The door swings open and he fills the doorway, broad and bristling and irritated as hell.

He looks good angry. Too good. Which is making this a little difficult.

“You gonna tell me why you flirted with that guy at the bar?” he asks, jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides. “Because I must’ve missed something.”

You glare at him. “I wasn’t flirting! I was ordering a drink.”

“He touched your arm.”

“He bumped into me—”

“You smiled at him,” Bucky cuts you off, stepping inside, closing the door with his foot.

Your pulse trips. Because the second the door clicks, the whole energy shifts.

Still angry. But thicker. Hotter.

“You’re being ridiculous,” you breathe. “Jealous over nothing.”

“That’s not jealousy,” he mutters, taking another step until there’s barely a foot between you. “That’s me watching my girl let some stranger get too close.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Your chin lifts, defiant.

And that’s when something in Bucky snaps.

Not in a dangerous way. In the I’m going to put my hands on you way. The you’re not walking out of this room until we’re done way.

“Oh,” you whisper, heat curling low in your stomach. “That kind of mad.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, like he’s been trying to be civil and is officially done.

“That kind,” he confirms.

And then he has you.

Your back hits the wall, his metal hand pinning your wrist above your head while his flesh hand cups your jaw, thumb dragging across your bottom lip.

“You drive me insane,” he growls, his forehead pressing to yours. “You know that?”

“You’re the one acting like a caveman.”

“Sweetheart, I’m five seconds from showing you a caveman.”

You shiver. He means it.

His mouth crashes onto yours, messy and demanding, all teeth and tongue and frustration. You gasp into him, fingers curling into his shirt even though he still has your wrist pinned.

“You wearing this lipstick on purpose?” he asks against your mouth, voice low and wrecked. “Just beggin’ to get it smeared all over my face?”

“You’re so—” You try to shove him. It doesn’t work. He smirks against your lips.

“What was that?” he taunts. “Did my girl wanna push me?”

“Maybe I don’t want you right now,” you spit, even though your hips are already tilting toward him.

His laugh is dark and disbelieving.

“Yeah? Then why’re you trembling?”

He drops your wrist just to grab both of your thighs and haul you up, slamming you against the wall again as your legs wrap around him automatically.

Your arms go around his shoulders, nails digging into muscle, dragging a groan out of him.

“You gonna keep denying you want this?” he asks, grinding against you so hard you gasp. “Or do I need to fuck the attitude out of you first?”

“God, you’re insufferable.”

“And you’re wet as hell,” he murmurs, sliding his hand under your skirt, fingers pressing exactly where you need him. “So which one of us is lying?”

Your breath stutters.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

You crash your mouth against his again, desperate and furious and aching, teeth clashing as he works your underwear aside and slides two fingers into you without warning.

You choke on a sound—half gasp, half moan—and he bites your lip gently.

“There she is,” he whispers. “There’s my girl.”

“Bucky—”

“Not mad anymore?” he teases.

“I’m still mad,” you pant.

“Good.” He curls his fingers. You whine, clawing at his shoulders.

“Because angry sex is my favorite.”

He carries you to the bed and drops you onto it, tugging your skirt down in one rough movement. Then he’s unbuckling his belt, eyes glued to you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted.

“Hands and knees,” he orders softly but firmly.

You hesitate for half a second, just long enough to be bratty, before doing exactly what he wants.

He groans when he sees how slick you are, running his thumb over you, watching your hips twitch.

“Still think I’m being ridiculous?” he asks.

“Yes,” you bite out.

He laughs. “That’s fine. I’ll deal with it.”

He lines up behind you, the blunt head of his cock sliding through your wetness until you’re shaking from the anticipation.

“You ready?” he murmurs, leaning over you, lips brushing your ear.

“Just fuck me already!”

“Oh, I plan on it.”

He thrusts into you hard enough to knock the air out of your lungs, your hands clawing at the sheets as the stretch burns in the best way.

“Jesus,” he breathes, gripping your hips. “Always so tight for me.”

Each thrust is sharp, angry, frustrated, and perfect. You push back against him without thinking, the sound of his skin hitting yours echoing in the room.

“You feel that?” he asks, grabbing a fistful of your hair to pull your head back. “Feel how deep I am?”

“Yes—god—yes—”

“You’re mine,” he growls. “Even when you’re pissed at me. Even when I’m pissed at you.”

Your vision blurs, your whole body shaking as he fucks you harder, deeper, angrier.

“Bucky! I’m close—”

“I know, baby. Go on. Let me have it.”

You fall apart with a strangled cry, your body clenching around him so tight he swears, grabbing your hips and slamming into you until he follows you over the edge with a guttural groan.

He collapses over you, breathing hard, pressing soft kisses down your spine as the anger finally melts into something warm.

After a long moment, he murmurs against your skin:

“You still mad?”

“A little.”

Sam and Bucky joined you at the bar and poured themselves a drink. Bucky's hand slipped around your waist and he pressed a kiss to your cheek. You hummed a hello and sipped on your drink, excitement making your tummy flip. You knew the punishment would be big for what you were plotting, but you just didn't care...

"How has your day been Buckworth Barnacles?"

The nickname hung in the air between you, Sam and Bucky. You glanced up at Sam who was looking like Christmas had come early. It was like he was going to burst with glee. "Buckworth Barnacles?" He roared and slapped his hand down on the bar. "Oh my god! That's what Bunny calls you? Oh man, that's so embarrassing..." He continued to laugh as Bucky fumed. You pinched his chin and smiled at him. "I think it's cute, and you like it don't you Buckworth?" He huffed and gripped your wrist in his hand. He leaned in and whispered low in your ear, "Go and wait for me in the car, don't say another fucking word..." You smiled at him and kissed his cheek before swishing away from him. You wondered how much he'd have to give Sam to keep his secret.

-----------------🔥-------------------

"You always...always..fuck..have to be a....fucking little brat.... Don't you Bunny?" Bucky panted as he railed into you from behind, all you could do was cling to the headboard and wail at him. His palm connected with your ass cheek, already burning from previous punishment.

You squealed and wiggled as the sting bloomed over your body and his hand gripped the back of your neck, pushing you deeper into the mattress. "Such a dumb little bunny....and now look atcha, good for nothin' but this." You moaned as his cock dragged against your walls and you squeezed him tight. "Uh uh little Bunny, don't even think about it..."

He pulled out and you listened to him groan, before feeling his hot release spill over your ass and lower back. You sobbed and fussed, "Buckkkky, not fair" but he just laughed a mocking laugh and climbed off you.

Before you could do anything you felt a sting of leather land on you, making you shout out in surprise. Your head shot round and saw Bucky weilding a flogger that peppered your soft skin with sharp kisses. "Daddy stop it now.... Was only a joke." You pouted but you didn't move from where he left you.

He sat down, his thighs next to your head, one hand stroking your back while the other kept flicking you with the flogger. "I know it was only a joke, but you can't pull shit like that in front of Sam, you think he's gonna let me forget fucking Buckworth. Barnacles?" He emphasised the name with two hard swats. You whined and grabbed his thigh, starting to feel a little bit guilty, but mostly just incredible horny. "He wiillll... We can make him forget..." You pushed yourself up a little and crawled over putting you head into his lap and pressing soft kisses to his already stiffening cock. He didn't stop flogging, but he was considerably less focused when you took his sensitive head in your mouth and sucked. Then you used your hand to stroke him and whispered between kisses to his leaking head, "We could pay him lots of money?" Bucky grunted. "Orrrr do something nice for him?" You sank all the way down and held there for a moment while he cursed before you glanced up at him, relief flooding your body when you noticed he'd dropped the flogger. You pressed a kiss to his lips and kept stroking him, giving him your best puppy dog eyes as he eyed you with skepticism. "You ain't doing that to him..."

You giggled and kissed him again as you moved again, straddling him and rubbing your soaking, desperate heat against him. You panted a little between more kisses, "We could make him something? Or buy him a vacation?" You sucked in a breath as you very naughtyily sank down on his cock, but he wasn't complaining and neither were you.

"Or what if....oh god....what if we punished him? Made him do lots and lots of horrible jobs until he stops saying it?" You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and started to ride him, not really able to focus on a good idea as he filled you up so perfectly. "Or ban him from the club.... You know he fancies one of the girls there..." You gasped as he thrust up into you and gripped your hips before stilling.

"Bun Bun, did I say you could ride my cock? Are you sure you've earned it?" You giggled and bounced a little, even against his firm grip. "Yes I haaave. Please, Sam isn't even going to remember it" you pouted and squeezed his shoulders. You peppered his face with kisses which he returned easily, unable to resist you. You took his kisses and the loose grip on your hip as permission and you began riding him again, pretty moans escaping your lips between kisses.

He rolled you over and took control, thrusting into you as you clung to his shoulders, pulling him in for a kiss. He squeezed your breasts before moving down and rubbing at your sensitive clit. You mewled in pleasure and sank your nails into his back, legs wrapping around his waist as he pounded into you.

"Bucky....Bucky please... Please let me....can I?" You sobbed, desperate for some relief from the pressure he had built up in you. "Alright Bunny.... Come for me" he growled and in moments you were, moaning long and loud as he overstimulated you beyond what you could handle before pulling out of your puffy, overused cunt.

"Good girl" he praised, pressing more kisses to you and smiling at you as you softly laughed, curling up into his side as he lay down.

Yeah. That’ll do it.

You flop back into the pillow with an embarrassed groan—even that comes out as a pathetic puff of air. Beside you, Bucky stretches like a smug, over-satisfied cat, metal arm flexing as he rolls onto his back.

“Morning,” he says, voice deliciously rough. “How’s the throat?”

You glare at him. Or… you try. It probably looks more like a pout.

Nothing comes out when you try to respond—absolutely nothing—and Bucky bites back a grin like it’s actually causing him physical pain.

“Aww,” he coos, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Completely shot, huh?”

You smack his chest. It only makes him chuckle deeper.

“Not my fault you begged for it.” He kisses your forehead. “Twice.”

You point aggressively to the door. He knows damn well the team is expecting the two of you at breakfast. He also knows you can’t hide in bed without raising questions.

“Oh, c’mon,” he murmurs, rolling on top of you for a teasing kiss you barely allow. “They won’t notice.”

You give him the look.

He bursts out laughing. “Alright, fine—they’ll notice. I won’t say a word.”

But the glint in his eye says he’ll enjoy every second of it.

Breakfast is a disaster waiting to happen.

You’re barely seated before Sam squints at you. “You good? You sound like a ninety-year-old chain smoker.”

You try to reply, but it comes out as a whispery squeak—one that makes Sam’s eyes widen.

“Whoa. What the hell happened to you?”

Bucky takes a slow sip of his coffee. Smirks into the rim.

Nat tilts her head. “Allergies?”

You shake your head.

“Cold?” Steve adds.

Another head shake.

“Did you fall asleep with the fan on?” Wanda suggests helpfully.

You gesture vaguely—sort of? maybe? no?—you don’t know how to mime “my boyfriend rearranged my soul last night.”

Bucky reaches over and rests a very casual, very possessive hand on your thigh under the table. “She’ll be fine,” he says simply.

You elbow him. He squeezes your thigh. Hard.

“Barnes,” Natasha says suspiciously, eyes narrowing. “Why do you look like you know something?”

He shrugs, like the picture of innocence. “Do I?”

Sam’s gaze bounces between your flushed face and Bucky’s barely-restrained grin. “Hold on—wait—wait a minute.”

You shake your head violently. Nononononono—

Sam slaps the table. “Oh my GOD. You lost your voice from—”

You kick him. Or you try. He’s faster than he looks in the morning.

The blush burns your cheeks hot enough to cook an omelet. Bucky chuckles, drinking his coffee like he’s at a front-row comedy show.

Steve sighs into his plate. “Do we need to start a rule about noise levels in the compound?”

Wanda snorts. “I can make soundproofing spells if it’ll help.”

Nat smirks over her mug. “Or Bucky can simply learn moderation.”

Bucky raises a brow. “She didn’t seem to want moderation.”

You choke on absolutely nothing. If you had a voice, you’d be swearing at him.

Sam hollers. Steve mutters something about respecting communal spaces. Vision deadpans a suggestion about installing decibel monitors.

And Bucky? He just sits there. Calm. Smug. Fingers stroking slow circles on your inner thigh, hidden from view.

You swat his hand away under the table. He just puts it back.

The moment you’re alone—two steps inside the hallway—you whirl on him, mouthing curses.

He laughs. Actually laughs.

“Baby, you should’ve seen your face,” he says, pulling you close by the waist. “You’re adorable when you’re embarrassed.”

You smack his chest again.

“Hey,” he murmurs, catching your wrist easily, guiding your hand up to his mouth to kiss your knuckles. “You wanna know something?”

You glare, waiting.

His lips brush your ear, voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “I could fuck you again right now and make sure you don’t get your voice back for a week.”

Your knees actually buckle.

He catches you, one arm steady around your waist. “But,” he adds, gentler now, “I’m gonna be good. Gonna make you tea. Gonna take care of that throat I ruined.”

You narrow your eyes, pointing to yourself. Shower gesture.

He nods. “Go ahead. I’ll bring you something warm.”

Then, right as you turn away, he smacks your ass—hard enough to make you jump.

“Pretty little thing,” he murmurs, watching you walk. “Should’ve known you’d get loud for me.”

You whirl around, mouthing something obscene.

He just grins wider. “Can’t hear you, doll.”

Fifteen minutes later, you’re wrapped in a towel, sipping honey tea when he joins you.

Bucky sits on the edge of the bed, tilting your chin up to inspect your throat like he’s a doctor.

“Mm,” he hums, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw. “Still red.”

You swat him with a pillow.

He laughs and loops his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. “Hey,” he murmurs, kissing your hair. “You tell me to slow down next time, okay?”

You shake your head. Then shrug. Then tilt your hand—maybe keep going but also maybe not.

He bursts out laughing again.

“You’re impossible,” he says.

But the way he cups your face? The softness in his eyes when he presses his forehead to yours?

He’s already planning to buy you throat lozenges. Already planning soup. A movie. A nap.

And definitely, definitely planning round two when your voice comes back.

He kisses you, slow and sweet.

“I love you,” he murmurs. “Even when you sound like a squeaky toy.”

You elbow him in the ribs.

He kisses your forehead again.

You barely have time to inhale before he drives into you again, deeper this time, like he’s trying to melt himself inside you. The bed squeals. Not creaks—squeals.

Your eyes fly open. “Did you—was that—?”

Bucky smirks, the kind that makes your spine arch and your thighs shake. “Sweetheart, that bed doesn’t stand a chance tonight.”

He proves it immediately.

His metal hand locks around your hip, fingers sinking into the flesh like they’re made to fit there. His other hand fists in your hair and yanks—not cruelly, but possessively—forcing your head back so he can bite along your throat.

You whimper, nails clawing at his back. “Bucky, slow down—”

“No.” His voice is a low, feral rumble. “Not tonight. Tonight you take every fuckin’ inch just how I give it to you.”

Your legs are already trembling when he snaps his hips forward again. The entire frame groans, the wood under you flexing dangerously.

And he laughs. Laughs.

“Listen to that,” he murmurs, licking a stripe up your neck. “Bed’s cryin’ before you even are.”

You do cry—when he flips you effortlessly onto your stomach, dragging your hips into the air. He doesn’t even need to hold you up; your body is already clinging to him, desperate, needy, ruined.

One rough thrust and you swear you see white.

“Fuck—fuck—Bucky—”

“That’s it,” he pants, slamming into you again so hard your forearms collapse on the mattress. “Give me those pretty noises. Give me all of it.”

His metal arm slides around your waist, hauling you backward as he pistons into you from behind. You’re caught between his chest and the headboard, helpless and shaking, barely aware of anything except the obscene stretch and the way he fills you completely.

The frame cracks again. Louder.

“Bucky—”

“Don’t worry, doll,” he groans, thrusts getting rougher, wetter. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

“You broke it!”

“No.” He grips your throat, pulling you back against him until your spine curves beautifully. “We broke it.”

The next thrust is what finally does it.

A sharp, splintering SNAP shoots through the room as one leg of the bed gives out. The whole mattress drops several inches, tilting violently. You scream, half from shock, half from pleasure.

Bucky barely slows.

He presses you down into the lopsided mattress, hips grinding against your ass with deep, hungry strokes that shake the ruined frame beneath you.

“You feel that?” he pants into your ear. “Broke the bed cause I can’t get enough of this fuckin’ pussy.”

You’re barely coherent. Your cheek is mashed into the soft dip of the mattress, your breath a series of broken sobs as he uses your hips to drag you back onto him over and over and over—

“Bucky, I—I can’t—”

“Yes you can.” His metal fingers slip between your legs, stroking you deliberately, cruelly, right where you’re already throbbing. “You’re gonna come on my cock while we’re destroyin’ furniture, baby. Give it to me.”

You fall apart embarrassingly fast—clenching, shaking, crying his name like it’s the only language you know. The orgasm rips through you so violently your legs give out completely.

Bucky groans like he’s losing his mind.

“Good girl,” he growls, thrusting through your release, chasing his own high. “Fuck, I’m gonna fill you—gonna fill you so deep it leaks out for days—”

You don’t get a warning.

He shoves you fully down onto him, burying himself to the hilt as he comes with a broken noise, heat flooding deep inside you, thick and pulsing. His hips jerk through it, overstimulating you past the point of sanity, until your whole body is trembling uncontrollably.

When he finally stops, he collapses beside you, breathless and sweaty, pulling you onto his chest.

The bed wheezes dramatically beneath you.

You look at him.

He grins. Wide. Unrepentant. Smug as hell.

“Guess we got carried away.”

“You think?” you wheeze, gesturing at the collapsed bed. “Bucky, it’s broken.”

He kisses you lazily. “I’ll fix it.”

“You can’t fix that.”

“Fine.” He shrugs, still panting. “I’ll just build you a new one. Stronger. Reinforced. Maybe bolt it to the wall.”

You blink. “That sounds… excessive?”

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your swollen bottom lip, “after tonight? Excessive is the bare minimum.”

You roll your eyes—but your legs are still shaking, so you let him pull you onto his chest again.

The bed chooses this moment to let out a loud, catastrophic CRACK as another board gives up.

You drag a hand down your face. “You owe me a whole new bedroom.”

He smirks, nudging your thigh with his still-hard cock.

That’s part of the game.

But the second the bedroom door shuts, his hand is in your hair, and your back is against the wall so fast you gasp.

“There she is,” Bucky murmurs, mouth at your ear, voice low and thrilled like he’s been waiting all damn day. “My needy little slut.”

Heat punches between your legs so sharply your knees wobble. “Bucky—”

He tilts your chin up with two fingers, smirking. “What? You act surprised every time you get exactly what you want.”

“I’m not—”

His brow lifts. A warning. A promise.

You swallow. “I’m not surprised,” you breathe. “Just… impatient.”

That gets him.

His grip tightens in your hair. His other hand slides down your front and cups your pussy right through your panties, pressing until you feel the outline of each thick finger.

“You’re impatient?” he repeats, mocking, slow, wicked. “Baby, your pussy’s dripping. Don’t pretend it’s not.” He taps you once with two fingers. “You’re already acting like a pathetic little whore.”

Your breath stutters. “Bucky…”

“No,” he says, leaning in until his nose grazes your cheek. “You wanted this. You invited this. So tell me what you are.”

Your brain fuzzes. Your thighs squeeze around nothing, already needy.

“I’m… yours,” you whisper.

His laugh is soft, disbelieving. Cruel in the way you love. “You think I asked who you belong to?”

You bite your lip.

“Try again.”

Your heart thumps hard — the drop you crave, the place only he can take you. The room feels smaller, his body feels bigger, and suddenly every inch of you is vibrating.

“I’m your slut,” you whisper.

His breath catches — approval, hunger, satisfaction. “Louder.”

“I’m your slut.”

“Louder.”

“I’m your fucking slut, Bucky.”

He grins like you’ve given him oxygen. “That’s right.”

His hand leaves your hair only long enough to shove your panties aside and drag the pads of two fingers through your soaked slit. When he sees how wet you are — how ready you’ve been — his pupils blow wide.

“God, you’re pathetic,” he sighs happily. “Look at you. So wet it’s running down your thighs. All because I called you a slut.”

Your hips jerk against his hand involuntarily.

“Yeah,” he whispers at your reaction. “You like that, don’t you? You like being talked to like you’re nothing but a hole for me to use.”

A whimper escapes you — sharp, involuntary, humiliating in the sweetest, safest way.

His mouth curls. “There she is. My perfect little mess.”

Before you can recover, he spins you around and bends you over the bed. Your cheek hits the sheets, your ass in the air, and he doesn’t wait — your panties are on the floor, his belt is unbuckled, his cock heavy and already leaking against your ass.

“Spread,” he orders.

You do — fast, eager, shameless.

He drags his cock through your folds and groans at how slick the sound is. “This pussy was made for getting ruined.”

You’re panting now, the tension coiled tight in your belly.

Then he pushes in.

Hard.

One long, thick stroke that sinks all the way inside until your breath is gone and your vision flashes white.

“Fuck—” you gasp.

Bucky groans against your spine, gripping your hips so hard you’ll feel him tomorrow. “Every time,” he growls. “Every fucking time, you act like you can take it. And every time you fall apart like a little whore.”

Your nails clutch the sheets. “Please—”

“Please what? Use your words, sweetheart. Whores talk so pretty when they’re begging.”

“I want— I want you to fuck me—”

“Already doing that,” he teases, snapping his hips once so deep you choke on a moan. “Try harder.”

You shudder. “Use me.”

His cock twitches inside you.

“Again.”

“I want you to use me,” you whimper. “Please, Bucky, I want you to fuck me like I’m nothing.”

He lets out a low, vicious sound that sends electricity down your spine. One hand plants on the small of your back, pinning you. The other grabs your throat from behind, tipping your head back into his shoulder just enough to hear him growl:

“Then take it.”

He fucks you.

Slow at first. Purposeful. Cruel. Each thrust is a shove, an instruction, a claim.

“You’re mine,” he breathes into your ear. “My dumb little toy. My dirty girl. My fucking favorite thing.”

Your whole body trembles.

“And you love it,” he continues, thrusts deepening, pace sharp. “You love it when I talk to you like this. When I treat you exactly how you beg to be treated. Don’t you?”

You can barely think, barely exist, barely breathe — but you manage a strangled, “Yes—!”

He smiles. You can feel it against your cheek. “Good. Because I’m not done with you.”

His hand slides down your stomach, between your legs, fingers finding your clit with practiced precision.

You jolt, crying out.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Make those noises. Let everyone know what you really are.”

“Bucky— I’m— I’m close—”

“I know, baby. You always are when you get talked to like a filthy little toy.”

His pace turns ruthless.

“You’re gonna come for me. You’re gonna come all over my cock like the needy fucking slut you are.”

You break.

Your orgasm hits fast, violent, — your whole body melting as your muscles clamp around him. You hear yourself whine, sob, gasp, all of it raw and uninhibited.

Bucky fucks you through it relentlessly, chasing his release, using your shaking body until he’s panting into your shoulder.

“God— you make me crazy,” he groans. “Gonna fill you up. Make you remember who you belong to.”

You’re still pulsing around him when he thrusts deep, burying himself inside you and spilling hot and heavy while he groans your name like a prayer.

His hand slides from your throat to your waist, steadying you, grounding you.

You collapse onto the bed together in a tangled, breathless heap.

For a long moment, the room is quiet except for your panting.

Then Bucky presses a kiss to your bare shoulder — soft, sweet, the gentlest contrast to how he just fucked you.

“You okay, doll?” he murmurs, voice warm now. Concern tucked under lust, the way it always is.

You nod into the sheets. “Better than okay.”

He smiles against your skin. “Good. Because you know I’d never say any of that unless you wanted it.”

“I know,” you breathe, smiling. “That’s why it’s so hot.”

He laughs, low and delighted. “Yeah? You like your soldier mean?”

“Very,” you say. “But only in bed.”

His hand runs down your spine. “Then get some water in you,” he says, playfully smacking your ass. “Because once you recover? I’m putting you right back in your place.”

Your stomach flips.

“Promise?” you tease.