#sassandscribbles

Nerd Clark who thinks you're friends.

Nerd Clark who has no idea how bad your intentions are. That you hardly want friendship from him. What you want is for him to ruin you.

Nerd Clark who watches you stare at him, thinking its a loving look on your face except your eyes are raking over his body thinking about how soft those curls would feel under your palms, how those glasses would fog up when you have him panting under you, how those massive ridges of muscles would ripple when he's thrusting into you and how those veins would feel if you traced it with your tongue.

Nerd Clark who snaps you out of your wild imagination with a snap of his fingers and you're left breathless and wet in the office in the middle of the day.

Nerd Clark who believes your excuse of not feeling well when you look all red and leave for home early.

Nerd Clark who would never know that you spent that night riding your vibrator pretending it to be him, moaning his name out loud until your walls have it memorised. (I meant bedroom walls, what're you even thinking, you dirty minded duckling)

Nerd Clark who's all shy when you kiss him for the first time. All nervous smiles and fumbling hands as his lips move over yours in a slow rhythm.

Nerd Clark whose glasses nugde against your nose when he leans in for a second kiss, much to his annoyance but only until you end up giggling against his mouth.

Nerd Clark who does not understand why you're so keen on him leaving his glasses on during the kiss even when it's in the way.

Nerd Clark who you think would be shy and soft and sweet in bed and turns out he's anything but.

Nerd Clark who has you pinned against the door the moment you close it after getting home.

Nerd Clark whose hungry eyes, dilated pupils, and shameless strokes of his fingers under your shirt surprise you in the best way becuase where did that shy nerd go who was nervous to kiss you?

Nerd Clark who has known everything since the beginning and still let you work for him, and yearn for him, all this time.

Nerd Clark whose voice is possesive and dark and rough when he leans in close to your ear and whispers “You've been testing my patience, baby” before his mouth is on you.

Nerd Clark who revels in watching you all shocked and dumbfounded at knowing how his shy personality just switches off around you.

Nerd Clark who has the filthiest mouth on him and loves to rile you up “Why do you look so dumb baby? Were’nt you the one who invited me here?”

Nerd Clark who chuckles against your lips when you have no words left and you decide kissing him would be the appropriate response.

Nerd Clark who picks you up like you weigh no more than a pillow before he trudges toward your bedroom.

Nerd Clark who takes his sweet time with you. Kissing his way down your body, worshipping every inch of skin revealed.

Nerd Clark who you know is gone when his eyes zeroe in on your tits, his tongue sneaking out to wet his lips before his mouth is on you. Warm and wet and so fucking desperate as he laps at your skin, nipping your nipple with his teeth ever so slightly to draw out those quiet gasps and whines you make for him.

Nerd Clark who spends way too much time fondling your tits, only stopping when they're tender and red from the assault his mouth put them through. He finally moves on with a whine when he sees you whimper at the overstimulation, but not before pressing a chaste kiss to both of your breasts like they're something living and could feel his affection.

Nerd Clark whose mouth is a weapon of mass destruction and you somehow have the misfortune (or should I say, fortune?) of being his target.

Nerd Clark who laps at your pussy like a man starved. Holding your thighs apart with those chiseled arms of his while he attacks your clit with little kitten licks. Giving only enough for you to writhe beneath him.

Nerd Clark who works you patiently, drawing your pleasure out until you snap on his tongue with his name loud in your mouth and your body convulsing around him.

Nerd Clark who let's you harshly tug at his hair as the force of your climax consumes you whole. He doesn't so much as whine in complaint when your thighs all but suffocate him with how tight they're wrapped around his neck, shoving his face deeper into you.

Nerd Clark who has almost all of his face shiny with your release when he crawls back up to you. The sight stealing all air out of your lungs becuase holy shit is this a sight to see. You're pretty sure you'd pay good amount of money for just another moment to watch him like this again.

Nerd Clark who has you losing your mind on his fingers next “This what you were thinking about that day, sweetheart?” He says as he curls his fingers slightly, hitting the spot that makes you cry out and confessing your ugly fantasies to him.

Nerd Clark who revels in the fact that he's got you so worked up you don't even know what you're confessing.

Nerd Clark who makes the mistake of trying to take off his fogged glasses to avoid losing the sight of you. Much to your displeasure as you shove them back on.

“Baby, I can't see you with these on” he punctuates between kisses, of course he wants the glasses off. Who would be dumb enough to not want to see you, all naked and flushed and moaning for him?

Nerd Clark who realises you have a very specific kink when he sees your reluctance to let the glasses leave his face.

Nerd Clark who slides them upward instead, letting the black frame rest in his hair like a little tiara and god if it doesn't drive you crazy.

Nerd Clark who can see the shift in your energy at that in the way your eyes go dark, and can't wait another moment before he's inside you.

Nerd Clark who is big enough to hurt even after he's stretched you out. And damn it if he isn't proud about it. “Am I too big for you, baby?” He teases, inching inside slowly, letting you adjust to the sheer size of him. “You're just a tiny little thing, aren't you?”

Nerd Clark who becomes utterly insufferable when he watches his cock slide all the way into you “Look at you, sweetie. All stretched out on my cock”

Nerd Clark who makes you think you've descended to heaven when he starts to move becuase surely a feeling like this doesn't exist in this universe.

Your hips rock up themselves, meeting his every thrust as endless curses spill from his lips, emphasising how good you feel around him, how perfect.

You let the praise wash over you and drive you closer to the climax.

Nerd Clark who is dominant and unrestrained but never rough enough to hurt. Always looking for signs of discomfort and monitoring your micro expressions to see if you're hurting.

Nerd Clark who doubles down when he hears your sounds pitching higher. His hands make their way to your knees pushing them toward you, making the angle steeper and hitting that deep spot inside you.

Nerd Clark who praises you through it when he sees how you react to it

“Such a good girl for me, sweetheart.”

“Taking my cock so well”

“You're gonna come for me? You gonna be a good girl?”

It makes your skin prickle, fingers tremble and toes curl into the mattress as you bite down on his shoulder to muffle the cry that tears out of you as your orgasm swallows you completely.

Nerd Clark whose thrusts grow erratic when he feels your warm walls convulsing and fluttering around him. The feeling addictive and ruining him at the same time.

His hand find your breasts again “Fuck me, these tits” he grunts, mouth enveloping a nipple as one of his hands grips and massages the other breast as if it is an achor he needs to hold onto to keep himself tethered to you.

Nerd Clark who is loud when he comes. Loud enough that you'll probably have your neighbours complaining tomorrow but your name in his mouth sounds so fucking delicious that you can't bring yourself to care about anything but the fact that you want to hear it again and again and again.

Nerd Clark who cleans you up after. And boy is it a sight to behold. His skin is flushed and glowing with the soft sheen of sweat. His curls all messed up, and you feel a flutter down south knowing its your hands that did that.

There's a shy smile on his face as he's back to the gentle, nerdy part of himself that you so dearly adore.

Nerd Clark who is a cuddler, he pulls you close immediately after he settles onto your bed, rubbing comforting circles on your back making you sleepy in his arms.

And you swear you hear him mumble something like “Sleep good, sweetheart” and soft lips pressing against your forehead before you finally let your eyes close, falling asleep in the arms of the man who you might fall in love with. Especially given everything that happened today. There's no way you're gonna let this be a one time thing.

God! You're thoroughly fucked, aren't you?

Dividers by @diviniyae

Tagging my bucky girlie's just becuase @redstarleftarm, @sweetserendipity65, @sambuckystony, @nymphhbabiee, @darlingdenise, @venigrantrogers, @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger, @bstan01, @phoenix-in-writing, @singulartoast, @danerb67, @onyx8514, @globetrotter28, @buckysdecaflove, @alyssinwunderland-blog-blog, @herejustforbuckybarnes, @v33mustdie, @star-yawnznn, @buckybsdoll

You swear you didn't put yourself in this situation on purpose. You had denied going to any parties tonight, wanting to just rot in bed with some nonsense movie and chinese takeout.

But your best friend cum roommate being the absolute menace that she is, dragged you out of your bed, chucked one of her dresses in your hand and pushed you into the bathroom to get ready.

Which is how you find yourself in the bar, surrounded by tens of her girlfriends, celebrating whoever’s bachelorette it is by downing your fifth shot of tequila.

“Another” you slam the small glass on the table with a lopsided smile, swaying slightly. The bartender eyes you, then your best friend, totally rethinking his life decisions.

Nat grabs hold of you as you sway dangerously and toddle towards the dance floor.

“That's enough. Were going home” she puts one of your arms across her shoulders to balance you. All while you try your best to drag her to dance.

“Noooo” you whine “I wanna dance”

“You're in no position to dance, girl” natasha scolds just as the music booms. And before she can react someone grabs your wrist to pull you toward the crowd.

Your eyes light up in drunken joy. “YES. MOVEMENT. I will out-dance my emotions.”

Nat scowls, fingers massaging at her temples as she watches you wobble like a drunk raccoon.

You last approximately thirty seconds before:

– tripping over your own foot

– laughing hysterically

– attempting to twirl

– and nearly colliding with a very confused stranger

Natasha immediately intercepts you like a linebacker. “Okay. Nope. That's it. We're done for today”

She starts to guide you out of the bar while you complaint about your heels and demand more vodka.

You both make it halfway down the block before you stop dead.

“Wait.”

Nat sighs in frustration. “No.”

“I need—”

You don’t finish the sentence as bile rises to your throat, and you lean over the sidewalk throwing up with the kind of dramatic betrayal usually reserved for soap operas.

Nat gathers your hair behind you and holds it in a makeshift ponytail as you retch.

“This was a bad idea” she mutters under her breath, wiping your mouth with her handkerchief as you stand back up and hug her with all the enthusiasm of a tiny panda.

She sighs, dragging you towards the car.

The car ride home is somehow worse. Mostly because you decide to ramble your way out of drunken haze.

You slump against the window, mumbling like you're confessing to the glass.

“I love when he says my name,” you murmur, eyes half shut. “Especially when he says it… like it matters. That’s illegal. He should be illegal in congress.”

Your friend drives with one hand and regrets with the other. “Stop blabbering and go to sleep. Hangover's gonna kill you tomorrow.”

“But…… daddy, I love him” you wail, leaning over the gear shift, wiping your nose on her dress and she grimaces, laying you back on your seat.

“I’m never letting you drink again”

—

You reach the apartment in pieces.

One heel is already missing by the time the door clicks shut and you stumble inside like a defeated knight, blinking at the familiar walls like they’ve personally offended you, brfore making a determined beeline—not for the bed, not for the couch—

For the desk.

Natasha drops the keys and groans. “No. Absolutely not. You are going to sleep.”

“I am going to… process,” you say solemnly, colliding with the chair and half-falling into it. “With words.”

Natasha watches as you fumble your bag onto the floor, squint at the laptop like it might escape, and open it with all the gravity of someone launching a missile.

“Go to bed,” your best friend insists, tugging at your sleeve. “You are drunk. You threw up. Your mascara is… abstract.”

“I am still literate,” you argue, expression serious, cracking your knuckles with purpose. “And deeply burdened.”

You open the document and type one line.

Delete it.

Type it again.

Nat leans over your shoulder. “What are you even writing?”

“A document of emotional significance.”

“That’s called a diary. And it lives offline.” she facepalms.

You sway in the chair, pointing at the screen. “This is… more official.”

“No, this is more dangerous.”

You straighten suddenly. “I have been quiet for too long.”

“You have been loud for three hours.”

You stare at each other.

Your best friend sighs, rubbing her face. “Fine. I’m going to shower. When I come back, you will be right here.”

She lifts a finger. “Do not move from this chair.”

You salute so hard you almost tip over.

“Aye aye.”

Nat pauses in the doorway. “Do not write anything.”

You salute again. “I will not… write anything inappropriately.”

The bathroom door shuts with nat mumbling something like, “She’s gonna get herself fired”

Subtle foreshadowing.

The apartment goes quiet except for the hum of the laptop.

You squint at the blank page.

“Dear Sir,” you whisper, testing it out loud.

Then nod, satisfied.

“That is… respectful.”

Your fingers begin to move.

Slow at first.

Then faster.

Posture miraculously perfect despite the sway in your shoulders.

You mutter as you type. “Subject line is important. One must always… set expectations.”

You type one, squinting suspiciously before changing it.

Subject: Concerning a Conflict of Interest (Personal)

You beam.

“Yes. That is… accurate.”

You lean closer to the screen, hair falling into your face.

“It is with considerable reluctance….” you murmur, squinting, “…and an alarming lack of judgment that I must inform you of a developing issue within my professional conduct.

Your head dips, but the words keep coming.

By the time the shower turns off, the document is three paragraphs long, formatted perfectly, margins aligned, tone immaculate.

You stretch, proud.

“Good,” You say softly. “That was very… contained.”

Subject: Concerning a Conflict of Interest (Personal)

Dear Sir,

It is with considerable reluctance and an alarming lack of judgment that I must inform you of a developing issue within my professional conduct.

Said issue involves an excessive awareness of your presence in shared spaces, including but not limited to conference rooms, elevators, and the general vicinity of your desk.

Upon further reflection, I regret to report that the aforementioned “distraction” has escalated into what medical professionals might classify as longing.

This manifests in involuntary behaviors such as: – memorizing the cadence of your footsteps – experiencing unreasonable satisfaction when you request coffee – developing a heroic desire to defend you from mild inconveniences

Your finger slips.

Not save.

Not draft.

Post.

You blink at the screen,smiling proudly.

Then promptly rest your forehead on the desk.

By the time natasha appears in the doorway again, you have fallen asleep on the desk, drooling slightly. The laptop screen is still glowing.

five emails sent to congressman barnes

She groans, wondering what you might have written in there, before wrapping a blanket around your shoulders and leaving the room.

And you? well, you sleep peacefully, unaware of the upcoming storm that you have deliberately thrown yourself into.

——

The office is still half-asleep when he arrives.

Lights off in most corridors.

Security nodding quietly.

The city outside his windows just beginning to breathe.

This is his hour — before meetings, before numbers, before decisions that weigh on other people’s lives.

He sets his coat on the back of his chair, loosens his cufflinks, and sinks into his chair.

For a moment, he just stares at the desk.

Files stacked in perfect alignment.

His schedule printed and clipped the way you know he likes it.

A pen placed parallel to the folder, because you once noticed he straightened it unconsciously.

He exhales.

You do this every night. Stay later than you need to. Prepares tomorrow before you leave today.

He blinks, loosening his tie, eyes drifting automatically to the small details you leave behind:

A faint floral scent in the air.

A sticky note reminding him to eat lunch.

Your handwriting in the margins of a report—small, precise, careful.

You.

He exhales slowly.

He notices everything about you. He wishes he didn’t.

The way you bite the inside of your cheek when concentrating. How chirp “good morning” like you didn't lose sleep last night on today's meetings.

It is inconvenient, this feeling.

Unwise.

Ill-timed.

You're too young for him. Too bright.

Too unguarded in the way only someone who still believes in effort and fairness can be.

And he is… not.

He has meetings that decide futures. Scars from past battles. A life made of careful choices and restrained wants.

You're brilliant. Efficient. Too young to be tangled in something as complicated as him. And technically, professionally, untouchable.

He presses his thumb against the edge of the desk.

But he still looks at you, he can't help but watch you.

The way you tilts your head when thinking.

How you say his name in that sweet bird like voice like the name belongs to you.

How you stay late without being asked.

How you never look at him when you laughs — as if afraid you might give something away.

And God help him, he is in love with you.

Quietly.

Carefully.

From a distance he pretends is enough.

He has rules for himself:

Do not stare.

Do not linger.

Do not want.

Especially not someone so young. so innocent.

Especially not someone who trusts him with her time, her career, her future.

“She doesn't think of you like that, bucky. For fuck's sake, get a grip,” he murmurs to the empty office.

If only he knew.

He shakes his head, ridding himself of his regular morning brooding session and turns on his laptop.

The screen glows to life.

Inbox loads.

He expects to see board messages, legal reminders, market reports.

What he does not expect—

Company-wide post:

“Concerning a conflict of interest (personal)”

That… is not a budget memo.

He frowns, clicking it open.

And the universe collapses directly into his chest.

Dear Sir,

It is with considerable reluctance and an alarming lack of judgment that I must inform you of a developing issue within my professional conduct…….

Your words.

Your tone.

Your formatting.

His heartbeat stumbles as reads and rereads.

Subject: Clarification Regarding the Severity of the Situation

Dear Sir,

It has come to my attention that my previous messages may have understated the gravity of my condition.

I do not simply admire you. I suffer from an ongoing preoccupation with the way your sleeves roll up when you are focused, and how your expression softens when you believe no one is watching.

This has resulted in a persistent desire to be nearer to you than professionally necessary, and an irrational disappointment when meetings conclude.

The said meetings are spent by me wondering how you might react finding me on my knees under your desk, mouth working meticulously on your cock while you try to lead the meeting.

Hence, should you notice increased efficiency in my work, please be advised it is fueled entirely by such improper fantasies, inappropriate affection and an alarming amount of emotional attachment.

With troubling sincerity, Your assistant (emotionally unsound)

His throat tightens. Another message appears.

Subject: Formal Notice of Want (Unprofessional Edition)

Dear Sir,

It is no longer possible to categorize my feelings as a minor inconvenience. They have evolved into a persistent craving for your attention, your approval, and, regrettably, the warmth of your proximity.

I find myself imagining being seated on your lap while your metal fingers explore me in the ways I am unable to explain. Coaxing the whines and moans out of me as my warm, wet walls envelope the said metal fingers.

It is essential for you to know that the desire I have to be on my knees before you and have your hands rest in my hair while I wrap my lips around your cock is irrepressible.

It is pre-eminent for me to hear you moaning my name as you hold me against the glass window of your office, cock pounding into me while you usher me to stay quiet. And having you shove your fingers in my mouth when i’m unable to do so.

Should you inquire, my other fantasies include but are not limited to, riding you until you pass out, making out with you in your office, being bent over your desk while you fuck me from behind.

Then another. His eyes are wide enough to pop out of the sockets as he takes in each filthy, agonizing detail you've written in your letters.

Subject: Final Report on My Emotional Collapse

Dear Sir,

I hereby confess that my professionalism is now held together by routine alone. Beneath it exists an unrestrained desire to be chosen by you in ways that extend far beyond quarterly objectives.

I wish to be the first person you see when you arrive and the last you speak to before leaving. I wish to be indispensable not only in function but in feeling.

It is vital for me to be fucked by you so as to be relieved of having to do it myself while imagining your cock instead of my hands.

I find it highly uncomfortable to not he able to kiss you when I want to and to sit on your lap like it's my assigned position.

If this sentiment is inappropriate, I accept full responsibility. If it is mutual, I will require several minutes to process the miracle.

I remain, disastrously yours in spirit, The assistant who has crossed several emotional boundaries

By the time he's done reading the last of the letters, his heart is thudding wildly in his chest.

His throat tightens at the raw vulnerability in each letter.

Each one worse than the last.

Each one more honest. More filthy.

Each one written like a confession wrapped in professionalism.

He leans back slowly in his chair, hand over his mouth.

You wrote this, he thinks. Drunk, probably. Brave, definitely. Not knowing what it would cost you.

And somehow the fact that hits him the hardest is that you wrote all this… about him.

Of all people.

He scrolls again, rereading it. Not because he needs to. Because he wants to.

Because every line sounds like something he has been forcing himself not to feel.

He thinks of your age. Of his position. Of the way the world would look at this.

Then he thinks of the way you look at him.

And for the first time in months, the rules feel… negotiable.

He eyes close themselves, a tender, mischievous smile blooming across his face as an idea plants itself in his head.

—

You wake up with no memory of last night and cursing at the alarm clock.

“Ughh” you groan, rolling over in your bed to hide from the bright lights peeping in from the curtains, except you're not on your bed.

The desk chair creaks as you try to roll over and fall to the floor with a loud thunk.

“I'm guessing you're awake” comes Nat's sarcastic voice from the kitchen.

“Shut up. It's your fault” you wince, getting up.

“But it wouldn't be my fault if you get fired for being late at work.” She shouts back and you glance at the clock.

“FUCK”

You rush to the bathroom, yelping when you stub your little toe against the bed in hurry.

By the time you're ready and on the way to capitol hill, you're already late by an hour.

You dash across the parking lot and through the reception, towards your desk. Hoping you didn't miss any early morning meetings or events that you had to remind bucky about.

God forbid he misses something important because of your foolishness and you'd lose this one thing you love doing.

Only if you remembered the stuff you pulled off last night.

Your anxiety almost makes you trip over a crate of water bottles when Jane, from reception catches your arm.

“Careful there, honey” she smoothes your coat, smiling amiably before adding “congressman barnes was asking for you in his cabin”

“For me?” You confirm. It isn't too rare of bucky to ask for you, you're his assistant. Of course he'll call you if he needs something.

But you can't get the feeling out of you that there's definitely something wrong. You brush it off, thinking its because you're late that you're feeling this way.

Jane intercepts your train of thoughts “Don't worry, it's not because you're late. He needs you to review some files”

“Oh thank god.” You sigh a breath of relief and hastily walk over toward bucky's cabin after thanking Jane.

You don't knock before entering. Knowing he can hear you approach anyway. And after working for years as an assistant for him, you've crossed the bridge of professionality to being friends.

“You asked for me, sir?” you chime as you walk in, smiling slightly as you watch him write something in his notepad.

“If I didn't know any better, I'd think you like me correcting you every time you call me sir” he looks up, eyebrows slightly raised, voice laced with his teasing lilt.

You giggle, making your way across the room and sinking in the chair in front of him. “Jane said you wanted me to review some files?” You question.

“Yeah. Here. Have a look at this.” He slides a leatherback folder across the table toward you, and leans back in his chair, smirking.

His eyes are bright like you've never seen before, almost mischievous, like he's….. up to something.

You open the folder and stop dead at the very first line that gets your attention…

I find myself imagining being seated on your lap while your metal fingers explore me in the ways I am unable to explain.

Your eyes trail upwards, reading the whole thing.

What the fuck! Is this your formatting? Oh…fuck yeah it is.

You turn the page and find another letter, then another, then another.

Each one filthy.

Each one highly Unprofessional.

Each one vulnerable and raw in a way that you'd never be if you weren't drunk.

Oh My God

The memories slam back to you like a freight train. Nat's party, the shots, the desk……the emails, all of it.

You look up, embarrassed to your very bones and wishing the earth would swallow you whole, this instant.

You're so fired

“So…” Bucky begins and you close your eyes, knowing what he'd say. Something among the lines of ‘this was very Unprofessional’ or ‘you're fired’ but the words that come out of his mouth are something you'd never even thought of in your wildest dreams.

“About that….” he leans towards the table, tapping a spicy nasty line in particular “….how would you like to proceed”

Your mouth falls open but no sound comes out.

Out of all the ways you expected this to go, this was not it.

Your cheeks burn red with embarrassment and anticipation as bucky gets up and stalks closer towards you.

You turn in your chair as he reaches you, stooping down so he's eye level with you. His eyes are tender now. Almost adoring.

“You aren’t supposed to love me like this,” he murmurs.

Then adds just as quietly, “…but I don’t think I can pretend I didn’t see it.”

You don't know what you see in his eyes that makes you want to tell the truth “I do” you nod “I really do”

His metal palm cups your face as you whisper “I love you bucky”

He leans in, close enough that your nose nudges his, close enough that you can feel his warm breath fan your face.

His eyes flick toward your lips, then back at your eyes, giving you all the time to pull away if you want.

You don't.

You tip your face up, closing the gap and meeting his lips in a slow, tremulous kiss.

His lip quivers slightly when your tongue sneaks out to lick at it. His mouth opens itself, letting you in, deepening the kiss.

Your tongues slide against each other, exploring, fighting for dominance.

His hand is tangled in your hair, yours holding on to his shirt for dear life.

Bucky's palms slowly make their way across your back, settling themselves around your thighs and hoisting you up from the chair.

You break the kiss with a yelp as bucky places you on his desk “you wanted to be fucked on my desk, didn't you?” He pecks your lips, smiling.

You nod, shy beyond measure.

“I need your words, baby” his fingers grab hold of your chin, tipping it up so your eyes would meet his.

“I want you to fuck me, bucky” you murmur, hiding your face in his chest as he chuckles, breathy and amused.

“Not yet, sweetheart” he mutters, dropping to his knees.

“Buck, what're you—” you start but he shushes you.

“I need to taste you, baby. Can I?….please” his eyes are dark with lust, restraint running thin, yet he asks so nicely, so patiently, how can you say no to him.

“Have at me, bucky” you reply

His hands slowly skim across your thighs, sliding your skirt up until its bunched at your waist.

He groans at the sight in front of him, before leaning in and pressing his nose to the thin material of your panties.

You gasp at the contact. “Fuck, sweetheart. You smell so sweet” he mumbles against you, kissing your inner thigh before sinking his teeth into the flesh then soothing it with his tongue.

“Take them off” you tell him, voice breathy. As he hooks his fingers into the waistband and pulls the panties down slowly, you push them away when they reach your ankles.

Gasping as bucky's mouth finds your wet core. “Aww baby, you get this wet from reading your filthy letters” he teases.

You frown “No. It's—um—it's because of you” you confess shyly.

He smiles, proud and smug, pressing a chaste kiss to your core. Before his tongue slips out, licking a thick stripe through your warm, wet heat.

You shudder at the feeling.

“Fuck, You taste even better.” He pulls away, looking up at you before diving right back in. Slow teasing licks that make you gasp and chaste kisses that leave you craving for more.

Your hips move on their own. Inching closer to him, chasing more of his tongue. His mouth. “Bucky, please” you whine in frustration as he laps at your pussy, avoiding your clit yet again.

“Begging already? I haven't even touched you properly yet” his voice is low and teasing.

Your eyes narrow at him, feigning annoyanace “Shut —Ahh” your insult is cut off as a moan tears through you when his mouth closes on your clit, suckling slightly.

Your thighs shake where they're held apart by him around his head.

“Bucky—Ahh—just like that” he doubles down at your praise. Pushing two fingers inside of you while he nurses at your clit.

His fingers curl slightly, brushing a spot that makes you see stars. You whimper, already trembling in his arms as bucky's hands find their way to your ass, pulling you closer to his face.

The sound you make is animalistic as bucky picks up the pace. Fingers thrusting faster, mouth suckling harsher.

“Bucky—I'm gonna—”

“Yes, come on my tongue, sweetheart. Let me feel it” he curls his fingers, pressing harder against the spot that makes your hips jerk.

Your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave. Making every bit of your body shiver as your thighs tighten around his head and you come with a choked gasp.

You're still gasping when he comes up to kiss you. You taste yourself on his tongue and moan into his mouth.

You grab the collar of his shirt, tugging him closer. His hands land on your waist, swiftly sneaking under your shirt to feel the warmth of your skin.

Your fingers make quick work of the buttons of his shirt before letting it fall to the floor while you stare at bucky's bare chest in awe.

You trace your fingers over every ridge of muscle, every scar tissue, every bulging vein, with reverence.

He lets you explore. “Like what you see?”

“I do” you smirk before pressing your lips to the centre of his chest.

You feel a shiver run through his body as he tries to maintain his composure, his hard length pressing against your exposed core through his pants.

Your lips move upwards, tracing the path of your fingers before pressing a kiss to his jawline and closing around his Adam's apple.

He groans and you feel it in your veins like a zap of electricity. Your mouth trails farther, kissing and nipping at his collarbone. His hips rut forward, helplessly, grinding against you.

“I need you inside me bucky” you murmur against his neck, impatient.

“I thought you'd never ask” Bucky groans, pulling away to rid himself of his pants.

Your mouth goes dry when you see him. All of him. His cock is thick and flushed pink. Slightly curved towards his stomach, veins clinging across his shaft.

You reach for him. Stroking slowly. His eyes close, “Don't—don't do that, or this will be over before it starts” he warns when your hold tightens around him.

“Then don't wait.” You inch closer, lining him up.

“You're sure?” He confirms. You nod.

He shakes his head “Words, baby”

“I'm sure bucky. I think I'd die if you don't fuck me now” he chuckles that turns into a choked breath halfway as he eases himself in slowly.

His eyes flutter shut, pulse thundering against your hand where its pressed to his chest. “Fuck” he swears “fuck, baby. You're—you're so tight. I won't last”

“Who said you have to” your reply is earnest “I just want to feel you buck”

“You feel so good, sweet girl” he pushes in slowly “Fuck, never felt anything like you”

You feel the sting of his cock stretch you open and you hide your face in the crook of his neck as he pushes all the way in and stills.

His breath is heaving “I won't move until you say so” his fingers tremble when they get hold of your hand, intertwining with your fingers.

The sting slowly fades into a warm thrumming beneath your bones. You roll your hips experimentally and sparks of pleasure shoot down your spine.

“Move, bucky. Please” you grind harder against him, making him groan before he pulls out almost all the way and sheathes himself back in.

He doesn't find a pace, too lost in pleasure, in you. His thrusts remain ragged and erratic as he tries to hold himself for longer.

His metal palm wanders down to rub tight circles on your clit and you cry out at the sensation.

Your orgasm hits you like lighting. Sudden and overpowering as your vision whites out and you almost scream “James”

The sound that comes out of him is almost a whine when he hears his first name from your mouth. His thrusts grow shallow, breath heaving, heart thundering as he spills inside groaning your name.

By the time you both slump into his chair, your ears are still ringing.

You're nestled on his lap, as he palms your ass in quiet, reverent caresses. He presses warm and chaste kisses to your forehead. Your cheek. Your nose.

“You still with me, sweet girl?” He asks, voice laced with concern and love. You nod against his chest. Tired and boneless.

“You did so good for me” he praises and heat rises to your cheeks yet again. You top your head up, enveloping him a kiss that's sloppy and playful, yet loving all the same.

“I guess getting drunk is not so bad after all” you pull away, smirking slyly.

“Of course not if it ends like this” he agrees slapping your ass playfully. You squeak before breaking into giggles.

“But I have a complaint” bucky states, making you meet his eyes in a serious expression.

“What complaint?” You question

“Next time you want to confess your naughty fantasies, you don't need to write letters.” He winks “you can just tell me” then swiftly adds “we'll recreate it however you want”

You hide your face in his neck with a loud whine, although the way your eyes shine and your lips twitch in a smile, betrays you.

And you think, “Sometimes the dumbest detours are the ones that accidentally lead you straight to the best place.”

A/N : When I tell you I was SUFFERING while writing the smut, it's an understatement. I rewrote it four times and I still think I've done a shit job. I find all the dialogues cringy and the description just feels bleh to me.

I'm so fucking nervous and anxious. If this fic flops, I'm never writing smut again, thank you 😭

Dividers : @dividers-are-us

Tag list : @redstarleftarm, @sweetserendipity65, @sambuckystony, @nymphhbabiee, @darlingdenise, @quantumbarnes, @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger, @bstan01, @phoenix-in-writing, @singulartoast, @danerb67

But he's not clingy in a way that's troublesome. No, it feels good. Very much so.

He isn’t the loud, dramatic kind of clingy. He is the quiet shadow kind.

The kind who “just happened” to be in the same room as you five minutes after you moved.

The kind who doesn’t say I missed you, but would gently hook his pinky with yours while pretending to be busy on his phone.

Mornings always start with him half-asleep, arms already searching before his eyes open. If you tried to slip out of bed, he’d mumble, “Five more minutes,” and somehow wrap himself around you like an octopus who’s trained specifically for cuddling.

When you cook, he'd stand behind you. Always behind you. Chin on your shoulder, arms around your waist, swaying slightly like he is a human backpack.

“Are you hungry?” you'd ask.

“No,” he’d say honestly. “I just like being here.”

He'd follow you everywhere. Bedroom to kitchen. Kitchen to couch. Couch to balcony. Always close enough that you could feel him—his breath, his heat, the slow drag of his thumb against your wrist when he passed by.

If you sit on his lap, he doesn’t let you get up easily. His arms would tighten every time you tried to move, mouth finding that soft spot under your jaw, voice low and amused.

“Why do you keep leaving,” he’d murmur, like you are the problem.

At night, he’d sleep pressed against you back, leg thrown over yours, hand sneaking under your shirt like it belonged there. If you shifted even slightly, he’d wake just enough to pull you closer.

“Stay,” he’d whisper, half asleep.

Not a request. A habit.

But that's not even the dangerous part.

As bucky gets more comfortable around you, he gets more and more brave.

He used to sneak his hand under your shirt while cuddling you in the bedroom. Now he does it in the common room too. He can't help it. You're too irresistible to him.

When the whole team is huddled up for a movie night, they just have to ignore a 6 foot something super soldier sprawled over your body like a weighted blanket.

Steve always smiles when he finds bucky like this. Basking in joy that his friend is finally getting the love he deserves.

Sam would click a picture. Tony would scrunch his nose and mutter something about boundaries.

But bucky doesn't give a single fuck. He's in the best place he could be and he doesn't care what anyone thinks.

He wouldn't let you move even after the movie's over and the team has retreated back to their bedrooms.

“Let's go to bed, buck” you'd request, fingers playing with his hair.

“Don't move please. I'm comfy” he'd whine like its supposed to be the end of the argument.

You end up sleeping on the couch, of course. As if you could ever resist his puppy eyes.

The team finds you like that the next morning—cuddled up on the sofa. Back pressed to Bucky’s chest as his metal arm is slung around your waist. Holding you close.

Steve almost smiles again. Until—Where's buckys other hand?

Steve turns redder than a tomato when he finds that bucky's other hand has sneaked its way inside your shirt. Massaging your tits in his sleep.

He turns around, muttering apologies to no one in particular. He almost walks into a wall with how flustered he is.

But this isn't even your favourite part.

No.

Your favourite version of Bucky is how clingy he gets after sex.

His cheeks are flushed, lips kiss swollen, there's a glint of satisfaction in his eyes at the sight of the utterly blissed out expression on your face.

Until suddenly you're being lifted in the air, bucky has one hand under your knees and other supporting your back.

You slump into his arms, relaxing against his chest as he carries you to the bath.

Bucky settles himself in the bathtub with you still in his lap.

The water is warm and relaxing. He's also added the little lavender scented oil you like.

You melt into him again, back pressed to his chest as he takes the shampoo bottle from the side of the tub, and squirts some of it into his palm before massaging it on your head.

A soft moan leaves you at the feeling of his fingers in your hair. He chuckles “that feels good, huh?”

“so good”

He washes the soap suds out of your hair before moving on to your body. Massaging the sore spots with precision

"Did I go too hard on you, honey?" he questions, massaging your hips

“Not hard enough” you counter, easing his worries

His movements are slow, but firm, in a circling motion that makes the tension leave your body in an instant

“But I didn't hurt you, right? You can always tell me if I'm too rough” His voice is one of a caring man

You turn around, pressing a chaste kiss against his lips before saying “You can never hurt me, buck”

He smiles, a relaxed one. And goes back to massaging you until you fall asleep.

He lifts you out of the tub and wraps you in the softest towel he can find before dressing you in one of his worn henleys.

You're dead to the world by the time you reach bed. He's carried you the whole way there too. Clingy-ness pro max.

He shuffles in beside you, arms and legs enveloping you completely as he tucks your face into his chest and lets himself fall into deep slumber.

Knowing he'll have no nightmares tonight because you're close by….

Dividers : @/cursed-carmine

Tag list : @redstarleftarm , @sweetserendipity , @sambuckystony, @nymphhbabie, @darlingdenise , @quantumbarnes

By noon one of the nicer ladies who had come in two days ago with an ankle sprain from a stumble down the staircase had come in to get her paperwork sorted and had brought homemade brownies as a thank you.

“It'll help you loosen up” she had said. She probably meant having something sweet will help you be in a better mood for the day.

You had eaten about five pieces before stashing it away in the lounge to save for later.

Little did you know the brownies would do a lot more than ‘loosening you up’

You feel your body unbind even more as you stand there. The tightness in your shoulders from the day's work slipping away ever so slightly.

You're about to go back in when you see an ambulance turn the corner and stop with a sharp screech of the tires.

The paramedics start reciting vitals and numbers as soon as they drop out of the ambulance and wheel the patient out.

“A 27-year-old female presenting with reported perioral numbness after repeated use of a lip-plumping agent. Sensory loss is localized to the lips.”

Any other day you would've asked questions, what lip plumper did she use and how often. If she's allergic to any agent. If she was familiar with the formation of the product she was using and what not.

But the sane part of your brain has turned itself off for who knows how long because when the lady is wheeled out and you look at her to assess damage, you burst out laughing like a lunatic.

Her lips are swollen three times their normal size and to your tipsy brain she looks extremely funny. As a doctor you must analyse the patient professionally and you have been doing that for years now except somehow, today you can't seem to focus on anything else but the fact that she looks like Kevin the cucumber to you.

You stumble back, laughing maniacally until your eyes water and you have to lean on the nearest pillar to stay upright.

All while the paramedics look at you like you've grown third head. The woman on the gurney has started to cry by now, humiliated by your reaction.

You're wheezing by the time Dr. Robby rushes out with Dana and wheels the patient in assigning cassie to her care before finding you again.

You've pressed a hand on your mouth, stifling laughter that's pouring out of you like water from a broken tap.

“That is very unprofessional of you, doc” robby condemns sternly “I'm really disappointed. I didn't expect this from you.”

He walks away with a borderline disgusted expression that you notice but fail to register as you toddle your way inside behind him.

But your feet have more of a sway now and before your mind can recognise the glass door in front of you, your body slams into it.

Heads turn in your direction. Patients, doctors, nurses.

They watch you analyse the door like its an otherworldly object and then you giggle. Squeaky and very amused.

“Oh I'm so sorry” you bow in front of the door “you didn't deserve it. Forgive me your highness” you salute, backing up into the waiting room and almost stumbling into someone's lap if not for Mel catching you.

“Whoa” she exclaims, guiding you inside the ER, muttering apologies to the watchful eyes you have earned.

You, meanwhile, are busy examining your own hand like it has just been discovered. “Mel,” you say very seriously, “my fingers feel like they’re on vacation.”

“She’s high!” santos deadpans.

“I’m not high,” you protest, then pause. “…I might be a little… elevated.”

The room has gone so still you could hear a pin drop. Robby is massaging his temples “Just the thing I needed on an already busy day”

Dennis and Santos are high fiving each other and trying to hide their laughter from the already frustrated attending.

And that is when dr. Langdon walks in with the most confused expression in the room. “Who died?” He inquires.

Mel loosens her grip in your shoulders just enough to fill Frank in with whatever situation you have going on right now.

And as if you haven't already done enough damage, you sneakily make your way towards the nearest trauma room.

Why? You have no idea?

It takes a few minutes for everyone to realise you're missing before chaos breaks out again, this time to find you. A few doctors take over on emergency patients while the rest few try to decide what to do with you, when they find you.

You're in the room with first patient you saw—a middle-aged man clutching his arm—who didn’t even get a chance to explain his injury before you gently crouched in front of him, eyes soft with deep, unwavering focus.

“That’s not why you’re hurting,” you say quietly, gesturing at his arm.

The man blinks. “I—what?”

“You’re carrying something heavier,” you continue, nodding slowly, like you can see straight through him. “The arm is just where it’s… showing up.”

Frank freezes mid-step as he recognises your voice.

Robby turns, following frank's line of sight. “Oh no.”

The man looks… oddly receptive. “I mean—work’s been stressful—”

“And no one listens,” you say, placing a hand over your heart. “But you deserve to be heard.”

“…What is happening?” Robby’s voice is annoyed.

Frank exhales slowly. “She must've had something she's allergic to.”

Robby turns to the rest of the team “If this is a prank and someone spiked her water or something, I swear you'll spend the rest of the day cleaning the morgue”

The team looks at each other having no idea at all before javadi perks up “I saw her eating brownies. I'm not saying anyone spiked them or anything but they did smell funky”

“Brownies?” robby raises an eyebrow in suspicion.

“Yeah” she confirms “remember Rosaline with ankle sprain?” Robby nods “she made them for her as a thank you. Said it would help her 'loosen up’”

Victoria punctuates ‘loosen up’ with sarcastic air quotations and robby facepalms.

“How many times have I told you guys to not take any edible stuff from patients if you don't know what's in it” robby condemns

“Because I remember saying we don't want another mass food poisoning episode like the motorcycle guy's donuts”

A few people chuckle and robby glaringly dismisses everyone to go back to work before turning to Frank.

Meanwhile, you are fully locked into what could only be described as an impromptu therapy session.

“You’ve been strong for too long,” you tell the man, who now looked like he might cry. “It’s okay to not be okay.”

A nurse walking by actually slowed down.

“…Is she staff?” someone from a nearby bed whispers.

“No,” Robby mutters. “She was. Five minutes ago.”

Frank steps in the room then, gently but firmly taking your arm. “Alright, that’s enough. Let’s go.”

You look up at him like he’s just interrupted a life-altering breakthrough.

“But he was opening up,” you protest softly.

“He can open up with an actual therapist,” Frank says, trying to guide you toward the exit.

You allow yourself to be pulled—briefly. Then you stop again. Eyes finding another patient with the curiosity of an orange cat.

An elderly woman sitting alone, staring at the floor.

You slip from Frank’s grip like it's nothing.

“Not again” Robby groans.

You approach her slowly, sitting beside her without a word at first. Then, very gently, you poke her arm with your finger, “Are you lonely?”

The woman looks up, startled. “…Yes.”

Frank closes his eyes, sighing.

“You remind me,” you start, voice soft and full of emotion, “that sometimes people just need someone to sit with them.”

The woman reaches for your hand.

“Oh my god,” princess murmurs. “She’s actually good.”

“THIS IS NOT THE POINT,” Robby hisses, scowling at her.

Frank steps forward again, more determined now. “Okay. We’re done. Come on.”

This time, he doesn’t give you the chance to wander. Hand wrapping securely around your wrist, steady and grounding, pulling you gently but firmly toward the exit.

You follow….for about three steps, before turning to face him.

And everything shifts. The chaos, the wandering thoughts, the strange emotional clarity—it all focusing into one single, intense point.

“Frank,” you start, wiggling your forearm currently held by him, to make him look at you.

Something in your tone makes him do just that. Eyes finding yours with calm but curious glint. “…Yeah?”

The ER, somehow, gets quieter. Waiting for whatever stupid thing you're about to say next. Trinity pulls her phone out to record your next tantrum for blackmailing purposes.

“I need to tell you something,” you say, completely serious now. “I am filled,” you place a hand dramatically over your chest, “with an overwhelming, undeniable, deeply profound—”

You hiccup. Frank blinks, waiting.

“—love for you.”

The ER drops into stunned silence. Absolute, complete silence. Somewhere in the background, a monitor beeps. Someone makes a choking sound. Perlah drops a clipboard. Someone hoots and robby glares at them.

And frank just stares at you. Completely bamboozled. You stare right back, eyes shining with sincerity so intense it could’ve powered the building.

“Sometimes when I see you,” you go on, voice hushed but intense, “my heart does that thing… like—tachy… tachy… the fast one.”

“…Tachycardia?” he offers.

“YES,” you point at him like he’s just proven your point. “That. My heart goes whoosh whoosh—clinically concerning.”

“And your face,” you continue, squinting at him like you're analyzing a scan, “is… statistically unfair.”

Frank blinks, cheeks already rosy with the grin he’s trying to swallow. “What?”

“Symmetry,” you say, gesturing vaguely around his face. “Off the charts. If there was, like, a scale? You would have broken it. Very… structurally sound face.”

Robby slaps a hand over his mouth. Totally rethinking his life decisions that lead him to witness this moment.

You lean even closer now, lowering your voice like you're about to say something scandalous.

“I think,” you whisper. Well try to, but your voice hasn't even lowered a notch “if someone did a CT scan of my brain…”

Frank, in all his glory, has the audacity to look tired “I don’t like where this is going.”

“…they’d find your face in there,” you finish proudly. “Just… floating around. Causing problems.”

Dennis and Santos turn away, shoulders shaking in sync.

“That’s not how CT scans—” Frank starts, brushing a strand of hair out of your face from where you’re trying to blow at it so it won’t fall into your mouth, completely forgetting the existence of hands to serve the purpose.

“No, listen,” you cut him off, grabbing his sleeve for emphasis. “It’s, like… chronic. Persistent. I have symptoms.”

“What symptoms?” he asks, more out of habit than intention.

You count on your fingers, very seriously. “Increased heart rate. Bad decision-making. Wanting to stare at you for… medically inappropriate durations.”

“…Medically inappropriate durations?” Robby echoes faintly.

“Yes,” you nod. “Also I forget words. Like… all the time. Because my brain is busy being like “‘ooooh, Frank.’”

Frank is done. A laugh breaking out of him despite himself “That’s not a condition.”

“It is,” you insist. “It’s called… um…” You pause, thinking hard. “…you syndrome.”

You wait for a beat before softening a little, still completely unfiltered but quieter now.

“I think you did something to my system,” you murmur, more like you're talking to yourself. “Like… messed up my baseline vitals. Now everything’s just… you-shaped.”

That one hits harder than the others. Robby, for once, doesn’t interrupt. Probably taking in the intensity of the tender moment.

Frank just looks at you, caught somewhere between exasperation and something else he can't yet admit.

“…You’re not going to remember any of this,” he says. You tilt your head, considering that.

“Maybe not,” you say, shrugging. Then, with a small, crooked smile— “But my heart will. It’s very dramatic like that.”

You pause for a moment and then perk up like a meercat “Also I’m like… 80% sure I still want brownies.”

Robby groans. “Of course you do.”

Frank lets out a quiet sigh, shaking his head. “Yeah,” he muttered. “That tracks. But you're not getting any more brownies tonight.”

“Why not?” Your bottom lips jut out in what frank thinks is the world's most adorable pout.

He pulls your hand slightly until you're leaning against his shoulder replacing the pillar that you were hugging like it was your soul mate.

His eyes meet Robby’s for a second and a silent agreement passes between them “I've got her”

He guides you gently towards the ambulance bay, a hand resting on the small of your back, other holding you steady in case you stumble again.

“Where are we going?” You look up at him with soft expectant eyes, that sound like he can take you anywhere and you'd gladly go.

“To take care of your ‘me syndrome’”

You giggle. Bright and warm and frank feels something tighten in his chest. He talks to you the whole time, entertaining you and giving exaggerated excuses for why you can't have any more brownies, until he finds an empty ambulance and asks you to sit inside.

You try to climb it, but your body is loose. Swaying like a jellyfish. You flop forward into his chest after the third attempt of climbing in and failing.

He chuckles, palms coming around your ribs and gripping slightly before pulling you up and sitting you inside.

Your arms slide around his neck instinctively. Pulling him closer even after you're settled in properly.

His heart kicks wildly against his chest at the proximity. You're so close. So so close.

If he just leans in a little more…..

He's measuring the distance between you when your hand sneaks it's way up. Finding the cleft on his chin.

“This little divot” you smooth your fingers over it “makes me lose my mind. I want to touch it all the time. And you know what?”

He smiles, a genuine one “what?”

“When you're all grumpy…” you mimic his grumpy face and he chuckles “I don't look like that”

“You do” you nod passionately.

“When you're grumpy, and your chin juts out like this—” you mimic him again. Poorly again. “I want to kiss it”

Your cheeks have tinged red ever so slightly and it doesn't go unnoticed by him. “You want to kiss me?”

“Yeah” you look away, bashful “like this” you lean in closer, shy but sure, lips pouting aggressively as you place a very wet, but very chaste kiss on his chin.

Frank freezes.

He swears his heart has stopped beating for a moment. Kick starting again when you giggle against his chin.

He has to pull back slightly to avoid doing something he'll regret.

But you're determined right now. Grabbing him by the front of his scrubs and pulling him closer before resting your head on his shoulder.

“I love you so much. I'm gonna dream about it. We can be married and have lots of kids” you murmur near his ear. Voice dropping a little more as you grow sleepy.

“Lots of kids, huh?” his hand comes around you, holding you steady, other hand alternating between stroking your back and caressing your head.

“Yeah. Like ten. Or more if you want”

He laughs. It vibrates through his body and into yours. “That's a lot of kids”

You hum slightly. Breath turning even as your body goes slack against him.

Frank sighs, relaxed and a fond. Head resting on yours as he holds you just a little tighter.

He'll go inside eventually. Carry you unto the family room and lay you down on the couch for the rest of the shift. Maybe start an iv in case you need a little glucose to help with the hangover later on.

But right now. He lets himself live in the moment for a few more minutes.

Perhaps the brownie lady rosaline will face a lawsuit. Perhaps the team will have embarrassing videos of yours.

Perhaps you'd forget all about today.

But if you don't. If you remember what you said to him and if you mean it…..maybe he'll be brave enough and say a little truth of his own too.

The truth he's keeping buried inside him for a while now.

The truth that threatens to make itself known every time you smile at him.

And in this old ambulance and you in his embrace, he can't help it when it breaks through him and his mouth works on its own when he says “I love you too, sweetheart”

The pitt tag list : @herejustforbuckybarnes, @phoenix-in-writing, @emmathefanficgal, @letsgotothecityandfallinlove, @sashelp, @v33mustdie, @my4ncy, @patchs-curiosity-corner, @angel113431

Note : Frank Langdon is unmarried and single and his wife and kids don't exist in this parallel universe

Dividers by @diviniyae

You dab the pink lip gloss on your lips that you know is his favourite. He'll lick it right off of you after all.

Perfect.

Checking yourself in the car mirror one last time, you make your way upstairs to your husband's office.

Your stilletos click against the expensive hardwood floor as you greet the receptionist and his assistant before strutting towards his cabin.

You don't ask if he's in a meeting or if he's busy. He might be the boss here, but you have an authority on him at all times, that you don't need any permission to walk into his office and interrupt whatever important work he's in midst of doing.

You don't knock on the door, clicking it open with a flick of your wrist and entering the room with a charming smile on your face.

He doesn't look up “jenna I would like another black coffee, please. I really need to get this client's paperwork done by today”

“You don't need any more coffee sir” you coax your voice into a sweeter tone, imitating jenna, his assistant “What you need is a good fuck”

His eyes perk up at that. Finding you where he expected jenna to be and the tension in his body loosens ever so slightly.

You walk towards the desk with more of a sway in your hips than normal and his gaze drops immediately. He shifts in his seat, just as you make your way around his desk and settle down on his lap like its your assigned seat.

He doesn't startle, or stop you. Instead his hands find your waist on their own. Fingers curling around the silky fabric of your dress “Wasn't expecting you today”

“I wanted to surprise you” your hands smooth their way up his shirt until they rest just below the knot of his tie.

He gulps “Well I'm surprised”

You grin, eyes finding his and coaxing the truth out of him as you say “So…what's got you all hot and bothered today sir”

He sighs, exhausted “I have to get this paperwork done by tomorrow and there's these reconciliation statements that need to be reviewed before Monday and a creditor’s payment is due so I'll have to—fuck”

A curse slips out of him as you grind down on the growing bulge in his pants.

“Honey I don't think this is the right time” he mutters, eyes pinching closed as he tries to keep his composure

“You need a break Mr. Barnes” your voice is sweet poison. Luring him in without knowing what's waiting for him.

“Yeah no shit” he attempts to joke but you cut him off “I mean it” the gravity of your voice tells him he's not getting out of this unscathed.

“Honey I don't think—”

“Shhh you don't have to think. You just have to be. Let me do the work bucky. You just relax.” You rock forward before drawing your hips back again, rutting onto his cock in a slow, teasing rhythm.

“Baby—ah fuck that's…” words are lost to him. He doesn't know how to describe this feeling. You sitting on him with that fucking gorgeous dress that he loves and looking down at him with wicked glint in your eyes

“Yeah?” You draw him out of his thoughts “Feel good bucky?”

“Yes, fuck—so good” he leans forward slightly and you envelope his mouth in a kiss that is meant to overwhelm. You let him fall into you. All his senses answering to you as you find his eyes looking into yours, mouth moaning your name, ears tinged red from your teasing voice, the sweet scent of your perfume filling his cabin as his hands try desperately to feel your skin on them.

One of your hands leaves its resting place in his hair and finds his metal palm trying to sneak under your dress before grasping it your hand and bringing it back up.

“Did I say you could do that?” You raise an eyebrow.

He shakes his head, obedient, it makes you smile “Then be a good boy and do as I say, okay” you peck his lips before moving from his lap and sinking onto your knees in front of him.

His palm comes to rest on your head, fingers curling around the hair as he brushes it away from your face.

You work at his fly with nimble fingers, tugging the zipper down and freeing his cock from the entrapment of his boxers.

It greets you just the way you knew it would. Hard and flushed pink all over, the tip of him glistening and tinged a shade of pink darker as it remains neglected.

You press a kiss on his shaft, and his hand tightens in your hair making you grin against him “So greedy, James. Thought you didn't want this?”

“I always want this” his voice is breathy, cracking at the edges.

“Yeah? You'll be a good boy for me won't you, then? Let me play with it nice and proper?” You look up at him from under your lashes.

“Yes please” he nods.

You take your time working him. Teasing licks on the length of him, tongue grazing the sensitive underside every so often as you ignore his forlorn tip even more.

All the while muttering filthy things under your breath, riling him up even more “Look how happy he is to see me, Bucky. All wet and pink and so fucking hard” you tap the head of him with a finger, barest of touch, but his whole body jerks in response.

“Baby, please” he whimpers when your tongue traces the shaft again, withdrawing before it grazes the tip.

“Please what, bucky?” You smirk, wicked and amused.

“Please, just—” his face burns redder with the moment, not wanting to say it out loud but knowing you're doing this on purpose to tease him.

“Say it, honey. What do you want?” you graze a single fingernail down the underside of his cock and he shudders.

“Do you want me here?” you kiss your way up his length

“Or here?” You press open-mouthed kisses on his frenulum and his cock twitches against your cheek.

You smile, mouth finding his balls and taking one in your mouth, “or maybe here?” You withdraw your mouth abruptly, giving him just enough of your touch to tease.

“Uh..” he groans, frustrated and waiting “baby please don't be like that”

“Like what?” You feign innocence.

“C'mon baby, tell me where do you want me” you push him further toward confessing his desires and he succumbs.

“Suck the tip, angel. Just a little, plea—aah fuck” he curses when your mouth closes over the head of him. Suckling slowly as your tongue swirls across the tip, delving into the slit, tasting the salt of him.

He moans, loud and unfiltered.

“yeah? Like that baby?” You pull away just to tease him with your words.

“Fuck yeah, just—ughh—like that.” He grunts

You work him slowly, almost teasingly. Taking him in little by little until he hits the back of your throat and his voice chokes on a moan at the feeling.

You hollow your cheeks, a hand going to play with his balls meanwhile. You cup them in your palm, tugging lightly and he whines “Harder please”

You can feel he's close in the way the muscles in his thighs tighten and his eyes pinch shut. And you, menace that you are, pull away completely.

His eyes open and find you looking up at him with the most innocent expression ever. The kind that doesn't say in the least of how you've edged him right now.

“Why would you do that?” His eyes have gone glassy with how pent up he is.

“You tell me. Why do you think you deserve to come bucky? You haven't been a good boy lately, have you?”

He tries to pull you back up onto his lap disregarding your words but your fingers grasp his jaw, making him look at you.

You feel the stubble scratch at your fingers, as you hold his gaze.

“You work too hard. Come home late. Have no time for me ‘cause you're overtired. And you still think you've been good?”

“I'm sorry” you hear him say. And the way he's looking at you tells him the apology is genuine. As much mad as you might be at him for not giving you the time for past few days, you know its not his fault. His work takes too much out of him and he's just as dedicated to it as he's to you.

You accept his apology in a sweet, chaste kiss. The kind that he feels in his bones. He moans into the kiss when he feels you settle above him.

He feels the warmth of your core, snuggle his cock. And he realises you were probably bare under that dress the entire time.

His cock twitches under you at the realisation and you grin tells him you're acknowledging it.

Your hands find the buttons of his shirt, opening them one by one before pushing his shirt off his shoulders.

His fingers move from your waist to his tie, loosening the knot but your hand comes to stop him “The tie stays on”

You tug at the fabric like a leash, pulling him in until his mouth rests on yours.

The kiss is heated. More tongue than lips, teeth clacking against each other until you're both breathless.

You rock forward, your warm core on his bare cock, sending shock waves through your veins. His tip nudges at your clit with every involuntary thrust of his hips and you both moan into the kiss.

And before you know it, you're sitting up and sinking down on him, walls clenching as you adjust to the sheer size of him. No matter how many times you take him. He hardly ever fails to take your breath away with how big he is.

But with how wet you have been since the moment you saw him, it doesn't take much resistance. He slides in right away, your walls snug around him as he revels in the feeling of you.

Home.

You grind down on him, rocking forward experimentally before pushing yourself up until just the head remains inside you and sinking down. Hard.

The moan he lets out is loud enough to summon all the staff working on that floor. And you’ve never been more grateful for the soundproofing in his cabin.

You set a pace almost instantly. Its nothing like the teasing way you had worked him in your mouth. It's brutal. Hard and fast that is meant to drive him towards his release.

Your hands grip his shoulders tightly as you bounce on him with practised rhythm. The kind that comes from doing the same thing over and over again.

His palm comes up to cup your breast through your dress, fondling it, and a high-pitched sound leaves you involuntarily.

The tip of him hits your cervix every time you sink down on him again, making him grunt

“Fuck. Baby, slow down. I'm not gonna last” he warns, trying to hold himself together and you want anything but. You want him to lose himself in you.

“You can fuck me slow later on, bucky.” You remind him “I want you to come now.”

“And when you come home early today, I'll be waiting for you in bed.” You feel him thrust up into you, noticing how close he is, you amp up your teasing, knowing he needs to hear your filthy words to climax.

“I'll even wear that lingerie you like. The pink one, you got me on your birthday. You'd love it, won't you?”

“Yes.” He pants against you “Fuck yes”

“And I'll let you do whatever you want. You can taste me if you want or have me on all fours. Like the time we did on our anniversary.”

The room reeks of sweat and sex now. The only sound is that of your skin slapping against each other as his thrusts grow erratic.

“You can even come inside. Give me all your babies. You'd be such a good dad, you know. They'd love you so much”

“Fuck—don't say that if you don't mean it” his voice is raspy, barely holding himself together.

“I mean it. Give it to me, bucky. Let me make you a daddy” he loses it at that. Burying himself to the hilt one last time before spilling into you with a loud curse.

You can feel the warmth of his release trickle down his shaft and your legs but none of you have it in yourself to care.

He's slumped back in his chair now. Chest heaving, eyes hooded, there's a dewy glow on his face that you only ever get to see on him after sex.

You smile despite yourself. Hand coming up to brush sweat slick strands of his hair back from his forehead.

He looks wrecked, coiffed hair messed up from your fingers in them, shirt rumpled from the way you were clutching it. Pants soiled and tie half undone.

You lean in, pressing soft pecks on his cheeks, his forehead, the tip of his nose. He chuckles, coming down from the high.

“You did so good for me” you cup his face in your palms and feel his cheeks burn under your skin at the praise.

“Shut up” He hides his face in your chest, but you can feel him smile against you.

You stay like that for a few moments before attempting to stand up from his lap. But his arms come around you immediately.

“Wait.” His eyes soften “I haven't—you didn't come”

“I didn't need to. I came here for you, sweetheart. This wasn’t about me.” you reply, voice sweet and even, “But I'm holding you to your promise of coming home early.” you wink, already moving to smooth your dress down from where it's bunched at your waist.

But bucky, gentleman that he is, doesn't take compromises like that when it comes to you.

So just as you're about to turn away toward the door, his hand comes around your wrist pulling you back into him.

“You're not going anywhere until I have returned the favour”

Dividers by @diviniyae

Tag list : @redstarleftarm, @sweetserendipity65, @sambuckystony, @nymphhbabie, @darlingdenise, @venigrantrogers, @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger, @bstan01, @phoenix-in-writing, @singulartoast, @danerb67, @onyx8514, @globetrotter28, @buckysdecaflove, @alyssinwunderland-blog-blog, @herejustforbuckybarnes, @v33mustdie, @windsweptarmadillo

Bucky barnes who can't resist the lure of his hand finding his cock in the dark of the night, stroking slowly to the thought of you.

Bucky barnes who swears it will never happen again except it does…..When he's in the shower after a long mission, when he's in the training room watching you do squats? When he's in the lounge watching you giggle away as natasha jokes about a couple's questionable chemistry in a rom com movie you're currently watching.

Bucky barnes who has to quickly excuse himself to his room and rid his cock of the tight constrains of his pants with a low grunt. And there goes his sanity again. Because he can't not look at you. You're addictive. And every time he looks at you, his cock takes it personally and he ends up having a……situation

Bucky barnes who makes the worst mistake of his life by letting Steve pair you with him for the next mission.

Bucky barnes who tries to act all grumpy and professional the whole time except he's dying on the inside.

Bucky barnes who freezes mid strike during the mission when he catches a glimpse of you—all bloody, and fierce. Gliding through the enemy lines like a viper through the bushes, eliminating every threat in the way.

Bucky barnes who gets hard immediately when you throw a knife at him, only for it to go past his right ear and hit the mercenary sneaking behind him, straight in the neck.

Bucky barnes who almost drops to his knees then and there when you wink at him, smug at how accurate your throw was.

Bucky barnes who rushes to his room back at the motel without so much as a word with you because he's worried he'll blow if he spends even a single moment longer in your vicinity.

Bucky barnes who shuffles out of his clothes hastily. Sluggishly palming his cock, the images of you—bloody and precise in your art—burning behind his eyes as he lets himself be lost to the fantasy of you wanting him the same way he wants you.

Bucky barnes who is too absorbed in the moment to realise the sounds spilling out of him. But the walls of the motel are thin and your senses, being trained as an agent, are sharp enough to make you realise almost instantly what's happening next door.

Bucky barnes who is right on the edge when he hears “Need a hand with that?” his eyes fly open in pure horror and his hand jerks back from his cock like he's burned.

Bucky barnes who sees his fantasy standing in the doorway of his room. Close enough that he can grab it if he lunged but surreal enough that he didn't dare try.

Bucky barnes who wonders if his life is a fever dream, as he watches you stalk closer and settles down on the edge of his bed. Your hand finds his jaw, grip firm but not harsh “you thought you'd jerk off to me when I'm right next door and I wouldn't know?”

Bucky barnes who is shocked at how domineering you sound and all words, all sanity, all the languages he knows are lost to him.

Bucky barnes who apologises out of courtesy “I'm sorry” and you just chuckle, low and dark “No you're not”

Bucky barnes who realises almost instantly that this is the point of no return. If he thought he was miserable before, right now, he was utterly and completely screwed.

Bucky barnes who let's you guide him back down to the bed before straddling him. Cock trapped between your thighs as you lean forward and rest your elbows on his chest, letting your head fall into your palms.

Bucky barnes who tries to sit up to kiss you only to be shoved back down “you've been a naughty boy, barnes. Why do you think you deserve a kiss?”

Bucky barnes who swore he wasn't the one to be submissive, but now he's begging you for a kiss “please. Just one. I'd be good for you, I promise”

You smirk leaning down “only because you asked so nicely” and brush your lips against his, a subtle message that he can kiss you now.

He doesn't waste a moment. Crashing his mouth onto yours in desperate hunger that's all tongue and teeth. You grind down onto his cock and he moans into your mouth “so eager already” you tease.

Bucky barnes who swears he's gone to heaven as soon as you sink down on his length and your warm, wet walls imprison his cock. “Oh…fuck, baby. You're hugging my cock so tight. It's like you don't wanna let go”

When you start to move, the sounds that leave him makes the tips of his ears turn pink with embarrassment. The kind he'd die before admitting he ever made.

Bucky barnes who realises that you are, in fact, way more perverted than him.

Bucky barnes who has never met a woman with a more foul mouth than yours. His heart threatens to lurch out of his chest when you say “Such a bad boy, barnes. Tell me how many times you've done this, again”

And you just never stop.

“Do you do think about me every night, bucky?”

"Have you painted your shower walls white for me, james?”

“Is this why you're always so grumpy during training, huh? your pants always feel too tight, don't they, Sergeant?”

Bucky barnes who wants to just roll you over and fuck you hard at how mouthy you're being. But he's completely at your mercy now. Utterly powerless. And he knows he'll let you take him, however you want.

Bucky barnes who realises, mid sex, that what he felt for you all this time wasn't just lust. And now that he knows how you feel around him, over him, he'll be damned if he ever let you go.

Bucky barnes who comes with a choked gasp and your name loud in his mouth.

Bucky barnes who lets you kiss him slow after. Lets you clean him up before he pulls you onto him and thanks you. And you being the menace that you are, tease him again “Yeah?” You smirk, pressing warm kisses on his cheeks “Of course, you liked it, you were such a good boy”

Bucky barnes who doesn't know why the praise makes his cheeks warm, and apparently he's learned that about himself today that he likes to be bossed around in the bedroom. And he likes to be called a good boy.

Dividers : @dividers-are-us

Tag list : @redstarleftarm, @sweetserendipity65, @sambuckystony, @nymphhbabiee, @darlingdenise, @venigrantrogers, @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger, @bstan01, @phoenix-in-writing, @singulartoast, @danerb67, @onyx8514, @globetrotter28, @buckysdecaflove,