.

"You’re ridiculous," you said, shaking your head, though you were already smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. You stepped forward and brushed a damp strand of hair off his forehead. "Next time you want a fancy bath, just ask. I’ll even join you."

His eyes lit up, and he reached out, wet fingers curling around your wrist to tug you a little closer. "Oh, I’m definitely remembering that," he said, grinning. "And for the record? Worth every drop of that fancy stuff. Best idea I’ve had all summer."

You laughed again, leaning down to kiss his warm, damp forehead. "Alright, you big softie. Enjoy your bubble bath. But you’re buying me a new bottle. Deal?"

The shop door clicks shut and locks behind you, the only sounds left the hum of the fridge and the faint jazz playing low on the radio. Bucky crowds you back slow until your hips bump the workbench, hands resting heavy on your waist—grease smudges still on his forearms, dark eyes burning bright.

“Quit pretending you needed an oil change,” he rumbles, thumb brushing hard over your hip bone. “You just wanted me to get my hands on you, didn’t you? Come in here every week, batting those pretty eyes…”

Before you can tease back, he hooks his fingers into your jeans and yanks them down your legs in one sharp tug, tossing them aside. He lifts you onto the bench before getting between your knees, pushes your thighs wide, and groans low in his throat when he sees you.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, dragging his palms up your bare legs, squeezing soft skin hard. “So wet already and I haven’t even touched you properly. Desperate little thing, aren’t you?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. He leans in, presses a slow, hot kiss to your clit where you needed him most, it makes you gasp loud and sharp. He teases first—light licks, gentle nips, blowing cool air over sensitive skin just to make you jolt and whimper.

“Bucky—please—stop teasing—”

“Shh,” he hums against you, then laps slow and deep, making your hands fly to his hair. “You take what I give you. You’ve been craving this all month—begging for it without even saying a word. So you take it. And you tell me how good my mouth feels on you.”

He sucks hard, and slides one thick finger deep inside you, curling it just right. Your head falls back, knocking against the metal shelf. “So good—feels so fucking good—”

“Good.” He adds a second finger, stretching you slow, pumping them deep while his tongue works you over. “You like my fingers filling you up? Like how I know exactly what makes you shake? So tight for me—so perfect.” He pulls back just enough to let you breathe, then pushes his fingers deeper, faster, making you cry out. “Beg for more. Beg me to make you come like this.”

“Please—please Bucky—make me come—”

When you’re right on the edge, he pulls his fingers out completely, leaving you empty and whining. He stands up, grinning dark and wicked before he sucks his fingers clean.

“Not yet,” he teases, gripping your thighs and dragging you right to the edge of the workbench. “Gonna make you take all of me first.”

He undoes his belt, shoves his jeans down, and lines himself up—then pauses, rubbing the tip slow against you, making you arch and grind your hips forward. “You want it? Want me to fill you up? Want me to fuck you stupid right here on my workbench?”

“God—yes—please—” you frantically nod looking down between your bodies, he was holding his hard dick in one hand slowly pumping it, the sheer size of it making you chew your lip in anticipation.

He spits on it spreading the saliva before finally pushes inside in one long, smooth stroke, groaning loud when you take every inch of him. “Fuck—so tight—.” He sets a slow, teasing pace at first, pulling almost all the way out before slamming deep again, making the tools rattle around you. “Talk to me, tell me how it feels. Tell me how much better I am than anything you’ve ever had.”

“Better—so much better—the biggest—thickest i've ever had—”

“That’s right.” He grips your hips harder, picks up speed—rough, deep thrusts that knock the breath right out of you. “You love being a little slut getting fucked in my shop? Love knowing I’ve had my hands on engines all day and now I’m using them to ruin you?”

He leans in, kissing you deep and messy, tasting like you. “Such a good girl—taking me so well. Look at you—falling apart for me. You gonna come for me? Gonna come all over my cock?”

“Y-yes—yes—Bucky—”

“Then do it. Come for me now.”

He rubs tight circles on your clit, thrusts deep and steady, and praises you soft and filthy all the way—until you unravel, screaming his name, clinging to his shoulders like he’s the only solid thing in the world. He follows seconds later, groaning your name into your neck, holding you so close there’s no space left between you.

The first time he came to you after ending things with Eve, he didn’t even make it past your front door. He walked in, shut the door behind him, and just stood there for a second—dishevelled, eyes dark, breathing hard like he’d been running. The second you stepped close, he grabbed you, hauled you against him, and kissed you like he was starving, like he’d forgotten what it felt like to breathe anything other than you.

He didn’t talk about her. Didn’t talk about the mess or the weeks apart. He just walked you backward toward the bedroom, his hands everywhere at once—gripping your hips, tangling in your hair, pulling your clothes off like they were nothing more than an annoyance keeping him from what was finally his again.

Once he had you on the bed, he didn’t take his time. He was rough, urgent, every movement sharp and hungry—like he was punishing himself for the time he wasted, like he needed to prove to both of you that there was never any other choice. He pushed inside you hard and deep in one single thrust, and you heard him gasp, his hips stuttering almost immediately, his forehead dropping heavy to rest against yours.

“Fuck—fuck—” he choked out, his rhythm already unravelling fast, his hands gripping your waist so tight you knew there’d be marks. “almost there already—shit, I’m not gonna last—”

He tried to slow it down, forced himself to drag back and push in again, but it was no use. The way you felt around him—warm, tight, familiar—was too much, too perfect, too long denied. He groaned your name raw and broken, his whole body locking up, and he finished hard, spilling deep inside you barely a minute after he’d started, shaking so hard his arms almost gave out.

For a moment he just lay there, panting, his face buried in your neck, embarrassed and relieved all at once. “Sorry,” he mumbled, breathless and soft against your skin. “I just… I couldn’t hold it. All I could think about for weeks was this. Was you.”

The office door clicked shut behind you with a sound that felt far too loud in the silence.

You stood there clutching the bag strap, pulse hammering, while Professor Barnes leaned back against his desk with that familiar unreadable expression — dark eyes fixed entirely on her.

And then there was Professor Rogers.

Watching.

Not cold.

Not judgemental.

Interested.

“You nervous?” Barnes asked quietly.

You swallowed. “A little.”

A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “You never are with me.”

Heat rushed straight into your face.

Steve stepped closer then, careful, giving you plenty of room to move away if you wanted. “Bucky told me about the two of you,” he said gently. “But nothing happens unless you want it to.”

Your breath caught.

Barnes’ hand slid around your waist, grounding and warm. “You can say no, doll.”

Instead, you nodded.

And the look that passed between the two professors nearly made your knees weak.

Steve’s hand brushed your cheek first — impossibly soft for someone so broad — while Barnes pressed a slow kiss beneath your ear. The contrast between them unraveled you immediately. One steady and patient. One rough around the edges, possessive in the way he touched.

“Oh my god,” you whispered before you could stop herself.

Barnes chuckled darkly against your skin. “Already?”

“Easy,” Steve murmured, though his smile said he was enjoying this just as much.

They guided you carefully, deliberately, until you were perched on the edge of the desk, caught between them. Every touch felt amplified: Barnes’ fingers tightening at your hip, Steve smoothing a hand up your trembling thigh, kisses stolen between breathless laughs and muffled sounds you tried desperately to suppress.

“Quiet,” Barnes teased softly. “Someone could hear you.”

That only made it worse.

Your hands clutched at Steve’s shoulders while Barnes kissed you senseless, and every time you thought she could steady yourself, one of them would touch you again and send another shiver through your body.

“Oh my god,” you kept mumbling helplessly. “Oh my god…”

Steve kissed your forehead when your legs started trembling. “You’re doing so well.”. The praise nearly destroyed you.

Barnes looked entirely too pleased by how responsive you were, by the way you melted between them, by how hard you’d fought to stay quiet while they overwhelmed you with attention.

And when you finally buried your face against Steve’s shoulder to hide another broken sound, both men laughed softly — affectionate, warm, devastating.

“Think we spoiled you,” Barnes murmured.

You could barely answer.

Especially not when Steve tipped your chin up gently and said, “Pretty sure she likes it.”

Bucky lounged back in his chair like he had all the patience in the world, one arm draped over the armrest while he watched you come apart below him.

You sprawled across the desk, completely breathless, Steve hovering over you flushed skin and restrained control that looked dangerously close to snapping. Every movement pulled another helpless sound from your throat, and you pressed a shaking hand against his hip as if you couldn’t decide whether to pull him closer or slow him down.

“God,” Steve muttered, voice rough. “Look at you.”

Your head tipped back against the scattered papers on the desk, hair a mess, eyes glassy with tears you didn’t even seem aware of. You tried to bite back a moan and failed spectacularly.

“F—”

The curse broke from you in a gasp, loud enough that two of them froze for half a second.

Then Bucky laughed softly.

“There she is,” he said, low and approving. “Knew you’d lose that sweet little composure eventually.”

You could barely think straight under the weight of their attention. Steve’s grip tightened at your waist and shoulder, steadying you as you trembled beneath him, his forehead dropping briefly against yours while he fought to stay controlled.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, despite the strain in his voice.

You nodded too fast. “Yes— oh my god— yes.”

Steve groaned under his breath at how responsive you were, every reaction immediate and honest, impossible to fake. It drove him insane. And Bucky clearly loved it too, watching you with dark, intent eyes that never left your face.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Bucky murmured. “Doing so good for us.”

The praise made your legs shake harder.

Steve kissed you hard, swallowing the broken sound that escaped, while Bucky’s voice continued like a steady pull keeping you unraveling body together. “Pretty thing,” he said. “Look how overwhelmed you are.”

Somehow that tenderness only made everything feel worse — hotter, more emotional, impossible to escape.

Steve’s rhythm finally broke with a strained groan against your neck, his composure unraveling completely as he held you tightly against him. You clung to his shoulders, shaking so hard you could barely catch your breath, every wave of pleasure leaving you more dazed than the last.

“Oh my god,” you whispered again, voice wrecked and uneven. Steve laughed softly, breathless himself, brushing damp hair back from your face. “You okay there?”. You tried to answer, but another tremor rolled through you instead, making you curl instinctively toward him.

And both men just stared at her for a second, Completely awestruck.

Because you looked ruined in the prettiest possible way — flushed cheeks, watery eyes, trembling legs, barely able to think straight while your body kept reacting long after it had already fallen apart.

Bucky leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, gaze dark with admiration. “Jesus, sweetheart.”

Steve finally stepped back with visible reluctance, still keeping a steadying hand on your waist as you struggled to come down from everything. The moment he moved away, you whimpered softly at the loss of contact, and Bucky actually grinned.

“My turn,” he said. You let out a weak laugh, half mortified, half desperate. Steve dropped into the chair Bucky had abandoned, watching with heated eyes as Bucky stepped between your shaking legs and cupped your face gently in both hands.

The sudden softness nearly undid you. “Hi, baby,” Bucky murmured. You made the smallest broken sound in response, still trembling hard enough that he immediately stroked his thumb beneath your eye in reassurance.

“Hey,” he said quieter now, forehead touching hers briefly. “Breathe for me.”. Behind him, Steve watched the entire thing with a look somewhere between fascination and disbelief, like he couldn’t get over how sensitive you'd become, how every little touch still made you shiver.

“So responsive,” Steve muttered, almost to himself. Bucky smirked without looking away from you. “Told you.”

You hid your face against Bucky’s shoulder for a second, embarrassed by how completely overwhelmed you were, but his hand slid up your back soothingly while Steve’s warm hand settled against her ankle from where he sat nearby.

Caught between them again.

Safe.

Completely adored.

And utterly doomed.

Bucky’s control snapped the second you started falling apart beneath him. One hand gripped your thigh firmly, pushing your legs higher while the other braced beside her shoulder, caging you in completely. The sudden intensity pulled a sharp cry from your throat, your back arching helplessly off the desk as you buried her face against his shoulder.

“Baby—” you sobbed softly, overwhelmed. “Too much, too much—”

“That’s it,” Bucky murmured, voice rough with restraint. “You can take it.”

You shook your head immediately despite the way your body reacted to every word, trembling uncontrollably as he kissed along your jaw. Steve watched from the chair nearby, completely captivated by the scene in front of him — by how responsive you were, how every touch and whispered praise seemed to undo you further.

Then Bucky shifted again, and you outright screamed his name. “James—!”. The sound echoed through the office before you slapped a hand over your mouth, eyes wide and wet with tears. Bucky groaned at the reaction, forehead dropping briefly to your shoulder like he was struggling to stay composed himself.

“There she is,” he breathed. Your thighs shook violently where he held them, chest rising in uneven gasps as you clung to him. “I’m gonna pass out,” you whimpered. “Oh my god, I’m gonna pass out—”

Steve was on his feet instantly at that, moving closer to brush a steadying hand through your hair. “Hey,” he said gently. “Look at me..". You tried, dazed and glassy-eyed.

“You’re okay,” Steve promised softly, even as Bucky kept you trembling beneath him. “Just breathe.” But Bucky only smiled against your skin, entirely too pleased by how wrecked you'd become. “So pretty when you lose control,” he murmured. Another broken sob escaped from your lips and Steve actually laughed quietly in disbelief, shaking his head as he watched you melt all over again between the two of them.

You were shaking so badly you could barely hold onto him, fingers twisted into Bucky’s shirt while every breath came out uneven and wrecked. The office felt unbearably hot, the air thick with praise, tension, and the sound of you trying — and failing — to stay quiet.

Steve loosened his tie with one hand and gently pressed the silk against your lips when another loud cry escaped you. “Easy,” he murmured, thumb brushing your cheek. “You’re gonna get us caught.”

The embarrassment only made your face burn hotter. Bucky laughed softly against your throat, clearly enjoying every second of how overwhelmed you'd become. “Sweetheart can’t help herself.”

You whimpered at the teasing, body jerking with another wave of sensation that made you cling tighter to him.

“There you go,” Bucky said, voice low and rough near her ear. “That’s my girl.” Steve sat close beside you now, one hand rubbing soothing circles along your trembling thigh while he watched yo come apart under Bucky’s attention. There was something almost reverent in the way both men looked at you — completely fascinated by every reaction you gave them.

Bucky tipped her chin up gently, forcing her watery eyes back to his “You trusted Steve,” he murmured. “Now you’re trusting me too.” The words sent another visible shiver through you and the moment you hid your face against his shoulder again, both men smiled like they knew they had completely ruined you for anything less than this.

Bucky finally dropped forward with a rough groan, forehead pressed briefly against her shoulder while he caught his breath. For a moment all three of you were silent except for your shaky gasps and the quiet rustle of clothes and papers displaced across the desk. Then Bucky carefully pulled back and you immediately curled inward with a weak sound, still trembling so hard it looked like you couldn’t stop.

Steve stared at you in open disbelief from the chair. “Wow.” Your legs twitched again, another helpless shiver rolling through you as you hid your burning face behind both hands.

Bucky barked out a laugh. “Pretty sure we broke her.” You made a tiny protesting noise through your fingers, which only made both men laugh harder. “Oh my god,” you mumbled, voice muffled and wrecked. “Please stop looking at me.”. “Can’t,” Steve said immediately.

You peeked at him through her fingers and regretted it instantly because the expression on his face was devastating — completely affectionate, completely fascinated. Bucky leaned down beside you, brushing messy hair away from your damp cheeks. “You still with us, baby?”

“I think so,” you whispered dramatically.

“Think so?” he teased. Another shiver hit you and you squeezed your eyes shut. “Okay maybe not.”

Steve stood then, moving closer to hand you a glass of water from the corner of the desk. “Drink,” he ordered gently. You obeyed automatically, hands still shaky enough that Steve steadied the glass for you while Bucky rubbed slow circles against your thigh.

The tenderness after everything nearly overwhelmed you more than the intensity had. “You did so good for us,” Steve murmured and judging by the way your face immediately flushed again, neither of them were going to let you recover anytime soon.

Steve eased the glass from your hands once you’d finished drinking, setting it carefully aside while Bucky stayed close enough that you could still feel the warmth radiating from him. You were boneless against the desk now, completely exhausted, every few seconds another involuntary shiver running through your body.

Bucky smirked at the sight. “Still shaking.”. “You’re both awful,” you muttered weakly. “Mm.” Steve leaned one hip against the desk beside her, arms folded loosely across his chest. “And yet you’re smiling.”. You immediately tried to stop smiling, Which only made Bucky laugh again.

The office settled into a softer silence after that. Rain tapped faintly against the windows, papers still scattered across the desk beneath you, and both men stayed close like neither of them was in any hurry to move away.

Eventually Bucky tilted her chin up enough to make you look at him again, “You okay?”. This time her answer came easier, “Yeah,” you admitted quietly. “Really okay." Steve smiled at that — soft and genuine enough to make her stomach flip all over again and judging by the look Bucky gave her next, he noticed too.

They eventually managed to pull themselves together enough to get dressed, though it took far longer than it should have because neither Bucky nor Steve seemed capable of keeping their hands to themselves for more than thirty seconds.

Steve was fixing his cuffs when you shifted awkwardly and suddenly froze. “Oh my god,” you muttered under your breath. Bucky glanced up from buttoning his shirt. “What?”. Your face went scarlet as you grabbed a tissue from the edge of the desk and pressed it quickly between her legs, laughing despite yourself. Both men immediately understood as they seen come dripping down your thighs and the expressions on their faces were catastrophic. Bucky actually looked smug. Steve just stared at you like his brain had stopped functioning entirely.

“You two are unbelievable,” you said through embarrassed laughter.

“Sweetheart,” Bucky said, voice rough with amusement, “you’re the one blushing.”. “Because you’re both looking at me like that!” you laughed. Steve rubbed a hand over his mouth, trying and failing to hide a grin. “Can you blame us?”. You shook your head helplessly, still laughing as you adjusted your skirt. “Thankfully I have the implant, because apparently neither of you were remotely concerned about condoms.”. That earned matching looks of guilt from both men.

For about half a second.

Then Bucky snorted.

Steve sighed dramatically. “In our defence, thinking wasn’t really happening.” he shrugged. “That’s not a defence!”. Bucky stepped closer, slipping an arm around your waist and kissing the corner of your mouth while you tried not to laugh again. “Pretty sure you weren’t doing much thinking either, doll.”

You opened your mouth to argue and immediately failed because, unfortunately, he was right. “We should probably get you out of here before one of us forgets how doors work.” Bucky hummed thoughtfully. “Too late. I’m already considering locking it again.”. “James.” you gasped.

“What? You'd let me.” he says. The worst part was the way both men looked at you expectantly afterward and judging by the heat rushing back into your face, they absolutely knew the answer.

You finished fixing your clothes and leaned back against the desk, still flushed and shaky while both men hovered nearby. You looked between them suspiciously. “Okay… what is this now?” Both men blinked you pointed vaguely between them. “Like — are you two secretly in love? Did I accidentally join something? Are you guys gay?”. The silence lasted exactly one second before both of them burst out laughing. Steve bent forward slightly, rubbing a hand over his face while Bucky outright cackled beside you.

“Oh my god,” Bucky wheezed. “Baby, no.” You frowned harder. “Then what is happening here?”Steve finally recovered enough to answer, still grinning. “We’re not together.”. “Not even a little,” Bucky added.You looked unconvinced. “You seemed very comfortable sharing.”

Bucky shrugged. “Because it’s you.”. Steve nodded simply. “We’re into you. Not each other.” That made you blink. Bucky smirked at your expression and stepped closer again. “No offence to Rogers.”. “None taken,” Steve said dryly. “But I’m not interested in him like that.” Steve crossed his arms with a laugh. “Same here.”. You looked between them again, trying to process the absurdity of the conversation happening immediately after everything else.

“So you just…” You gestured vaguely again. “Team up occasionally?". Bucky grinned. “If the occasion is pretty enough.”. “James,” Steve warned, though he looked amused too. Your face heated instantly.

Steve softened then, stepping in close enough that his hand brushed gently along your arm. “This doesn’t have to be complicated,” he said quietly. “We both care about you. That’s all.”. “And,” Bucky added smugly, “we both really like making you blush.” You rolled her eyes, but the smile breaking across your face gave it away immediately.

Steve noticed first. “There it is.”

“What?”