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BROTHER’S BEST FRIEND BUCKY X F!READER (college au)
SUMMARY. Being Steve Rogers’ sister meant years of boys looking at you like a warning sign. Now that you’re in college, your lack of experience becomes a major problem. So you ask your brother’s best friend to teach you everything. What starts as lessons becomes something neither of you have a name for yet.
WORD COUNT. 12.1K
WARNINGS. college au, brother’s best friend trope, MDNI, inexperienced reader, tit play, smut, virginity loss, protected pnv, talks about aftercare, miscommunication, angst. No use of Y/N.
NOTES. You can imagine reader as Steve’s adopted sister, there will be no physical descriptions. Just a heads up, Reader and Bucky met when she was 8 and he was 10.
And thank you @sheriff-bodecker for always handling my crashouts 😭
Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || 1 ~ 2 ~ 3
READ ON AO3
You'd imagined it to feel at least a little weird. It doesn't. If anything, this is the most comfortable you could've felt moments before your first time having sex.
Yes, the final lesson. Probably gaslighting yourself by calling it a lesson, but then this is you.
The most alarming thing you can say about the moment is that it feels completely, devastatingly ordinary. Like you've been here a hundred times. Which you kind of have, just not like this.
Not with that small square of foil sitting on his nightstand being very loud about itself.
Bucky's talking. He's doing the responsible thing, the Bucky thing, making sure you have the information you need. And you're listening, because he's right about all of it.
Condom, doesn't matter what the guy says, non-negotiable.
Yes. You're nodding.
But he keeps saying 'the guy'. He. Some future hypothetical person standing in this exact spot who you'll have to talk to. And something about that specific word keeps catching in your chest, snagging on a part of you that you have been carefully not naming for weeks.
You'd really rather it stopped. You're not going to say anything about it. There's nothing to say. You came to him with a very specific ask and he said yes and that's the entire thing, start to finish.
You're not going to make it weird by having feelings about a pronoun.
You're not.
"Hey." His hand finds your jaw and tips your face up. Of fucking course he caught it. One moment you zone out, and get caught. His eyes move over your face with attention. You feel like being read by someone who's already a few pages ahead of you. "Talk to me."
"I'm fine."
"You just went somewhere."
"Bucky." He's starting to pull the thread until it unravels. And because you can already see it happening, you lean in and kiss him.
Because it's easier than explaining. Because you've learned by now that this is the fastest way to shut down a conversation you're not ready for.
It's a deflection. You know it's a deflection. The difference between kissing him to avoid something and kissing him because you want to is fucking massive.
Only it doesn't go the way you planned. He kisses you back in a way that feels like being held still. Whatever you were going to outrun dissolves. Something blooms in its place that you don't have a category for and don't try to make one.
When he pulls back, he looks at you. Something in his expression that he keeps mostly to himself.
Then he tips you back. Everything after that stops being about thinking.
His mouth is warm on your jaw, your collarbone, and lower. His tongue drags over your nipple and you make an embarrassing noise. He repeats it, to embarrass you further, you think. Only it's slower, sealing his mouth around it and sucking until it's aching and tight.
Equal attention is given to the other one.
By the time he starts moving lower, you've got a fist in his hair and a completely unreasonable amount of feeling in your chest for someone in the middle of an educational exercise.
Educational. Right.
His mouth presses into the soft of your stomach, the skin below your navel, making you jerk. He smiles against you, which you feel more than see. You feel it everywhere. You feel everything. His mood through the room, his attention like a physical weight, his amusement before it reaches his face. You've been feeling him for longer than you want to admit.
Without any hurry, his hands are spreading your thighs and his breath is on your inner thigh and all of that thinking goes quiet. Everything else goes quiet.
He looks up at you from between your legs, and the look on his face makes something clench in your chest that has nothing to do with what his mouth is about to do. It's want, is what it is, and it's not just the physical kind. You are not going to look at that right now because his face is between your thighs and this is not the moment.
Bucky drops his head and noses through your folds. When you make yet another embarrassing sound, he groans back.
Like you just gave him something good, and licks up through you in one long drag that has your hips lifting off the bed.
The noises he makes when he eats you out are something you are going to be thinking about for a very long time. Sounds of a man who is genuinely, thoroughly into what he's doing. Tongue working through your folds and circling your clit and sliding down to your entrance and back up. Drinking you.
You can hear how wet you are. A week ago that would have mortified you. Right now it barely registers because he makes that greedy, wanting sound every single time and presses closer, like the answer to you is more of you.
When your fist tightens in his hair he groans straight into your cunt. Vibration everywhere. Your thighs clench around his head before you can stop them.
His lips seal around your clit, sucking with with intent, and you actually cry out this time. He does it again and keeps doing it, tongue working against you while he holds the suction.
You realise your thighs are shaking on either side of his head, hips rolling into him. Holding them with his forearms, he keeps going. Like he made a decision and he's seeing it all the way through.
There's something devastating about his certainty. He always knows what he's doing. He always knows what you need before you've fully understood it yourself. That quality, which you have admired in him for years — not in this context though — is currently taking you apart.
Two fingers press inside you to curl. "Just stay with me."
You don't have much choice. The whole world has narrowed down to his mouth and his hand and the devastating combination of his tongue working your clit while his fingers find that specific spot inside you with the ease of someone who has been paying very close attention. You're gripping his hair with both hands now and making sounds that you'll think about with mild horror tomorrow. But right now tomorrow doesn't exist.
Right now there is only this, him. The tension coils tighter and tighter, everything pulling to one point, and then everything snaps.
You come with his name somewhere in your throat. He works you through every single wave of it, slower and softer as you come down, drawing it out until you're shaking and your hands in his hair have gone slack.
Pulling weakly at his hair to get him to stop doesn't seem to faze him, even then he presses a last kiss to your inner thigh before he moves.
You hear the soft tear of foil and press your face into the pillow for those few seconds because you need them. Your heart is doing something with a lot of force and nowhere particular to put it.
The specific feeling of not knowing what to do with how much you feel is not a new one. By this point, you've been managing it for the past several weeks with varying degrees of success. But it's never been this loud before. It fills up the room. It fills up the pillow. The pillowcase smells like him and that is not helping.
He settles between your thighs, but looks at you. The reading-you look. "Still with me?"
"Uh-huh. Yeah."
His hand presses flat against your lower belly, all five fingers spread across your skin. He holds it there while he lines himself up. Like he wants to feel what's about to happen from the outside too. Like that's something he wants.
You don't know what to do with that so you just feel it. You feel his palm pressing warm against you, the blunt pressure of him at your entrance, the gravity of the moment without any of it needing to be said out loud.
"Breathe," he says.
"I'm breathing."
He gives you a look. Look that says 'don't start shit now'.
You breathe.
He pushes in. Slow. So careful. The stretch of him opening you up is significant and new. You make a sound that you've never made before in your life, this broken wrecked thing. He just stops. Palm still flat on your stomach. Holding you, letting you have a second.
"You okay?"
The far end of your brain wants to laugh, a little. Because the answer is yes and also something much larger than yes, something that doesn't fit inside okay. The far end of your brain tells you that nobody would compare to him. Nobody would ask you this, nobody would be considerate of you like this.
But the part that's currently in control of your body is not the one. It's the one that breathes, "don't stop. Just — don't stop."
He searches your face. Whatever he finds there must be sufficient because he pushes in, impossibly slow, the fullness building and building until he's all the way seated. The exhale that comes out of him sounds like something leaving him, something he'd been holding for longer than just tonight.
He drops his forehead to your shoulder. His weight settles against you. You feel his heart going fast against yours, faster than his breathing would suggest.
His heart going fast. His heart going fast because of you.
There's something warm at the corner of your eyes at this information. Completely uninvited there are tears you didn't anticipate. You blink hard at the ceiling trying to sort yourself out. Before he notices.
But Bucky lifts his head and goes completely still.
"Did I hurt you?" His voice has changed. Softer, lower, stripped of the easy composure.
"No."
"Tell me the truth —"
"You didn't." Your hand goes to his face. Cups his jaw, and he stops talking. His eyes find yours and they search, careful and very blue and intent. "I promise. They're good tears. I'm okay."
For what, you can't say. You're not going to say. His palm has been on your stomach this entire time, and he stopped the moment he heard something in your voice. Right now, he's looking at you like your answer is the only thing in the room that matters. Like he would wait all night for it.
You've spent the last however many weeks telling yourself this is a practical arrangement. A smart, useful, sensible arrangement that you came up with yourself and that made complete sense at the time. Clean and contained.
Somewhere in the middle of all of it you stopped believing that. You can't remember exactly when. The crying is just your body being honest in a way you haven't been letting yourself be.
You don't say any of that.
"Good tears," you manage. "Really."
He holds your gaze for a long moment. Long enough that you think he might push it, might ask the actual question underneath the one you answered. The real question — what are you crying about?
If he asked it, you genuinely don't know what you'd say. Something true, probably. Something that couldn't be forgotten.
But he doesn't. He leans down to kiss you instead and starts to move.
Long, slow drag, his cock pulling back until just the head remains, then pushing home again just as slowly.
The fullness of it, the completeness of it. You don't think there's a word for it. His hand stays flat on your stomach and you feel him through it, feel the movement from the outside and the inside simultaneously, feel your own body accommodate him. It is an almost absurd amount of sensation. Not just physical. All of it, all at once, too much to sort through while it's happening.
He mouths at your throat, comes back to your lips. The kissing gets less careful the longer he moves, goes softer and messier and more real. You feel the difference between careful-Bucky and less-careful-Bucky.
Less-careful-Bucky is catastrophic.
You have thought, a lot, over the past weeks, about what it means to be careful with someone. He's been careful with you from the start. Patient. Never rushing, never making you feel like you owed him anything, never letting the patience have a price. And you categorised that under 'he's a good person'. You categorised everything under 'he's a good person'. What you didn't think about was why he is specifically like this with you.
But he's less careful now, and that is also him being specifically like this with you, and you are going to need to deal with that later.
His hips find a rhythm. The drag of him hits somewhere deep and your cunt clenches in response and the sound you make into his mouth is not measured. His breath catches, a short, almost surprised sound. His grip on your hip tightens a fraction, like he didn't expect that. Like your body surprised him. The thought that you could surprise him, that there are things about you he's still discovering, makes you feel warm inside.
"More." You didn't plan to say it out loud. It just comes out.
His eyes, which were focused on the place you two were joined, leave it reluctantly to look at your face. The longest he's ever taken to look at you. There's a question in them.
"Harder. Please."
At that, his hand tightens on your hip and he gives you what you asked for.
Your breath punches out. Wherever your hands land, you grab. His shoulders, the plane of his back. His cock drives through your slick with this obscene, wet sound you've never heard before and the drag of it hits that deep spot with every stroke and your brain is nowhere useful, it's just gone. There's nothing here but sensation and Bucky and the specific sound of his breathing coming apart.
He's making sounds now. Barely contained. Hearing him like that is almost as good as the rest of it combined. Maybe better. You've been collecting his composure slipping in pieces for weeks and this is all of it at once. He's not controlling it anymore, he's just in it, with you.
His thumb finds your clit without warning. "Look at me."
You whimper into his ear. He makes a sound low in his chest like you just handed him something he badly needed.
His lips find your forehead. There's this soft, unbearably tender kiss that has absolutely no business existing alongside everything else he's doing to you. His voice goes rough. "Cum for me."
You cum for him. His eyes are almost black and he's looking at you like you're the most precious thing in the room. Thing is he's not doing anything to hide it. That is what that tips you. His thumb and his cock would be contributing factors, sure. But the way he's looking is more than anything physical ever could be.
"Bucky—"
"I've got you." Against your mouth.
Your walls clench tight around him, as he buries himself and stills. You feel him throb inside you while you're still shaking.
There's nothing else except the two of you, and this fragile thing that could end any moment.
His weight on you is the heaviest you've ever carried. Nothing physical in this too. You think the weight of it comes from knowing this could be the last. The thought evaporates when his lips nip at your throat.
You hold him. Both arms. You don't decide to do it, your arms just do it. Your hands press into his back and hold, like you could keep him here, like you could make this not end.
He lets you.
For a moment that goes on longer than a moment, everything stills. His breath is warm on your skin. You feel his heartbeat starting to slow under your hands. Something fragile exists in this room and you are aware of it.
You don't think about that. You think about his heartbeat instead. You think about the fact that his breathing is still a little uneven, and that you did that. That you are the reason his breathing is uneven.
You have spent a significant amount of time over the past weeks thinking about how you were learning things. Processing experiences in the tidy way of someone taking notes. The date on the beach — lesson. The kissing — lesson. All of it, catalogued and labelled and filed away under something that felt safe.
And somewhere it stopped being safe and you kept going anyway.
You can feel him tense, not wanting to pull out. You want to clutch at him, tell him that you don't want that either. What you want is what you have.
But you don't say that.
He pulls out.
It is so careful, tears threaten to spill out. You close your eyes, you will not let him see that.
The absence of him is physical in a way you weren't prepared for, a hollow feeling that has nothing to do with the physical and everything to do with something you still haven't put a name to. It claws at your chest. It is like giving away something that's been yours all along. Takes everything in you to not reach out, not grab him, not push your face into his neck.
You don't do that. He walks away.
Faint sounds of him running the tap.
He comes back with a cloth, warm from the tap, the right kind of warm. Like he stood there testing the temperature until it felt exactly right.
Sitting beside you, he's close enough that his thigh brushes yours. His other hand rests on your knee the whole time, thumb stroking slow little circles.
"How’re you feeling?" His voice is rough from everything you just did to each other. You mumble a little 'fine’ and he huffs a soft laugh.
The cloth drags gently over your inner thighs first, wiping away the slick. Then he folds it and presses it right against you, the tender skin around your entrance, from the crease where your thigh meets everything that’s still throbbing and sensitive.
What you're doing is something entirely different. You stare at the wall and blink and think about literally anything else.
You physically cannot bring yourself think about anything else.
You think about how nobody has ever done this. Not because the chance hasn't come up. Obviously the chance hasn't come up, that's entirely the point of the last few weeks.
But even imagining it, you wouldn't have imagined this. Someone sitting beside you after and just quietly, without being asked, taking care of you like it is simply what you do for a person. Like not doing it would be the strange thing.
There's not going to be another person like him. That's the thought you've been keeping in a box with the lid pressed firmly down. It's out now.
He takes his time, folding the cloth again when it gets too wet, going back over every inch like this is the most important thing in the world right now.
You feel yourself twitch under the warmth of it and he murmurs, "Easy… I’ve got you," like he can read every tiny reaction your body makes.
"So I take care of you every time we do something, right?" He's still focused on wiping you clean. "That’s called aftercare."
"That’s — that’s a thing?"
He huffs a soft laugh that’s mostly breath, eyes still on what he’s doing between your legs. "Sorry. I forgot to tell you." The words come out so easy, like it never even occurred to him that this part needed explaining. Like he’s been doing it on instinct every single time and didn’t stop to think it was something he had to teach you.
The realization settles warm and a little devastating in your chest. He didn’t see this as a lesson. It was just second nature to him. Taking care of you like this was never part of the curriculum. It was just Bucky.
He keeps talking, voice never rising above that low murmur. "After sex, after something this intense, your body goes through a lot. Sometimes you feel strange or sad or cold for no reason. Sometimes you cry, like you did earlier. It’s normal. Just your system coming down. Needs a little tending." He folds the cloth one last time and presses it gently over you, letting the warmth soak in.
"So what do you do for it?"
"Water first, always. Warmth. Touch. Doesn’t have to be anything fancy. Main thing is you don’t disappear on each other. You stay. The other person needs to know you’re still right here."
He sets the cloth aside but doesn’t move away. His hand stays on your knee, thumb still moving in those slow circles.
He's still there. He's stayed. He's taken care of you.
He's taken care of you every time. Every single time, without fail, without exception. And you have done none of it in return. You never thought to ask what he needed. You never thought to stay and take care of him the way he's taken care of you.
"What do you need?" When he holds your gaze, you continue, "For aftercare. What do you actually need?"
The question surprised him, you can see that. He's been very thoroughly in the mode of what you need and coming at it from this direction might be unfamiliar ground. It requires him to be on the receiving end, he doesn't live there.
There's a small internal thing happening that you can see clearly and he probably thinks you can't.
"I like to cuddle." Without any of the careful composure he sometimes wraps around the things.
Not even a second is needed for you to process this, you open your arms.
He looks at them. One beat. One second of stillness that you read as surprise, or something softer than surprise, something that looks a lot like being moved. Then he comes down. Head to your chest, arm across your stomach. Your chin finds the top of his head.
The long breath he lets out when he settles. Something goes out with it. You feel it in his shoulders, the way they drop, the way his hand on your stomach stops holding anything and just rests.
Your hand moves up his back in slow passes. His hair is soft under your jaw. He's very warm, almost too warm. It makes you want to stay put indefinitely. His heartbeat under your palm is steady and slowing.
His hand finds yours after a while. Folds your fingers into his.
The thing you've been struggling with is still there. It's been there longer than tonight. You've been careful about it, genuinely careful, because you're not an idiot and you knew what you were walking into and you were going to be sensible about the whole thing.
You were so sensible. Right up until you weren't.
Twenty years old and, in the notable absence of any prior romantic experience, you went and fell for the one person you specifically arranged things with in order to avoid exactly this. The irony is not lost on you. Steve would absolutely never let you hear the end of it. Steve cannot ever find out about any of this.
You press your lips to the top of his head. Barely a thing, just for a second, because the feeling needs somewhere to go and this is the least damaging option available.
He makes a soft sound and pulls you fractionally closer, arm tightening across your stomach. Reflex, probably. Something that happened without him deciding to do it.
There's always a moment with Bucky, when he's coming out of sleep, where his face does something unguarded. Where all the easy competence he walks around with during the day hasn't quite loaded yet. He's just a person, blinking at the room, figuring out where he is.
You've seen it a handful of times now and every single time it does something to you that you'd rather it didn't.
He looks at you.
"Morning."
"Morning." His voice is rough with sleep, different from his regular voice. Softer. You've thought about this voice, oftentimes than you'd like to admit. "How'd you sleep?"
"Fine. Good." Both true. You slept better than you have in weeks, actually, which is information you're keeping to yourself. "You?"
"Yeah." He scrubs a hand over his face. "How're you feelin'? You sore?"
He's been awake for approximately twelve seconds and that's what surfaces first.
He thought of that before anything else. Before his brain had fully loaded. You didn't think of it first. Your first thought this morning was not about whether your body was still feeling last night. You're not sure what your first thought was. Something less generous to yourself. But his was this.
"A little bit," you say.
The corners of his mouth pull down. The softest frown, private, the kind you only see on someone who doesn't know they're being watched. "I'm sorry, baby." Quiet. The soft version of his voice, the one he doesn't use for everything, just for when he means it.
"Bucky, it's fine—"
"I am sorry."
"You were—" careful, you want to say. You were so careful, and patient, and you went so slow that it almost felt like being taken apart by someone who actually gave a damn whether you were still in one piece after. You also want to say his hand on your stomach was the best and worst thing that has ever happened to you simultaneously. But you say, "you didn't do anything wrong. First time is just — first time. It's a body thing."
"I know what it is."
"Then stop doing that with your face."
"I'm not doing anything."
"You're —"
He looks at you sideways. The face is still happening. You reach over and push at his jaw with two fingers, gently, like you're trying to manually rearrange the expression. Catching your hand, he presses his lips to it. For one second, just held there against your palm. Nothing about it is incidental.
"I'm fine. Really." You might be fine from the soreness, but you sure aren't fine from that gentle press of lips.
His thumb moves over your knuckles, and you let him. You feel that thing in your chest that you decided not to think about until you got home, doing its thing anyway without your permission.
"Guess I'll have to deal with Jenna's scrunchie situation again." You don't entirely mean to say it. It just sort of comes out, like your mouth was filling the silence while your brain was doing something else. You hear it the second it drops and you hear exactly how it sounds and you cannot take it back.
"What do you mean?" His body goes still beside you.
Here you are. Standing at the edge of something, the words already out there, sitting between you both. You can see exactly where they came from. Probably from the feeling you've been carrying since the beach, maybe earlier, maybe much earlier, looking for any door that might lead somewhere without you having to walk through it directly. Poorly disguised as a casual observation. Even you are not entirely sure what you were hoping for when you said it. Something. Anything. Some signal.
You're not brave enough to say it plainly. But you're past pretending it wasn't anything.
"I mean— I mean you've kind of — taught me everything." A small, careful shrug. Casual. Like it's just an observation, like your heart isn't doing something extremely loud. "So."
You look at him.
He looks back at you and for a second — one second — there's something in his face that you can't read. Something that moves across it fast, like a thing he almost lets out but doesn't. And then he gets it under control, or puts something back in place, or whatever the thing is that he does when he decides to be Bucky-who-is-very-calm about something.
He looks unaffected.
It stings so badly you feel it in your stomach.
"So I should be able to, like. Date. Go out there. All of that." Your voice comes out completely fine, which is impressive because nothing inside you is fine. "That's the whole point, right? We're obviously done with lessons."
Something about saying it out loud — lessons — makes you feel sick. Like the word is a trap you built yourself and walked into with your eyes open. You handed him the word and he used it and now you have to live inside it.
He opens his mouth. You wait. You are waiting very hard, in a way that probably shows, in a way that you'll be embarrassed about later, but you wait. You wait with everything you have.
"Yeah." One syllable. Like it's the most uncomplicated answer in the world.
All the air leaves your body at once.
You stare at the wall where there's a photo of him and Steve. You look at it very carefully because it's better than looking at him.
Yeah.
Yeah, obviously, yes. That was the point, that was always the point. You came to him with a specific ask and he fulfilled it. Now you've asked if you're done and he said yeah. That's the appropriate answer, that's the correct answer, that's the answer you should've been hoping for. You knew this. You went in knowing this.
Your heart doesn't agree. Your heart is being extremely unhelpful.
The warmth of his skin where it's touching yours is suddenly too much. Last night you would have stayed here indefinitely. Now the room is too small and he's too close and that word is sitting in the air between you and you need to leave. You need to be somewhere that isn't next to him while you figure out what to do with the fact that you've been an idiot.
You sit up. The sheet catches and drops. Half a second where you're just there, bare in the grey light, all of you in front of him.
You grab for the sheet. Too late, but you grab it and pull it up to your chest with a speed that you'll be mortified about later, like something happened in between last night and this morning, like there's a rule about daylight that nobody told you but you feel it anyway. He saw everything last night, has seen everything multiple times over. He was inside you less than six hours ago. Yet you still you grab for it like it matters. Your body making its own decisions about vulnerability without consulting you.
He doesn't look at you the way you expected. He looks at your face — once, just your face — and then looks away. His jaw does something. Like he started to say a thing and decided against it. Like he weighed it and found the moment wasn't right or the words weren't ready or some other reason he is keeping to himself, because that's Bucky, he holds things until he's sure about them. You don't see what his face does after that because you're looking at your hands.
Bucky pushes back the covers on his side and swings his legs off the bed. You realise after a second that he's giving you space. Going to the bathroom so you can get dressed without feeling looked at.
A small courtesy, a Bucky courtesy, and it makes something in your chest ache so badly you want to laugh at yourself.
You hear the bathroom door.
You move fast. Faster than you probably look cool doing, but he's not watching so it doesn't matter. Underwear, jeans, your shirt from yesterday, shoes. Phone off the nightstand. One look around the room for anything else that's yours.
There's a moment where you think about waiting for him to come back out, where you think about the conversation you could maybe have, where you think about the look on his face before he got it under control and what might have been on the other side of it.
But you walk away.
Out the front door and down the steps and out onto the path. The morning is bright and completely indifferent to the fact that you just made a very cowardly exit from the apartment of a man who is not your boyfriend and never will be.
The walk back to your dorm takes ten minutes.
It feels both longer and shorter than that. You're fine.
You're going to be fine.
This was always going to be the ending of this particular thing, and you knew that, and you were always going to have to walk home the next morning and feel however you feel about it, and now you're doing that, so. Progress.
When you get back, Jenna is asleep and the room is dim. You sit down on the edge of your bed and look at the photo on your nightstand. It's the same one on his wall. Steve and Bucky.
Two days.
Two days of checking your phone and then putting it face down and then picking it up again, like something might have changed in the eleven seconds since you last looked.
Two days of Jenna asking if you're okay and you saying 'yeah just tired', which is technically true, you are tired, you're tired in a way that has nothing to do with sleep.
You sit at your desk and open your book and read the same paragraph four times without absorbing a single word of it. You have no idea what it says. You close the book. You open it again. You close it again. You put it on the floor so it stops looking at you.
Jenna makes you a cup of tea on the morning of day one. You say thanks, and she sets it on your nightstand, and it goes cold while you stare at the ceiling. She doesn't push it. She's perceptive in that quiet specific way and she knows when to leave someone alone.
On the afternoon of day one you get up and go for a walk because lying still is making you feel sorry for yourself in a way that's becoming circular. The campus is busy in the end-of-classes way. People in groups, the noise of uncomplicated days. You walk until your feet hurt and then you go back and lie down again.
On the morning of day two you pick up your phone, look at his name in your contacts, and put it face down. You are not going to be that person. You went in knowing how this ended, you made a decision, and you are going to get through the next few days without doing anything embarrassing.
The plan does not account for the fact that you still have his hoodie in your bag because you left in such a hurry that you forgot to give it back. You have put it at the bottom of the bag. You are not thinking about it.
But this situation in itself is embarrassing. And there's nobody you can tell about it. Which makes it worse. Because at least if you could tell someone you could be embarrassed out loud and get it over with.
Instead you're just sitting here being embarrassed at yourself in private, which is somehow the worst version.
The thing is, it was always going to end like this. You wanted lessons, he provided lessons, lessons concluded. That's not a tragedy, that's just a transaction completing.
So the part you can't figure out is at what point your brain decided to stop treating it like that.
Because something went wrong in the gap between what you told yourself this was and what it actually became.
And you can trace it. If you're honest with yourself — which you haven't been — you can trace it all the way back to a parking lot and a bunch of hydrangeas in one hand.
It was a lesson, you reminded yourself at the time. You just didn't file it properly. You put it somewhere mislabeled and kept going.
That's your own fault. That's entirely your fault and you know it. You can't even be angry at him about it because he didn't do anything.
He did exactly what you asked. He was kind and patient and thorough and he told you the truth at every step.
Never once — not once — did he say anything that suggested this was anything other than what you agreed it was.
If anything, he was more careful than he had to be. He gave you just pleasure an innumerable number of times before he let things go any further. He was careful with you. He was so careful with you.
And the fact that he was careful with you is part of the problem. Because it made it very easy to forget that being careful with someone isn't the same as wanting them.
There will not be another person like him.
That's the real damage. You went in with no experience and he's what you got, and now you have a reference point. Now you know what it feels like to be with someone who puts you first without making a thing of it. Who would rather wait another week than rush you through something. Who puts his mouth on you for your benefit, not as a warm-up for something else.
You remember every single time. The tent in his sweats, the controlled breathing, the way he always made sure you finished before he even came close to thinking about himself. You filed it away under 'body being body', under 'he's experienced he can handle it'.
You did not let yourself think about what it meant that he lay next to you hard enough to be uncomfortable and not doing a single thing about it except holding you.
Body being body needs relief. That's just biology. He could have asked. You would have. Obviously, eagerly. Hell, he didn't even have to ask.
But he didn't.
He never once made you feel like you owed him anything, like the patience had a price, like the patience was even something he was exercising rather than just something he had.
There's not going to be another person like that.
The sad little story goes like this : She wanted experience, she got it, and somehow managed to ruin herself for everyone who comes after.
Congratulations. Growth.
You walked in wanting a lesson and fell in love with the teacher. Which is the most clichéd possible version of this story, by the way. You'd hate yourself for it if you had the energy.
Tired of sitting still, you decide you'll go see Steve.
He's been texting all month asking if you've settled in and you've been saying 'yeah, great, so busy', which is the oldest deflection in your sibling playbook. He buys it every single time because Steve is earnest and takes people at their word. You could use some of that energy right now.
The bus gives you an hour. An hour of towns sliding past the window and music you're not actually listening to. Your brain is doing a thing, where it is turning the whole situation over and over like it's looking for an angle that makes you look less stupid.
It hasn't found one yet. You're starting to think it's not going to.
Here's the thing you've been trying not to look at.
You've always liked Bucky.
The whole tape, you're running it back now. He's there earlier than you want him to be. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, Steve bringing him over and you finding reasons to be downstairs.
Bucky was older and loud and took up all the air in whatever room he walked into. You told yourself you found that annoying. You did find it annoying. You were also ready in ten minutes every time Steve said he was coming over. Which is not the behaviour of someone who finds a person annoying.
You were seventeen when you saw him talking to a cheerleader at one of Steve's games. Long legs, laughing at something he said. And you felt something. Something you classified as 'general bad mood' and immediately forgot about. You were in a bad mood that whole week. Funny, that.
Because here's the thing about Steve always bringing Bucky. Here's the thing about all those years of hanging around whenever he came over. You told yourself you were just being sociable. You liked having people around. You liked Bucky's stupid arguments about films and the way he laughed when something caught him off guard. You liked him the way you like someone who's been around since you were small enough that they're just part of the furniture.
Except the furniture doesn't make you feel like hell when it talks to a cheerleader. The furniture doesn't talk to a cheerleader.
You put your headphones in and stare at the window.
The boys you didn't date in high school. You've spent years blaming Steve for that. Watchful eyes and warning looks. And Steve was a factor, you're not letting him off the hook entirely. But you're on this bus right now and you're turning the question over properly for the first time and you're wondering : Was it Steve?
Or was it that none of them were Bucky?
Was it that you'd had Bucky as some kind of baseline since you were fourteen, all that warmth and sharpness and the way he actually listened and remembered things. And every boy your age just felt thin by comparison? Was it that you set an impossible standard completely by accident and then spent years confused about why nobody was clearing it?
Your stomach turns over.
And then, because your brain apparently hasn't finished being cruel to you today, it offers up the next one.
College. New place. Clean slate. Steve an hour away. Finally, finally some room to breathe, finally a chance to figure all of this out without his shadow in the frame.
And you came here and knocked on Bucky's door inside of a week.
You went to Bucky.
You told yourself you wanted experience. Told yourself you were being practical, that you picked him because you trusted him and he was close and you'd known him forever and it just made sense.
All of that was true. But you could've done any number of things. Downloaded an app. Gone to a party. Done literally anything that normal people do when they want to figure this out.
You went to Bucky.
You wanted Bucky.
If you're being fully and completely honest with yourself, you've always wanted Bucky. And your brain built a whole reasonable-sounding explanation for why going to him was the logical choice. You'd bought it completely, and walked into his apartment and asked him to teach you to kiss and told yourself it was educational.
You are so stupid.
You are so fucking stupid.
The bus pulls into the stop and you get off. You've made a decision on the way here. You're going to tell Steve. Not everything. Obviously not everything, there are details that you should be taking to your grave. But something.
You've been carrying this alone for two days and it's pressing against your ribs. You need to put it down somewhere, even briefly, even partially. And Steve is your brother and he loves you and he'll know what to say or he won't and you'll feel better anyway because he's Steve.
Third floor. You know this building. Your feet know this building.
You knock.
The door opens.
Bucky's standing there with a mug in his hand and his hair doing the morning thing and a grey shirt that's seen better decades. And he looks at you.
The floor drops out from under your stomach so fast you actually put one hand on the doorframe.
The universe has a genuinely terrible sense of humour.
Steve's voice carries through the apartment before Bucky's even finished stepping back from the door.
"Is that — oh my god!"
You hear the genuine delight in it when he calls your name.
Bucky is not looking at you, and that's the first thing you notice. Not your brother.
"This is literally the best day of my life," Steve says, from the couch, with the energy of a golden retriever who just saw two of his favourite people walk side by side.
He looks between you and Bucky and back, radiating a happiness that is completely disproportionate to what is actually happening in this room.
"Hi, Steve." You sit in the armchair. The armchair is good. The armchair is far away from the kitchen — where Bucky currently is — and gives you a clear sightline to the door if you need to leave quickly.
"You look terrible." Steve tells you, which is his version of concern.
"Thanks."
"No, I mean — are you sleeping?"
"I'm fine."
"You look—"
"Steve." You give him the look. He subsides. He's known you long enough to know when the look means drop it. To his credit he usually does.
Bucky comes back from the kitchen with a glass of water and sits at the other end of the couch from Steve.
He hasn't looked at you once. He looks at Steve, at the coffee table, at some middle distance that isn't your face. You, on the other hand, look at your own hands. And Steve looks between the two of you with an expression you can't quite read from this angle and choose not to try.
There are two people in this room actively not acknowledging something, and the third is Steve. Who is either genuinely oblivious or performing oblivion with professional precision. With Steve it's sometimes impossible to tell which.
He talks. He tells you about the internship, something about a project that went sideways and then un-sideways. You listen and nod and make the right noises and in your peripheral vision Bucky sits at the other end of the couch with his elbows on his knees and his eyes somewhere that isn't you.
This is fine. This is completely fine. You've been in rooms with Bucky before. You've sat on this couch with him three feet away, you've watched bad television next to him for hours. You know how to be in a room with Bucky Barnes.
You just haven't done it … since you-know-what.
Steve somehow doesn't notice what's happening here.
You've always marvelled a little at Steve's skill for that. For being so thoroughly good that he just assumes everyone around him is also okay, that the world is basically fine, that people he loves are probably not sitting six feet apart doing an extremely committed impression of strangers.
"Hey," he says suddenly. The way he sounds when something's occurred to him. "Buck, who's this girl Sam keeps going on about?"
Your hand goes very still.
Bucky glances up. "What girl?"
"The one you've been hanging out with? Sam said something about it."
"Sam needs to mind his own business."
"So there is a girl."
"There's not a—" Bucky stops himself. "It's nothing. It was nothing."
"Sam said you were sneaking around."
"I was not sneaking around."
"Said you're being weird, Buck."
"I'm not weird, I'm just—" His jaw works to spit out the rest of the sentence. "It's nothing. Drop it, Steve."
Steve, with the particular stubbornness of a man who has known Bucky Barnes his entire life and has never once successfully dropped anything, looks at him for a long moment and then does something shocking. He drops it.
He turns to you instead. "What about you? How's things? You seem off."
Your brain is doing several things at once right now. It is attempting to formulate an answer for Steve. It is also replaying the last thirty seconds on a loop — was nothing, it was nothing — and trying to figure out what nothing means and who nothing was. And whether the timing of it lines up with anything.
Nothing. He said it in the voice of someone saying something they don't mean, the voice of someone getting the word out because it needs to be said and not because it's true. You know his voice. You have been listening to his voice since you were eight years old and there are versions of it you know as well as your own. That was not his honest voice. That was his covering voice. You know the difference.
"I'm fine," you come back from your head to tell Steve.
"You keep saying that."
"Because I am."
Steve gives you the look that is his version of your look, which you've been on the receiving end of since you were approximately six years old and it has never once stopped working. "Something happen?"
"No."
"You sure?"
"Steve, I'm—"
"She said she's fine," Bucky says, from the other end of the couch. Like he's doing you a favour, giving you the exit.
You look at him.
He looks at you.
It's the first time he's looked at you properly since you walked in, and it lasts about two seconds, and then he looks away again.
But two seconds is enough. Two seconds is more than enough because you've gotten very good at reading Bucky's face over the past few months and what you just saw on it was in fact, not nothing.
Unaware, yet again, Steve starts talking. "Hey, you know Jenna's boyfriend? The one from your dorm?"
Something about the subject change is so random that you answer without thinking. "Yeah, the one who kicks me out of my own room every other night."
"Right." Steve nods. "He works part-time in my building, actually."
"How does he even have time for work anyway?" Bucky quips, and you want to throw a throw pillow at him.
You don't.
"Saw him in the lift the other day," oblivious-Steve continues.
"Small world."
"Yeah." He pauses. "He was saying he hasn't been able to visit Jenna for two days because her roommate's been in the room the whole time. Moping, apparently."
Your mouth goes dry.
"Wouldn't leave. Just lying there all day." Another pause. Steve is looking at absolutely nothing in particular, which is how you know he's being very intentional. "Funny, right?"
Your jaw is doing something. You're fairly sure Bucky has gone completely still on the other end of the couch.
"Steve—"
"I know," Steve says.
Two words. The calm of someone who has been sitting on this information for a while and chose this exact moment to put it on the table.
The silence that follows is genuinely one of the more extraordinary silences you've ever sat in.
"How long?" Bucky asks because you currently cannot bring yourself to speak.
"Buck, I've known you since we were eight." Steve looks at him with a fondness that is also, honestly, a little smug. "You think I couldn't tell?" He looks at you. "And you're my sister. You really thought I don't notice?"
You think about every time you found a reason to be downstairs when Bucky came over and told yourself it was nothing. You think about Steve, who notices everything and says nothing, who has apparently been sitting on all of this like a very patient man waiting for everyone else to catch up.
"You didn't say anything," you say.
"Wasn't mine to say." He stands up. The smug falls away and what's underneath is just Steve, your brother, Bucky's best friend, who loves you both and has clearly been quietly hoping about this for longer than you knew. He puts one hand on your shoulder and one on Bucky's.
"Talk it out."
He picks up his jacket, his keys, and he leaves.
The door clicks shut.
You and Bucky sit in the wreckage of that. Both still sitting in the positions you were in when he stood up, like neither of you quite knows how to be the one who moves first.
You become aware, slowly, that you are gripping the arm of the armchair.
Bucky shifts on the couch. "You know, you should be out there dating." He says it like he's picking up something he set down earlier, like it's a thought he's been turning over. "Isn't that what all of this was for? Why are you moping around your dorm room?"
And there it is. The tone. The slightly pointed tone that you know as well as you know your own name, that you've been on the receiving end of since you were old enough to give it back.
You take the bait. You always take the bait with him, that's the whole problem, that's been the whole problem since you were fourteen years old and you didn't know it. Now you know, and do it anyway. "Go back to your girl."
"What?"
"Go back to your girl." You parrot.
Confusion paints his face. "What girl?"
"The one Sam told Steve about. The one you've been seeing this whole time —" You want to complete the sentence by saying 'behind my back', but even you know that you don't have any rights for that.
"Jesus." He drags a hand through his hair like he can't quite believe what's coming out of your mouth. "Can you not?"
Fury comes from somewhere specific, somewhere you'd been keeping a lid on, and it tastes a lot like hurt. "Seriously, Buck. Go back to your girl."
"Why —" He looks pained as he runs his hand through his hair again. "Why can't you just fucking understand?"
"Understand what?"
"You're the girl." His voice isn't by any means muffled, but it still reaches your ear warbled.
"What?"
"You." He looks right in your eyes for the first time since you walked in. "Are. The. Girl."
The thing that happens to your chest is immediate and enormous and you don't do anything with it yet because you're still processing the words. You. Are. The girl. The one Sam mentioned. The one Bucky's been sneaking around with. The one who he'd said was nothing, but there was something.
"I don't—" You shake your head. "What does that even mean? We were just — I just asked you for help. I asked you to teach me —"
"Can we stop?" He says that like someone who has run out of patience for the performance of it. "Can we just stop doing this?"
"Doing what, I'm not doing anything —"
"You're doing everything! You did everything! You ran out on me." His elbows come to his knees as he leans forward, pinning you under his gaze. "I came out of the bathroom and you were gone. Your shoes were gone, your phone was gone, you were just… gone. Why?"
"Because you said I was ready to date." You cross your arms in front of you. "Why do you care if I left?"
"Because it was the morning after the best night of my life." He says it like he'd rather not be saying it but he's saying it anyway. "I was already sitting there feeling like shit because you were sore, and then you came out with —" his voice shifts, doing something that is a deeply unflattering impression of you, "I guess I have to go deal with Jenna's scrunchie situation again."
"Don't do the voice."
"You said it like you couldn't wait to leave."
"I said it because I wanted you to say something!" The words come out louder than you meant. You correct yourself, lower your voice. "I was testing the waters. I wanted to see if you'd—"
"And then," he keeps going like he needs to finish, "you asked me point blank if you were ready to go out there and date other people." He looks at you like he still can't quite believe it. "What was I supposed to say?"
"Something other than 'yeah' maybe?" The yeah is intentionally higher in octave, mocking him.
He doesn't take the bait like you. "What would you have had me say?"
"I don't know, something! Anything! You could have — I don't know, pushed back, said wait, said—"
"You covered yourself."
That stops you. "What?"
"The sheet." His voice is quieter now, different. "You sat up and you grabbed the sheet and you pulled it over yourself. And I've — we'd just — I've seen you. All of you. Every single part of you, and you looked at me like you needed to hide, and I thought—" He stops to catch his breath, voice dropping lower. "I thought you'd already decided something and I wasn't going to be the guy who makes that weird."
The memory of it is very specific. The grey morning light. The sheet slipping. The way you grabbed it like you didn't want to be seen.
"I covered myself because you said it was fine for me to date." You bring up technicalities even though he probably knew it himself. Like talking about the timeline of it all could shift the blame. "Not before. You asked me to date other people and I felt about this big— " you bring your pointer finger and your thumb together to specify that you felt so small. The gesture softens something in his eyes, in him. "— and I didn't know what to do with my hands so I grabbed the sheet. That's the only reason."
When he opens his mouth, you continue. "You looked completely fine about it. You were just… fine. Like it was the obvious answer. And I thought 'okay, that's it then, that's where we actually are', I left because I didn't know what else to do."
"I looked fine because you asked me like it was a real question." His voice has lost the edge now, the flatness of it gone. "Like you'd made up your mind already and were checking in. What was I supposed to do — tell you 'no, don't go date anyone, stay here'?"
"Yes! That's what I wanted you to say."
He looks at you like he cannot quite believe the audacity.
"I wanted you to say no." You're past the point of dressing it up. "I wanted you to say you didn't want me going out there with someone else. I wanted you to ask me to stay instead. I didn't know how to just ask for that so I asked a question I thought might get there eventually, and it didn't."
Bucky is quiet for a moment, where he sighs like he has to deal with this shit. "That is the most complicated route you could have possibly taken."
"I —"
"You could have just said—"
"Could I have?" You look at him straight. "You had the same information I had. You knew how the morning was going. You could've said something before I even asked the question. You could've said it the night before. You could've said it any of the other times we were sitting in your apartment" You watch him clench and unclench his jaw. "But you didn't. So we're the same amount of stupid and I think we have to just accept that."
"You know, you really wanted them to be lessons."
"Bucky."
"The beach —"
"James Buchanan Barnes."
"Okay," he says. "Okay, fine. We're the same amount of stupid."
"Thank you."
"It's not a compliment."
"Right."
He leans back against the couch. You sit in the armchair. The gap between you is exactly the same as it's been all afternoon and somehow it feels different now.
"Why were you moping?" This time it's not pointed, it's just a question.
You look at your hands. At the armchair arm. At the bookshelf full of Steve's books on the wall behind Bucky's head.
"Because I've always liked you." It's easier when you're not looking at him. "I think I've liked you for a long time. Way longer than I realised." You inhale and exhale once. "I always wanted to hang out with Steve because you were there. I think that's been true for years and I just didn't look at it directly." You do look at him then, because it feels cowardly not to. "And I think when I came to you about all of this — about the lessons, about teaching me — I think I came to you because it was you. Not because I needed teaching. I did need, that's besides the point, but I could've done a million other things, but I came to you — I think I just wanted an excuse to —" You stop because that was long and you need a breath. You need a breath because what you're about to say might be the truest thing you've ever said. "It was always you, Buck. I think it's been you for a long time." And, you try to deflect with sarcasm, true to self. "Possibly since you used to steal my Halloween candy when I was eight. I'd like to have some words about that, actually, but probably not right now."
Bucky doesn't say anything. But he does something you weren't expecting, which is that he gets up from the couch, crosses the space between you, and drops down to kneel beside the armchair so he's at your level. He looks at you from there, close enough that you can see the exact colour of his eyes in Steve's place. "It's always been you too."
Something in your chest cracks open in the quietest possible way. "Wha —"
"At first —" He almost smiles, but it's too soft to be a smile, it's something adjacent to one. "At first it was just Steve's little sister that I couldn't get rid of. You were everywhere he was and you had opinions about everything and you'd argue with me about anything and I thought, fine, annoying." His eyes stay on yours. "And then I went to college and you weren't around and I —" A moment he takes to gather his words, but his eyes don't leave yours. "I missed you. One second, you were there, and then you weren't. And, God I missed you. I tried not to, I tried telling myself you were just Steve's little sister. But you were never just that."
"Bucky—"
"When Steve told me you were coming here," he continues, "I took the internship at the same campus. Originally, I was supposed to go with Steve. But I took this because you were coming."
You stare at him, thinking you like his voice. You've always liked his voice. Now you like it exceptionally more, because his voice is saying things about you. Nice things.
"My allotted dorm was on the other side of town," he confesses. "Did you know that? I moved off campus because your dorm was ten minutes from the apartment and I wanted —" He shakes his head slightly, like he's still getting used to saying this out loud. "I wanted to be close."
"Your apartment is ten minutes from my dorm," you repeat.
"Yeah."
"You moved there on purpose."
"Yeah."
"You absolute —" You don't finish that sentence because you don't have a word big enough. "I think I chose this college because of you," you say instead. "I told myself it was because Steve studied here. Because the programme was good. Because I knew the area, because it made sense logistically. Those are all true. But —"
"What?" His turn to look surprised.
"I knew you would be here, and I wanted to be close to you."
He looks genuinely thrown. Like he didn't expect that particular surprise from this conversation, like he'd braced for other things and not this.
You look at each other from about eighteen inches apart. The whole weight of the last however many years sits in the room with you.
And it's a lot, and it should probably feel heavier than it does, except that it just feels true. Like something that was always going to lead here, just took the scenic route.
"We've been so stupid," you break the minute long silence.
"Yeah."
"Years of stupid."
"To be fair—"
"No, there's no fair. It's been years, Bucky."
"Okay, yeah." The almost-smile again. "Years."
The afternoon light comes in through Steve's window and does something to the angles of his face. You've been cataloguing those angles without meaning to for six years now and you're done pretending you haven't.
You lean forward. You're not asking if you're doing it right this time. Because it's not him teaching you.
This is your decision, your need to be close to him, to close the distance and meet his mouth with yours. He makes a sound and kisses you back immediately, his hand coming up to your jaw.
It is different from every other time, it is completely different, because this time you both know what it is.
His thumb traces your cheekbone and he kisses you just as slowly. "Go on a date with me," he says against your mouth, your lips moving with his.
"No." You reply against his mouth too.
Bucky pulls back. "Sorry?"
"No."
"What do you —" He looks at you, and you can see him trying to figure out if you're joking. The look on his face is so genuinely confused that you'd feel bad about it if it weren't also the funniest thing you've seen in two days. "I just — we just —"
"You can take me on a date… after you ask me to be your girlfriend."
The confusion rearranges itself. The corner of his mouth starts to commit to something, his hand still at your jaw. His eyes are doing several things at once. His face is fond and exasperated and something much softer underneath both of those things. "Will you be my girl?"
"Yes."
"Thank god." He kisses you again, speaks against your mouth like it's the only way he knows now. "I moved across the entire city."
"I know. It's very romantic."
"You should have seen my commute."
"I'll make it up to you," you reply. He laughs against your mouth, the one that gets all the way to his eyes, the one you've been storing up without knowing you were storing it.
Time becomes a foreign concept now. For you don't know if it's been minutes or hours.
From somewhere down the hallway comes the unmistakable sound of a door, and then Steve's voice, entirely too casual. "So should I come back later or —"
Bucky doesn't stop kissing you. "Later, Steve," you say into his mouth.
"So how did the two of you start anyway?"
Steve's looking at you both with this expression that's mostly fond but also slightly curious. Like he has most of the pieces but still not the whole picture.
You're sitting on his couch, Bucky's at the other end, and there's approximately three feet of space between you that feels like it's doing a lot of work right now.
"I asked Bucky if he could teach me dating."
The words come out before you've really thought about whether this is information Steve needs. But here you are, might as well commit.
Steve looks at you like you’ve grown two heads. "Teach you dating?"
"Yeah, Steve." Your tone is pointed. "For people who are so inexperienced because of an older brother, there should be lessons for these kinds of things."
In your peripheral vision, Bucky has gone very still. When you glance at him, he's looking at the coffee table like it's the most fascinating thing in the room. There's a flush creeping up the back of his neck.
Steve's eyebrows are doing something. "No, I mean — why did you ask him to teach you?"
"Because he's Bucky."
"Precisely why you shouldn't have asked him."
Bucky shifts, opens and closes his mouth before he decides to speak. "I think what he's trying to—"
“Why?” You ask, cutting him off exactly the same moment Steve says, "he's never dated anyone."
What?
Your head whips around to look at Bucky. He's still staring at the coffee table, but now the flush has spread to his ears.
"Sorry, what?"
Steve's looking between the two of you like he's watching something unfold that he finds deeply amusing. "Yeah, he was too busy pining over you to actually date anyone in college."
A deadly silence follows.
Bucky looks up at Steve with something between betrayal and resignation. "I'm sorry, how did you know I was pining over her?"
"Guys. You really aren't that slick. Both of you.” He points at Bucky, “especially you.”
You're still processing. The whole time — every single lesson — you'd assumed he was this experienced person showing you the ropes because he'd done all of this a hundred times before. And he just... hadn't?
You turn to Bucky. "So you've never dated anyone?"
He finally looks at you. His eyes are doing that thing where they're very earnest and also slightly embarrassed. "Yeah..."
"What about the other stuff?"
Steve's up and out of his chair in half a second. "Aight, I'm out. I don't need to hear this."
"I've kissed a girl once." Bucky’s voice has gone quieter.
The words register slowly at first. Then all at once. "So that's why you came in your pants!"
Steve, who's almost made it to safety, stops dead in his tracks. His shoulders go rigid. "You did what—" Then he shakes his head violently, like he's trying to physically dislodge the information from the crevices of his brain. "You know what, I don't wanna know."
He disappears into the kitchen. You hear the tap running far too loud. The sound of a mug being set down too hard.
You're still looking at Bucky. He's looking back at you with this sheepish expression, but also something else.
"What about—" You lower your voice even though Steve's clearly trying to give you distance. "What about when you... with your hand. You definitely said you'd done it before."
His mouth twitches into a half formed smile. "My hand's met my dick many times."
"Bucky!"
"What? It has."
"No, you were — you said that about blowjobs. Said you’d done it before."
Bucky exhales loudly like a child caught in a lie. You don’t know how exact that analogy is going to be, to the point where it’s not an analogy anymore, just the truth.
He closes his eyes for a second before meeting yours again. "I lied."
There's something blooming in your chest that you're trying to figure out what is and falling short. Something warm and a little bit ridiculous.
"You what?"
"I lied."
"Why?"
"Because — " he takes a deep breath like that could help and continues, "you’d asked me to help you and I just — I just couldn’t say no. You came to me. And I didn't want you to know you were my first everything too. Seemed like a lot of pressure to put on the whole thing. You were already nervous enough without knowing I was figuring it out same time as you."
"But you—" You gesture vaguely at him, at the space between you. "You were so good at it. Like you knew exactly what you were doing."
"I watched porn."
A laugh startles out of you. "You watched porn?"
"I watched an unhealthy amount of porn." He scrubs a hand through his hair. "I spent about three weeks on some deeply questionable websites making sure I wasn't going to fuck it up when you actually let me —" He stops himself to clear his throat. "Yeah."
The warmth in your chest is spreading. It's taken up residence in your ribs, your throat, behind your eyes, making him blurry.
"So all my firsts… are your firsts too."
"The ki—"
"Except the kiss." You cut him off because you know where that's going. "You kissed a girl once. I'm not counting that."
"It was in eighth grade and it lasted maybe two seconds."
There's something in his expression that's so open it makes your chest ache. Like he's giving you every single card in his hand and trusting you not to do anything terrible with them.
From the kitchen, you hear Steve muttering something that sounds like "...should've shut this shit down when I saw those hickeys..."
Your brain catches on the word. "You showed him your hickeys?"
"He facetimed me."
"And you answered with those hockeys?"
"I forgot about the — I wasn't thinking, baby."
You lean in closer, try dropping your voice to a whisper. "So that's how he figured it out."
"Guys." Steve's voice carries from the kitchen, done with it but fond at the same time. "You genuinely aren't slick. Like at all."
Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist
EXTRAS. Dedicated to this anon (adding this here bc I didn’t want to spoil anything lol)
Thank you for reading this. I told myself I would never start another series because babydoll gave me such burnout. But this idea got rooted into my head and just wouldn’t leave. I got so many comments and asks, and it genuinely made me so happy. I appreciate each and every single one of them. Thank you, thank you 💕 I truly hope I met your expectations.
I also HAVE to know if you saw those two things coming (not me thinking I’m that slick lol). If you don’t like the last scene, pretend it didn’t happen. Personally, I just fancy the idea of a guy being so in love with his girl, he doesn’t even try. Less realistic, more endearing and romantic — basically me.
Any asks and requests for these two babies are always welcome. Please send some, they will genuinely make my day.
Content: 18+, pet names [baby girl, baby], dirty thoughts, fingering, oral F, biological juices, cowgirl, cum
Words: 2,768
Summary: What’s the worst that could happen with you and Bucky staying alone at the tower while everyone’s out on a mission?
“Fuck yeah, baby, keep going” Bucky says through gritted teeth, another one of his incredulous groans passing his lips as you keep eagerly moving on top of him.
Your pussy is squeezing him so hard that he’s sure he could cum right now on the spot even if it’s been a couple of seconds since his cock has been buried in the comfort of your inner walls. He dreamt about this for so long. Being inside you, with you, over you. Whatever, he’s just glad that he’s finally able to have you moving and moaning like that for him.
“Oh my god, Bucky. Yes. Don’t stop, please I’m so close” you moan in his ear, your hands pulling at the strand of his hair at the nape of his neck.
Bucky seems to like it because that pulled another moan from him and his right hand landed in contact with the meat of your ass in a possessive spank. You moan even louder, coming all over his dick and balls.
Bucky groans at the squeeze on his length before turning the positions, laying you on your back and ramming quickly into you to reach his own high. His breath comes out ragged as his right hand wraps around your neck, squeezing just enough for the sensation, never to hurt.
“I-I’m close” Bucky rambles, cuming all over-
Bucky woke up in a jump, his heart thumping like crazy under his ribcage and his breath coming out heavy and quick. He ran his hand through his hair as he slowly grew back to consciousness. That’s when he felt it. The hot and wet patch is sticking to the front of his boxer.
“Fucking hell… You gotta be kidding me” Bucky grumbled to himself under his breath, understanding what had just happened during his sleep.
Of course, he knew it wasn’t uncommon for people to have wet dreams, but about his teammate? Really? The fact that it wasn’t the first time happening made him feel like a dirty old man and an eager teenager at the same time.
You both had the tower all to yourselves since the others were out on the field for a mission, which made it even harder for him. Literally, just the other day when you were training, Bucky had just a glance of your perfect ass while you were squatting and that did him. He left to fist himself in the locker room like a damn teenager.
And this wasn’t your fault. No of course it wasn’t. You were just this cute, little ray of sunshine that Bucky can’t seem to get out of his head. It’s not his fault that you’re carrying that innocence in you that attracts Bucky towards you like a bone would attract a dog. But could anyone blame him when you looked at him with these doe eyes like you knew exactly what was going on inside his head.
He was wondering what kind of girl you would be in bed. Would you be a good little girl and do exactly as he would want you to? Or would you be a bad girl and do it as you want, leading him like he would be led by a fucking leash? Anyway, the sure thing was that Bucky was dying to know. You were his goddamn fantasy and nightmare at the same time.
He sighed and finally pushed the blankets away before walking to his in-suite bathroom and shredding the ruined pair of underwear in the dirty laundry. He turned on the shower, hoping that the cold shower would help to dissipate all sorts of dirty thoughts that kept slowly creeping into his old man's mind.
The quick shower did a great work for the mess down there but up there, there was pretty much nothing to do for that. He was a gone man for you. And he had been for a long time. With a towel wrapped around his body, he looked at himself through the mirror and sighed, gripping the edge of the counter.
“Get a grip, you’re acting like a damn teenager all over again” he said to himself, almost feeling a bit crazy about having a conversation with his own reflection.
And that’s when he came to a conclusion. Simple, easy and effective. All he had to do was ignore you. If he didn’t see you he couldn’t get some weird ideas, right? That’ll be easy, the tower is so big. What were the chance for you both to end up in the same place at the same time, anyway?
The day had gone pretty well, Bucky had managed to avoid you for most of the day. He ran into you once when he was training at the gym. You smiled at him and he suddenly dropped the weight and abruptly ended his training.
What he didn’t notice was the frown on your face and the hurt look you shot at him. Was he doing it on purpose? One thing is sure, you will have an answer by the end of the day.
Well, that answer had to wait until 11:47PM that night. Bucky had gotten up and sneaked to the kitchen like a little kid to grab a cookie. He didn’t hear the footsteps coming from behind him, what grabbed his attention was your soft voice.
“Bucky?”
He turned around and was greeted by the most precious, beautiful and magnificent sight he seen his whole life. You, standing there with the prettiest baby pink nightgown Bucky has ever seen. He never seen a lot, but he just knew that this one was the prettiest.
His eyes ran slowly up and down your body. The small spaghetti strap over your shoulders, the perfect V-cut showing just enough of your cleavage and the roundness of your breast, the faintest of your nipples peaking under the fabric, the hem trimmed with a soft lace and stopping just above mid thigh.
Yeah, he was a totally gone man. Completely and utterly gone for you. He prayed at the exact moment for something or someone to save him from this angel sent from heaven.
Having his eyes looking at you over like that suddenly made you feel self-conscious. You must look ridiculous in that thing in front of him, you thought. You cleared your throat and crossed your arms over your chest.
“Have you been ignoring me today?” You asked and Bucky felt his heart flutter. Oh god, you noticed. Of course you did. You’re not a dumb girl. Now he felt like the worst scumbag ever.
“Ignoring you? No, why would I ignore you?” He asked, trying to play innocent but totally aware of how bad his acting is right now.
“I don’t know, you tell me” you answered, “did I do something wrong?”
“Gosh, no! I-I mean, no you didn’t do anything wrong” he ran a hand in his hair and let out a sigh.
How was he even supposed to tell you anyway? “Hey, yeah so I can’t stand seeing you cause it’s making me hard and now I can’t stop having wet dreams about you” Yeah no, definitely not. This is weird and you’d get grossed out by him. Which is legitimate.
“It’s just that… you’re a lot to take” Now that it was out of his mouth he realized that it didn’t sound as good as it did in his head.
“Oh… am I too much? Did I bother you?” Great, now he made you feel like you did something bad.
“No! Well, yes, I mean-“ he finally sighed because of how much of an idiot he must look like right now with you standing all pretty like a doll in front of you.
“Okay, well… that’s really confusing. Call me when you want to tell me whatever I did to you” you turned around ready to leave before Bucky moved quickly to grab your wrist. You turned back to look at him with your beautiful eyes.
“You didn’t do anything. Not exactly. You do things to me, yes. You’re just not aware of it.” He explained, plunging you into even more confusion.
“I- okay. I’m really trying to follow you right now but you’re making things hard.”
“Yeah, you’re making things hard for me, too” he said under his breath. “You’re just… so fucking beautiful and you’re making me feel things that I thought I couldn’t feel anymore” he finally said, his left hand coming to cup your cheek.
He felt the way your breath itched as soon as the cold metal of his hand came in contact with your soft and so delicate skin. His eyes kept doing a triangle way on your face. Right eye, lips, left eye. His breath seemed to pick up a beat when your own eyes drifted down to his plush lips.
“Do you even know how many times I dreamt of you? Of this perfect body of yours doing all sorts of things just for me?” He rambled and had you listening so carefully to each word coming out of his mouth. “I creamed my fucking boxers, just this morning, thinking of you.”
“O-oh” that was the only pathetic sound you managed to get out at his sudden confession. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice how good he looked just at this right moment, telling you such filthy things.
“Yeah, ‘oh’. You didn’t know, uh? With that innocent look of yours that you got me hard each time you just glanced my way?” He continued “That’s fine, I guess I’ll just have to show you then.”
There was a brief moment when you understood what he just said and the next, his hands firmly grabbed the back of your thighs, pulling you up and on instinct, your legs circled his waist. The right strap over your right shoulder had loosely fallen and your hands firmly braced themselves on his muscular shoulders.
He easily moved you both around in the kitchen, turning around to put you down on it, his hands moving to firmly grab your hips, squeezing them roughly with a groan leaving his throat. His eyes were looking through yours, searching for one ounce of negative response coming from you. When he didn’t, that was his green light to finally ruin you.
The hem of your nightgown had bunched up at the top of your thighs, leaving them perfectly bare for his eyes. A long breath coming from deep inside him left his mouth like he was finally exactly where he wanted to be. His lips are attached to your neck, sucking and nibbling at the soft skin covering your pulse.
“Bucky…” his name coming out of your mouth in a moan felt so good that he bit harder, definitely leaving a mark for a couple of days.
“I’m gonna fucking ruin you, baby… dreamt of it for so long” his words were promises whispered against your skin while his kisses kept going south.
His mouth started on your right shoulder where the strap had already fallen off earlier, then your clavicle was the next. He hadn’t done much yet but you knew that he was good with his mouth. The wet patch already forming in your panties was just the beginning.
His fingers gripped the discarded strap, pulling it even more down to free one of your breasts which his mouth instantly attached to. The fabric of your nightgown being pulled like that couldn’t help but make a crackling noise from the fabric being heard.
“That was new, Bucky” you whined as his teeth tugged slightly on your hardened nipple.
“I’ll buy you a hundred more if that makes you happy and I get to see you in them every time” he answered, not minding your protest against the fact that he just broke the fabric. “Lift your arms for me, baby girl”
You felt a shiver running from your spine all the way up your body, lifting your arms like he just asked you. He pulled the fabric up, tossing it carelessly on the floor of the common kitchen. Having you exposed in front of him suddenly made you realize that you were practically naked in front of him, the poor piece of underwear being the last barrier.
He groaned in approval as his eyes appreciatively looked at the all new expose skin in front of him. Your perky breasts were pointing right at him like they were practically begging for him to touch. His right hand grabbed one, covering it fully and gave it a delicious squeeze. You moaned and closed your eyes, appreciating how good that was feeling.
His left hand trailed down to the damp spot on your panties, his fingers barely brushing them, which had your hips trying to push against his hand. He chuckled and repeated the movement, earning the same reaction from you.
“Well, someone’s a little eager, huh? I’m glad to see that I’m not the only one being like this.” His breath hitting your ear made you shiver.
Your hand drifted down on his own body but as you were about to reach the front of his pants where you would’ve found his dick completely erect, his hand left your breast to gently grab your wrist.
“Don’t, it’s all about you for now. Just wanna make you good” he said.
You whined a bit but nodded, bringing your hands to pull the strands of his hair instead. He hummed in agreement before slowly pushing your upper body to be laid down on the counter, your ass just on the end of it. His hands grabbed your knees, pushing them apart and making room for himself between your legs.
The sight was mesmerizing for him. He pressed his lips to the inside of your knee before starting to slowly go up and up. When his lips connected with your inner thigh, you kept out a moan, already feeling sensitive. He smiled against your skin and his fingers curled around your panties, slowly pulling them down like a kid would unwrap a present on Christmas morning.
“Fuck, you’re already this wet? Haven’t even touched you properly” he chuckled, pressing a kiss on your mound.
“P-please, Bucky. Touch me” you whined.
“Oh, and she beg? You’re even better than I dreamt, baby”
Without waiting another second, his tongue flattened against your pussy, giving a slow and hit lick from your entrance to your swollen clit, begging for his attention. You moan just encourage him to do it over and over again until your legs start slightly shaking.
He pulled away and replaced his lips with his fingers, tracing slow and torturous circles on your clit while his tongue went back to tease your entrance. That had you pulling him more against you and mewling his name.
“Fuck! Yes, Bucky, don’t s-stop, please don’t” Your cries were accentuated with the buck of your hips against his mouth.
When his tongue slowly passed your walls and licked the inside of your softness, you were pretty sure that you had seen stars cause your eyes shot open and your mouth let out the most phonographic moan possible. His movement quickened even more when he felt your inner walls squeezing his tongue. It didn’t take much more for your climax to explode, your back arching off the counter while Bucky licked you through it.
He made sure that every remnant of your cum was well cleaned by himself before he stood up straighter, looking at your chest moving fast and heavy with each breath you took. He smiled proudly, his hand wiping your juices from his mouth. When you looked back at him, that’s when you saw it. The camera. Of course, you were in the fucking kitchen of the Tower.
“Oh god, no, the camera, Bucky” you said, your arms quickly coming to cover your naked chest as if it didn’t record the whole thing.
He simply chuckled and caressed your cheek. “Well, can’t say we don't have a souvenir” When he noticed the look on your face he laughed again. “Don’t panic, I’ll have it deleted.”
You sighed and finally calmed down, coming down from your high, realizing that Bucky had just eaten you out on the kitchen corner. Where literally everyone makes their food and where they eat. The area will need a… deep cleaning.
“You. Taste. Fucking. Amazing” he finally declared, pressing each word with a kiss. Just as he was about to undo his own pants, the sound of the elevator opening was heard.
“Hey! We’re back!” Yelana yelled through the room.
Thank you for reading!! Thanks a lot also for the likes and reposts I had on my most recent post. The request is opened and always appreciate a like or comment!
Please consider that this is the first time ever I’m writing something like that and that English isn’t my first language. I read a lot so I try to do the best I can. If you like it don’t mind letting a comment or just a like. Thank you so much!!
Dividers by @cursed-carmine || masterlist
Pairing: DBF!Bucky x College!Reader
Content: Fluff, teasing, PinV, gagging, fingering, oral M, pet names [baby, doll, pretty girl, tiny], reader is older than 21, reader has hair that can be held and pulled, 18+ MDNI
Words count: 3,385
Summary: When you’re finally coming back home for the summer break, you didn’t expect to find your dad’s best friend living in the garden studio guest room.
It’s just after finally being seated in the back of the cab that you let out a sigh. You love college, there’s no doubt, but the plane flight from California to New York is definitely not what you like most about it. You take the time to pull out your phone, just to let your dad know that you’re on your way.
“Flight was good, omw home :)”
The drive to your home isn’t that long and by the time that you’ve paid the bill, the sight of the family house brings a smile to your face. With your bag in one hand and your suitcase in the other, you open the front door as if it hasn’t been six months since you’ve been here. You’re expecting to find your father already waiting by the door, only to be greeted by silence.
“Hello? Dad?” You ask out loud as you put down what’s in your hands by the door.
Still waiting for an answer, you decide to walk deeper in the house reaching the empty kitchen. The light from the warm sun of June enters the kitchen through the glass door leading to the backyard. A soft smile makes its way on your face when you see the picture of you and your dad that he keeps beside his coffee machine.
“First thing I see in the morning, makes me forget that my little girl is on the other side of the country” he told you once.
You reached for the cabinet on your right, pulled out a glass, filled it from the sink, and chugged it down. You let out a small sigh as you bring your right hand to wipe away the small water that had escaped the corner of your mouth. Just as you were about to fill it once again, two hands came to pinch each side of your waist. A yelp passed your lips as you jumped from the sudden touch, turning around arming yourself with the glass.
A low chuckle escaped the mouth of the man standing in front of you. The man you thought about more than you should. This tall handsome man with his brown hair and impossibly hypnotizing blue eyes. The one you knew for longer than you didn’t. Your father's best friend. Bucky was there, standing in front of you with his hip resting against the counter like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“Geez, tiny. Didn’t know my grey hairs were giving you such a reaction. Or is it the wrinkles?” He teased with that damn smug smile.
You let out a heavy sigh and put down the glass beside you before you decided to throw it at his head for doing such a stupid thing. He knew how bad you hated getting surprised like that. You eyed him quickly, something he definitely noticed, he was still handsome as he was at Christmas. A bit more grey hair in his beard that surprisingly made him even more attractive and… no wedding ring?
“Jesus Christ, Bucky.” You said with a hand on your chest like it could slow down your racing heart. “What’re you doing here?”
Your relationship with Bucky always been a bit different from that with any other friends your father had. He’s been there every Christmas, every birthday and practically every weekend since you were old enough to realize him. When you turned sixteen and started discovering what boys were and what you liked, Uncle Bucky quickly became sexy Bucky. And that smug bastard definitely realized the little crush you developed since your teenage years. He knew damn well that he was a good-looking man, mostly going from one girl to another. But two years ago he got married to Jenny, or Jane. You’re not so sure of her name anymore.
“Your dad didn’t tell you?” He asked with a small frown.
“Tell me what?” You asked, now being the one confused.
“I’ve been staying here for like four months now. In the guest room outside, I mean.” He said, lifting his left hand and pointing at his naked ring finger.
“Oh… so it’s done with, Jenna?”
“Julia” he corrected.
Well, at least you knew it started with a J. You didn’t exactly know how to react. It’s not like it wasn’t predictable. Bucky never been good at doing long-term so Julia has been a surprise to everyone. You met her a couple of times. She was crazy. Completely over her head that she had a chance with Bucky. You’re pretty sure that he married her just cause she begged him to. Anyway, it seemed like it was done with that.
“Well, you must be sad.” You said, turning around to fill your glass with a small smile.
“It’s fine. There was a lot of screaming though coming from her. Didn’t work anymore.”
You hummed to let him know that you were still listening, looking from the window to the small garden studio where he apparently been living for the past four months. You felt him getting closer, tapping on your shoulder to get your attention again. You could feel his scent you always adored. He’s not a cologne person. He smells like practical lightly scented soap. Something utilitarian. Nothing that draws attention. But just enough to prick your nostrils.
“I didn’t even get to welcome my favourite person properly. C’mere.” He said, wrapping his strong arms around you.
It wasn’t something unusual for Bucky to hug you but every time they tugged something inside of you, more than the last time. You wrapped your arms around his strong back, patting it with your right hand awkwardly. He pulled back a couple of seconds later just enough to be able to see your face and smiled softly.
“You’re getting old, tiny. I’m pretty sure I can see some grey hair.” He joked, his hand coming to mess with your hair.
You groaned and pushed him away, slapping his hand away from your head, trying to ignore the nickname. It’s a nickname he gave you when you were younger because it’s been long before you had your growth push. From then it just stuck around. You placed your hair back, trying to hide your small blush spreading on your cheeks.
“Shut up, you’re the old one. It’s a miracle you’re still able to walk without a walking cane.” You teased him back
He laughed out loud, a hand coming to rest on his chest just over his heart as he threw his head back. Just then, the sound of the front door opening and closing indicated that your father was back from wherever he had been. He must have noticed your suitcase in the entry cause he called your name and walked to the kitchen. He put his bags on the counter and smiled widely at your sight.
“There she is! I can’t believe my baby girl is back.” He says as he walks towards you to wrap you in one of those hugs only dads seem to provide.
You smile widely, wrapping your arms back around him. “Hey, Dad. I missed you”
“I missed you too, gosh I feel like you got even older than last time” he says as he pulls back, analyzing your face.
“That’s what I said” Bucky says from the place he took back against the counter which earns him a middle finger from you hidden behind the back of your dad.
He simply chuckled and mouthed ‘bad girl’ which put an instant blush on your cheeks. Gosh, why did these simple words feel so dirty coming from his mouth?
“Sorry, I forgot to warn you about, Bucky. I’ve been helping for a couple of months” your dad said, pulling you from your thoughts and rubbing the back of his neck.
“It’s no problem, it’s not like he’s a total stranger to me” You said with a small chuckle.
“Yeah, right. Okay, I bought everything to make your favourite meal tonight. Why don't you go and put those suitcases and bag of yours in your bedroom upstairs? I even got the pool ready just for you, go change, sweetie.” Your dad urged gently, not without pressing a kiss against your forehead.
You nodded before leaving to grab your things and get them in your childhood bedroom. Nothing has changed since last time and the fact that everything is so clean lets you know that your dad has been keeping it clean for you even while you were gone. An habit he picked up since you left for college two years ago.
You were quick to undo your things and get changed in your bathing suit. It was sunny and you could use some of the water in the pool. Besides there was time since your dad was getting the dinner ready. With a towel wrapped around your body, you walked back downstairs and to the pool deck where a lounging chair was waiting for you. As you removed it to lay it down on the chair, you caught Bucky’s gaze eyeing you up and down from where he was having a conversation with your father near the barbecue.
You walked into the pool and started doing some laps. When you looked up your father and Bucky were no longer there. Thinking that they went inside you walked out of the pool, lying down on the chair where the chair will give you a perfect view of the sun. You closed your eyes and only opened them a couple of minutes later when you felt a tingle on your side. Opening your eyes, Bucky was there, tracing patterns with his fingertips on your waist.
“What’re you doing?” You asked, pulling away from his touch and looking around to make sure your father wasn’t there.
“Relax, pretty girl, he’s inside. And don’t act like you don't feel it too. This thing between us”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s wrong. Very, very wrong.” You defended yourself, sitting up and pulling your towel to cover your body.
“Why? Cause your dad’s my friend? Please, I think you’re old enough to make your own decisions, doll” He said in that somehow soft voice that made butterflies in your stomach.
“I-I can’t. No, that’s wrong, Bucky. Sorry.” You muttered as you quickly grabbed the towel and scrambled back inside the house. Bucky sighed as he passed a hand in his hair, mumbling something about being an idiot.
You stayed in your room until your dad called that dinner was ready. You paced your room, closing the curtains because there was too good a view of your room from the pool deck. Of course, you felt something for him, that was undeniable, but it was wrong. So, so wrong… right? When you sat at the table you weren’t even able to look at him but could feel his eyes burning on you. His right leg was bouncing up and down at a fast pace as you continued to ignore him. You knew you were getting on his nerve, he hated being ignored.
Your father the ever-so-yapper was talking about whatever had been happening at his work lately. At this point, you weren’t even listening anymore and your dad was just too clueless to feel the tension in the room. After this unsupportable dinner ended you quickly helped with the dishes before locking yourself in your room once again.
You stayed there until you were sure everyone went to bed. The clock indicated 12:38AM. Your father went to bed long ago and you glanced at the studio, seeing all the lights turned off, indicating that Bucky had gone to sleep as well. You quietly made your way downstairs to grab a glass of wine. Just to smooth down your own nerves. You heard the glass door open and didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.
“You should be sleeping at this hour. Not drinking wine.” He said in his raspy voice
“You too.” Was all you answered, finally turning around and following his eyes eyeing you. Again.
“Too much on my mind.” Was all he said. “Why don’t you come into the studio for a moment? To talk”
You weighed the pros and cons before grabbing a second wine glass and the bottle. “Lead the way.”
That’s how you found yourself sitting next to him, a little too close, on his now bed in the guest room. None of you talked, just sipped your wine before he finally spoke like the wine just gave him some kind of courage.
“Look I’ll be straightforward, you attract me. A lot. I know it’s not ideal but… You do.” He turned fully to you, putting down his glass on the nightstand next to the bed. “You’re kinda killing me here, pretty girl.”
His warm hand coming in contact with your cheek seemed to explode something in you because the next thing you knew, your mouth was crashing against his. He was kinda throw off guard but quickly recovered because his other arm came to wrap around your waist pulling you on his lap, each of your legs on either side of him. He groaned against your mouth, pulling you even closer than it was already possible. You rocked your hips forward, feeling his cock already coming to life under the confines of his pants.
“Not so wrong after all, huh?” He teased, pulling back for both of you to catch your breath.
“Shut up.” Was your answer before your lips attached to his neck.
You dreamt about this exact moment for such a long time that you couldn’t even believe that it was real. But his groan and his hands pulling your shirt over your head let you know that this is very much real. His hands quickly attached to your breast, squeezing them and kneading the skin. He moaned and attached his lips to the left one, sucking and nipping at the skin, leaving a very bright and purple mark.
“Hmm, true works of art right in front of me, baby.” He smirked, clearly proud of himself.
You rolled your eyes playfully, a small smile painting your face before you went back to business and removed his own shirt. You were greeted with the sight of a toned and defined muscled body. You always knew that he was good-looking, but that much? You were quick to attach your lips back to his clavicle, sucking a little bit before starting to go down south. Bucky hissed and caught his lower lip between his teeth as you pushed him gently on his back and set him between his legs.
Slowly, your tongue traced every defined line of his abs, starting all over again as soon as a moan escaped his lips. He was more vocal than you imagined but you definitely won't complain about it. Without breaking eye contact with him, your hands moved to undo his belt and zipper before tugging his pants off. He lifted his hips to help you. They were thrown somewhere on the floor but that didn’t matter. Not when he was so hard just for you under his boxer. You pressed a kiss to the tip of the fabric, just to see his reaction. When his hips bucked up and his dick twitched under his boxer, you decided to stop playing around.
You pushed down the last fabric, his dick springing out to tap against his lower stomach. He was beautiful. A well-defined vein starting from the base to the tip. All angry and already leaking with precum against his navel, you couldn’t help but be a bit mesmerized by his side. You expected him to be big, but not that much. He must have notice the look on your face because he smirked and looked down at you.
“You okay down there, tiny. Not backing up as the fun is starting, right?” He teased you. That smug bastard.
“No, you’re just… big. Not what I expected.” You said as you firmly grabbed him in your smaller hand, your fingers not even completely closing around it.
He groaned and chuckled. “Yeah, I get that a lot”
You squeezed again, this time dragging up and down his length which earned you the most pornographic moan from you like he hadn’t had sex or even touched himself in months. Which is probably the case since he divorced his wife.
You press a small kiss on his length, just to test the waters. When he groans again and his hand reach for your hair, gently tugging you forward again. You get the memo, wrapping your plush lips around him, going as far as your throat allows you to. When he hits the back of your throat, you gag a bit but maintain as long as you can, earning curses from Bucky.
You pull back to catch your breath before going back at it, your hand wrapping around the part your mouth can’t reach. The hand behind your hand somehow feels comfortable. Not pushing, just there to guide the bob of your head going up and down at a delicious pace. It doesn’t take long before you hear his breath hitching and his cock twisting inside your mouth.
A minute you’re sucking him eagerly, the next he’s pulling you back from his length. You frown as you look at him, wiping with the back of your hand the drool on the corner of your mouth.
“Did I do something wrong? Do you wanna stop?” You ramble, suddenly self-conscious. Maybe he regretted and realized how wrong it was.
“No… no” he panted, “You’re perfect, god you are. I was just too close. I don’t wanna cum like that. Even if I would really like to.”
You let out a sigh you didn’t even notice you were holding. There was a part of you that was still a bit nervous about disappointing him. But that thought vanished as soon as he pulled you back on his lap and made a quick effort to remove the rest of your clothing, finding you naked on top of him.
He hummed appreciatively, his hands closing around your hips and squeezing them in approval. “I don’t have condoms”
“It’s fine, I’m on the pill and I’m clean” you answered as you moved to hover his cock, the tip sweetly grinding against your wet entrance.
Bucky looked down before pulling you down, his tip passing the entrance from all the wetness easily. You moaned loudly and threw your head back at the delicious stretching his length provided you. Your hands squeezed his shoulders, your nails digging in the flesh as he let out a moan when you sat completely on top of him.
His hands stayed guiding you and quickly you found a pace that seemed to satisfy both of you. His mouth was all over you, your neck, your cheeks, your shoulder, your breast. Praise kept falling out of his mouth, bringing you closer and closer to your climax.
“You’re such a good girl, keep going.” He whispered against your ear. “I’m close..”
“Fuck… me too, Buck” you moaned.
He held you easily by the hips, ramming into you in a way you didn’t even know you liked. The sounds of your ragged breath and the sound of his hips making contact with yours was all the filled the small room. You cried out your orgasm, your pussy squeezing him so tightly that a couple more rocks of his hips made him cum as well.
You felt his hot ropes painting your inner walls, as your body went slack against his. Still comfortably buried deep inside you, his fingers pushed hair off your face before pressing a loving kiss between your two brows.
“Your dad can’t know.” He rasp as if it wasn’t obvious.
You nodded and simply hummed in agreement. He made sure to slowly pull out, hissing at his still sensitive member before reaching for tissues and cleaning you both. You lie down next to him, your head on his chest and already half asleep, promising yourself to go back to your room later before your dad wakes up. The last thing you remember was the slow motion of his fingers on your back before you peacefully fell asleep.
If you made it here, a huge thank you. I appreciate it a lot. This was my first ever work and even if it’s definitely not perfect, I did my best. Leave a comment or drop a like :)