#bucky barnes x sex worker reader

[ashton-constance]

Kitty's Lounge: A Bucky Barnes Story.

"Hello Doll"

Bucky unsure of himself and this new world he's living in. He goes to his pal Steve for help. But the help that he got was unlike any he expected.

Ch 1: 640 words

Bucky Barnes, Steve Rodgers, Y/N (aka Trixie)

18+ only

(don't have a regular posting schedule.)

For part two click here

No”

Bucky replied as Steve nodded his head.

“Why not?”

“Because,”

Steve was still confused by his strong declaration.

“Because why?”

Bucky looks up from his beer with tired eyes.

“The last time I talked to a woman was before the winter soldier.”

Steve sat next to him on the couch. Running his thumb over the bottle label. Using the edge of his thumbnail to wrinkle its once-smooth design. Sighing as he patted him on the knee.

“It’s like riding a bike. You’ll get used to it again. I mean they didn’t call you the ladies man of Brooklyn for nothing.”

Bucky not paying much attention to Steve’s words as his fingers traced the condensation on the bottle. His mouth rested into a frown.

“Come on”

Steve pushed himself up from the couch, pulling Bucky up by his metal arm. Sitting the bottle on the coffee table.

“We’re going to see a friend of mine.”

Down the busy streets, the two of them went. Appearing at a narrow alleyway or the edge of New York.

“Isn’t this where Sal’s bar used to be?”

“Ya, that’s how I found the place. I was looking for anything that reminded me of back then. That’s where I ran into my friend Y/N.”

Knocking on the heavy metal door until the small metal slot opened to show a pair of eyes staring back at them.

“Do you have an appointment?”

Steve cleared his throat.

“Actually, I was hoping Trixie was in.”

The eyes squint, then shutting the slot.

“I thought you said her name was Y/N.”

Steve turned his head towards Bucky, speaking in a low voice. A fog coming from his breath.

“Y/N is her real name. Trixie is her professional name.”

“Profess-“

The door opens to reveal her, Y/N standing in the doorway wearing a blonde wig and sparkly dress.

“Steve!?”

Wrapping her arms around him, squeezing him with all her might. Steve softly hugged her back, kissing the top of her head.

“Nice to have your star-spangled ass back here.”

Looking around to see a very confused Bucky.

“Who’s the friend?”

“Trixie, this is my friend Bucky, Bucky Barnes.”

“The Bucky Barnes?”

Pulling her arms away from Steve to shake Bucky’s hand. Reaching out her left hand as he hesitantly reciprocated. The cold metal hand chilled her skin.

“So what brings you and boy America doing in my neck of the woods?”

Steve’s cheeks turned a soft rose color. A color Bucky hadn’t seen since they were kids, before the serum. Something still scares Steve rogers; it’s talking to a beautiful woman.

“Uh, well, Bucky is struggling to readjust to society, and I thought your certain expertise could help him.”

Clearing his throat upon ending the sentence.

“And by readjusting, you mean?”

“Flirting, talking to women. It’s a new world out there for my friend, and I thought you, being my mutual friend, could help out.”

His voice is full of implication tilting his chin down as he looks her in the eyes.

“I see; why don’t you two follow me.”

Taking Bucky by the hand, leading them through the door into a lavish lounge with crushed velvet draping, crystal lights, and the old oak bar that was there when it was Sal’s bar. Bringing them to a corner booth, snapping her fingers at the bartender, then rushing back with two old fashions and a martini.

Bucky was still confused about why this bar was so fancy, full of beautiful women and very few gentlemen.

“Is this some sort of speakeasy or something?”

Y/N giggled as she patted his hand.

“Not exactly.”

“Then what exactly is this place?”

Steve shot back the rest of his drink before she answered.

“This is Kitty’s lounge, the most exclusive Brothel in New York.

#bucky barnes #bucky x female reader #bucky barns x y/n #bucky barns fanfiction #steve x reader #bucky x woc!reader #bucky x oc #sex worker #brothel #series

[sarahowritesostucky]

Sexuality Profile: Andy

The main thing about Andy is that he likes power and control.

Not in a hardcore BDSM way, mind you. Oh no. He's a true Daddydom.

Mature Content below the break. Consume Responsibly.

He really loves to just have you be his good girl who's always going to listen to him and be sweet and needy for him. His wife is frigid, so he loves having a woman who is always ready and willing. He likes feeling wanted for a change.

So he's definitely the most "Daddy" of all your five guys, and he knows it because you tell him all the time. You call him Daddy waaay more than you do Ari, Lloyd, Kemp, or Bucky.

When you're with him, he's in complete control - and that's how you like it! He takes over so you don't have to worry about anything. Gone is the usually calculating, business savvy sex worker. In her place? A vulnerable, sweet girl.

You wouldn't characterize it as "age play," what you two do. It's more so just focused on a power imbalance dynamic: He's the smart, in charge, capable one; and you're the innocent, helpless, dumb(ish) one. It's a persona you fall into for him, and yet it doesn't feel like 'acting' at all. You love the escape of getting to be a sweet dumb thing for him.

Andy and Kemp are the only ones of your five who are married (Ari's divorced). Now, Kemp is just completely disengaged from his wife, but you don't get the sense that he minds her.

Andy minds Laurie. He is very unhappily married and would prefer to be divorced, but the stakes are too high (finances, custody of his son). There is ... something else, though.

You don't know what, but there is something dark in his past that Laurie knows about and holds over him. Andy once did something to protect his son Jacob, and you have your suspicions, but he shuts down whenever you ask (so you don't ask).

Whatever is is, you know he's stuck living in a house with a woman he hates.

So for Andy in particular, you really do serve as an escape. You're everything his wife Laurie isn't: submissive, kind, caring, young and sweet, accommodating, and sensual.

He's been diminished and emasculated by his wife for so long, you're like a breath of fresh air to him. You're a place he can come to relax, indulge ...

... and even vent. Out of all your daddies, Andy is the most into spanking.

And for him it's not just a spur of the moment kind of thing. Sure, he'll give you a playful swat during sex, but he also has rules and discipline set in place for you and will calmly punish you with spankings when you fall short.

One of your favorite places to be is over his lap on the bed, his steady voice asking if you're comfortable "before we get started," his hands caressing lightly all over your bum before that first, dedicated smack comes down.

Andy knows how to spank, and his big, masculine hands can pack a wallop. He'll usually let you grind, or situate a vibrating toy under you while he spanks. It's only if you've really done bad that he'll spank you without any stimulation at all.

Now, you like smacks during sex just fine, but you never imagined that you could get so wet from grinding your clit against your daddy's thigh while he punishes you.

You've discovered a lot of things about yourself, thanks to your five daddies, and with Andy the biggest realization you've come to is that you crave having a big, strong, kind and bossy man in control of you. In fact you thrive on it. After so many years of hustling and being "that boss bitch," you're tired of the grind and of having to constantly look out for yourself because no one else will. Andy is a relief to you, in that way.

You call him Daddy a lot, and sometimes "Mr. Barber," when you're being saucy or playful (and it's an instant boner from him when you do).

Andy's favored pet names for you are "babygirl," "sweetheart," and "little one/little miss."

He thrives on making you feel safe and cared for. He loves that protector and provider role. Whenever something upsets you with one of the other guys, he can always tell (and he'll spank, tickle, or edge you until he finally gets the answers out of you.)

Andy and you have a game you play. You'll snuggle together on the couch and you'll both let your hands roam as you watch the movie, teasing and touching and rubbing each other until the end credits roll. It's it's own weird little sort of tantra: playful, teasing, and guaranteed to have you dripping wet by the end of the movie.

Like Ari, Andy is a big fan of morning sex. He almost always wakes up hard, and he loves to just roll you over and press you down into the bedding, plastered to your back with the lube bottle in hand and coaxing you to just close your eyes and "Let Daddy put it in."

Of all your guys, Andy spends the most time at your apartment. He has a desk there because he works so much, and you have a semi-regular routine of sitting beneath his desk and cockwarming/playing with him. It's a favorite activity of yours (especially during his teleconferences).

Andy loves your womanly body, and he's always grabbing and groping you--even parts that you get squirmy and whiny about when he does (he doesn't care he does it anyway).

He loves to see you in lacy, girlish, innocent things--again, not so much an ageplay thing as it is a sweetness and power imbalance thing. Andy's wife refuses to dress up in "silly things" for him, but you are more than happy to accommodate him.

Since the two of you spend so much time just being snuggly together in the apartment, you always either wear cute and tempting loungewear/pajamas, or else very short skirts/dresses with flirtatious thigh high stockings.

Andy was the first of the Daddies that you met. And he's very typical of the sort of "unhappily married and seeking affection"-type clients you used to get a lot of.

He was much more unhappy then and was more controlling and slightly rougher with you for those first few months, but he's mellowed out the longer he's had you and gotten his needs met.

Fun fact: when you first met him, you were considering getting a labiaplasty, but he absolutely put his foot down and forbid it, because he loves that you're "an outie" as he calls it. He told Ari this information, and now the two of them both make a habit of paying extensive attention to playing with your lips when they go down on you, making their point that you'd better never even think about it.

He likes having anal with you. But since you actively dislike it, he only asks for it on very special occasions, and when he can't have that he still likes to rim you and finger you as part of foreplay. When you do let him, he spends an obscene amount of time getting you ready and making sure you've cum at least once before he puts it in.

His favorite position is you on top to start (because he knows you cum fast that way), and him on top to finish.

And his one fantasy that he hasn't yet confided/fulfilled? He wants to have a threesome with you and Ari. (He'd really love to DP, but he knows that's not likely to happen, because you've told him about Ari's ... size.)

And a secondary fantasy: he wouldn't mind cucking Lloyd - he hates that guy.

If there's something you want to know about Sugar Baby and any of the five daddies, feel free to shoot me an ask!

Five Daddies Imagines Masterlist

Masterlist

#andy barber #andy barber x reader #andy barber x female reader #andy barber x you #andy barber x y/n #andy barber x ofc #defending jacob #chris evans #chris evans characters #lloyd hansen #steve kemp #bucky barnes #ari levinson #andy barber fanfiction #andy barber imagine #andy barber smut #fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic imagines #sugarbaby #sugardaddy #sugar baby reader #daddy andy barber #sex worker reader

[amathslutsguidetofandom]

Hear me out please…

Imagine Bucky doing this as a way to get you stay home from work and says something like “Nope. You can’t leave. If you leave, I’m going with you.”

The Bed's Warm, Why Go?

PAIRINGS: James "Bucky" Barnes x Reader

WARNINGS: swearing, unprotected sex (darlings, please wrap your man's pig in a blanket), p in v, nipple sucking, mentions of cum, cumming inside. (If I have left anything out pls DM me and let me know 😊)

WORD COUNT: 730

ENJOY!

"Doll, don't leave me all alone," his arm snakes around your middle just as you're about to get up from bed. He pulls you towards him, and your back hits his warm, bare chest.

"Love, you know I don't wanna go," you turn in your place and smile at him while scratching his stubble. "Then don't," he pouts and rubs your hip, then cups the back of your knee and hooks your leg over his muscular thigh.

"I need to earn, Bucky. How else am I gonna spoil my favourite man, hmm?" Bucky smirks, and you can see his cheeks flush slightly red. He sits against the headboard and lifts you as though you weigh nothing, setting you on his thighs.

"Stay with me, princess. Call in sick," he wraps his arms around you, pulling you impossibly close as he stuffs his face between your breasts. You sigh and chuckle softly, running your hands through his fluffy bed hair.

"Convince me," you whisper. And that's it. That's all Bucky needed to hear.

He quickly flips the both of you, settling in between your legs. "Don't have to tell me twice, doll."

He tugs your underwear to the side, and slips his cock free from the restraints of his boxers.

You'll never really get over how big your boyfriend is. You start to whine, needing to feel something. "Bucky."

He smirks at your neediness, bending to catch your lips in a chaste kiss. "Oh, I know, doll, I know. Trust me, I'm going to fuck you so good that you forget about work. So good, that the way you walk into work tomorrow, your co-workers are going to think you were really sick."

A whimper leaves your lips, and he chuckles, tapping his cock on your clit. You gasp at the sensation. "Yes, please. Bucky, oh god," you whine, gripping onto his shoulders.

His brows pinched together as he slowly slips into your weeping hole. "Fuck. So, fucking tight, princess." You throw your head back against the pillows, biting your lip as you feel your walls trying their best to accommodate his girth.

He bottoms out in you, and you feel his pubic hair tickle your sensitive button. "Bucky, move please," you whine again. He leans back and grabs your hips, then he starts to pull out until it's just the tip of him inside.

Then he slams into you, and you wail his name. His thrusts start to become harsher, and your moans become more higher in pitch. "Such a good girl for me, yeah? Taking everything I give you."

You moan and start babbling when he hits that particular spot on your spongy wall. "Fuck, Bucky. Right there, right there!" Bucky bends, grabbing the headboard with one hand and tossing your leg over his shoulder with the other.

Reaching new depths into your canal, you scream in pleasure. "Oh yeah, just like that doll. Let the neighbours know how good I make you feel," he sucks a bruising kiss on your neck before sloppily marking up the rest of the column of your throat.

His thrusts are short and hard, and with each one of them, you move closer to the headboard. "Fuck, Bucky, you feel so good," you whine loudly.

You clench around him hard, feeling tears prick at the corner of your eyes. "Babe, I'm close." Bucky groans at your words, thrusting faster. "Shit, me too."

The band tightens until the tension breaks. You arch your back as you gush all over Bucky's cock. "OH FUCK."

Bucky grunts, feeling you milk him. "God, so pretty when you come like that, princess."

You feel his thrusts falter in pace, indicating he's close. You reach behind him and grab his ass, squeezing the muscle. "C'mon baby, come for me," you whisper. He groans, pressing himself against you. Your thigh is impossibly pressed against your chest, and you moan again.

"Shit," Bucky grunts as his body goes slack, and you feel his warm load paint the inside of your walls.

You both pant hard, trying to catch your breaths.

After a while, Bucky removes your leg from his shoulder, and then proceeds to lay himself on top of you. Resting his head on your boobs, he smiles tiredly. "So, you going to work?" he raises a brow.

All you can do is just laugh and playfully flick at his nose.

💌💌💌

Thanks for the ask, babes!!!!

Absolutely, in love with that gif.

I srsly can't stop looking at it, LMAO.

Till' then

Stay Coquette-y,

Anya 🫶🏽🕊️🎀

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #james buchanan barnes

[purple-babygirl]

welcome baaaack! i missed you so much

i've been here since forever and i remember a very long time ago that you promised us insecure chubby bucky. i never forget and i'm still waiting for him (when you get time for sure). i would love to read that whenever you right it! otherwise i'm really happy you're back again.

much love purple<3

Pairing: Insecure!Chubby!Chef!Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Word Count: 4,180

Summary: Bucky runs into his ex, who manages to mess with his head, bringing his insecurities to the surface again. His girl takes it upon herself to show him how perfect he is.

Warnings: 18+ content, bullying (sort of), fat shaming, negative self body image, insecurities, intrusive thoughts, mentions of cheating, a little crying, a little angst, smut, unprotected vaginal sex, cum, multiple orgasms

A/N: Nonnie, omg, you have been here a long time! I love and appreciate you so so much and I can't believe you stuck around for so long wow:"💜💜 Thank you so much for existing and for being here you're the reason I don't wanna leave again💜💜💜 Here's one insecure chubby bucky for you, I hope you like this one and that I did a good job💜 Thank you again ilyyy, please enjoyxx💜💜(y'all i think i forgot how to write smut what is wrong with me)

~

perfect to me

“I’m so sorry, baby, I have to run,” she told him after checking her phone, pecking his lips and taking quick steps down the aisle of the large store.

Bucky smiled, taking another fruit plate and placing it in their cart. His girl was such a hard worker and he couldn’t be prouder.

It was going to be Christmas soon and his girl was still working hard so Bucky was going to make her the best holiday food she’s ever tasted.

He was focused on picking the freshest cranberries when he heard a scoff, a very familiar one.

“Hey, Ryan,” Bucky sighed, not really wanting to ruin his good mood, as he turned around to meet a face he knew too well.

“What does she owe you?” said Ryan, tilting his head with a smirk.

“What?!”

“There’s no way this chick is seeing you. I figured she must owe you and is just paying her debt!” He smirked further, not even trying to hide his gloating when he saw that his words still had an effect on Bucky.

“My relationship with her is none of your business.” Bucky’s voice was suddenly low as his eyes stared down at the contents of the cart.

“But my relationship with you is.” Ryan put a finger under Bucky’s chin but the latter took a step away.

“We don’t have a relationship. You cheated on me, remember? I was too fat for you.” Bucky’s shaky voice moved nothing inside Ryan. If anything Ryan wanted more.

“And now you’re too fat for her.”

“Shut up. She is nothing like you.”

“Really? Do you even know where she goes when she leaves you? Where she is right now, for example?” Ryan smirked.

“She got called into work and had to run to the office.” Bucky knew he owed him nothing and if he was in his right mind he wouldn’t have went through a conversation with Ryan at all, but he wasn’t.

“How are you still so naïve?” He laughed heartily as if Bucky’s misery was actually amusing to him.

“Leave me alone.” Bucky tried to push the shopping cart and walk away, but Ryan stepped before him.

“I didn’t know your publisher lived in an office.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She leaves you to go fuck your publisher. You know him, black guy, sexily built, very handsome.”

The words left Bucky feeling lightheaded as the world seemed to twirl around him. Could history be repeating itself? No, not this time. His girl was not like that.

“I saw her coming to his building with him.”

“How’d you even-”

“I wait tables in the restaurant across the street from his apartment. I didn’t know she was with you but damn are you lucky you met me today!” Ryan laughed insensitively.

“It’s probably someone else.”

“I think I know what your publisher looks like.”

“You’re lying,” Bucky chocked out, trying to get out of Ryan’s way.

“You don’t sound so sure about that.” Ryan tilted his head again with a smug smirk, poking Bucky’s tummy, “you know why? Because deep down you know she’s too sexy for you. Because you look at her and then at yourself and you can’t figure out why she’d want you. Because you know that sooner or later she’s gonna get tired of your fat ass and—”

“My life now is none of your business, Ryan. You left. You chose to go, so stay gone.” Bucky’s weak voice interrupted, shutting Ryan right up before he sped out of the store, leaving the groceries behind.

“You’ll come back to me when you see for yourself!” He shouted after Bucky, but he didn’t stop nor turn back.

The questions he had raised in Bucky’s head, Bucky had no answers for them himself. Why was this sweet girl with him? What did she see in him? Anyone who met them thought the same thing: they didn’t belong together. So what did she see differently? What was Bucky bringing to their relationship? Could he even satisfy her? Could he keep her fulfilled?

He thought the days where Ryan messed with his head were long gone but he was obviously mistaken. Ryan could still easily hurt him. He could still make him feel as large as an elephant yet smaller than an insect. The dagger he’d planted was in so deep that Bucky couldn’t feel anything but the pain the stab brought.

~

His ex’s words plagued his mind. They took over and drowned out his girl’s voice, pushing it to the background.

All of a sudden, Bucky was very aware of his size, of the way the couch made the slightest sounds under his weight, and the way his girl could fit her whole self on one of his thighs if she wanted to.

“Bucky bear?” A hand on his cheek pulled him out of his thoughts.

Suddenly, he hated the words she nicknamed him with. Bear? Is that how big she thought he was?

“Hmm?”

“I was asking if you wanna go shopping for last minute gifts with me tomorrow,” she repeated, smiling sweetly, her fingers brushing a few hairs back and behind Bucky’s ear as she yawned.

Bucky’s new cookbook became a best seller after one week of release and the publication house was throwing the amazing chef a party.

She couldn’t be prouder and she wanted to support Bucky all the way. She loved Christmas and now it was going to be even better with this event added to their memories.

She was going to go all out for her man and he didn’t even know it. It was going to be a huge surprise and she couldn’t wait to make it happen.

“Yeah, why not,” Bucky replied, faking a smile back.

“What were you busy thinking about?” Her thumb traced his stubbly cheek as she frowned worriedly.

For a wonderfully successful cook, Bucky didn’t look so happy.

“You,” he answered with the truth though his eyes didn’t sparkle like they usually would at the thought of her.

“What about me?” Her smile returned as she stared lovingly at Bucky’s face.

“Why are you with me?” Bucky couldn’t hide the sorrow in his voice if he tried.

“What?” She sat up straight in his lap as her face fell.

“Please don’t make me repeat the question.”

“Buck, where’s this coming from?” Her hands cupped both his cheeks.

“I just don’t get it.” He shook his head, swallowing as his hands removed hers from his face.

“Don’t get what?!” She placed her hands on Bucky’s chest instead, refusing to let him push her away.

“Why you’re here!”

“I’m here because I love you, what’s hard to get, baby?”

“Do you really love me?”

This was serious. She’s never seen her boyfriend look so broken.

“James, what’s going on?”

“Answer the question, plum,” Bucky requested, the back of his fingers stroking over her cheek, knowing this was probably the last time he would get to touch her soft skin.

“Of course I love you!”

“Then why do you leave me to go meet Sam and then lie to me about it?!” Bucky unintentionally raised his voice.

“W—what?”

There were so many emotions overwhelming her and none of them was pleasant.

She was shocked, hurt and dejected. Bucky has never raised his voice at her before.

 “What were you doing together last night? And the night before and the night before that?!”

“Bucky, you’ve got it all wrong.” She shook her head, heartbroken that Bucky would think of her like that.

“Please leave.” He slid her off his lap and stood up, turning his back to her.

“Bucky.” Tears pricked her eyes.

“Leave, plum.”

“Bucky, me and Sam were—”

“If you won’t leave then I will.” Bucky sped to the door, grabbing his jacket from where it was hanged.

The last thing he wanted was to cry in front of her too. He’s already shown his weakness once; never again.

“Bucky!”

He ignored her calls, ready to run out of the door and let his legs take him far away where he’d have to hear no lies and could no longer get hurt.

“James Bucky Barnes, don’t you dare walk out on me!” She blocked the door, preventing Bucky from exiting the apartment.

Her eyes glistened with yet to be shed tears as her heart pounded in her chest. The mere idea of losing Bucky for any reason terrified her more than anything else.

She loved the man with her heart and soul and would go to the ends of the Earth for his sake. Why couldn’t he see that?

“I didn’t wanna ruin the surprise but… your book is a best seller. Me and Sam were planning you a party to celebrate. We figured if we met at the restaurant it’d ruin the surprise so I saw him at his place after work.”

Bucky stared at her dumbly.

“You can call Sam if you don’t believe me.”

“Oh.” Bucky felt like someone’s just dumped a bucket of cold water over his head; felt like an absolute idiot, “oh, plum.”

“I’m sorry I kept it a secret, but I’m not sorry I wanted to do something nice for the man I love.” A tear rolled down her cheek and her lower lip trembled, “and I’m really sad with you for stalking me and doubting me like that. I didn’t expect that from you, Bucky… and I’m hurt.”

“Sweet plum-”

“You can leave now if you still want to.” She took quick steps to the bedroom, leaving Bucky at the door.

It wasn’t often that she and Bucky fought and it was never something that couldn’t be solved within an hour. He could never bear to see her upset, let alone let her go to bed mad at him.

“Plum,” Bucky softly knocked on her door, swallowing the lump stuck in his throat, “can I please come in?”

But this was big.

Bucky has doubted her love for him. He has insulted her loyalty and ruined everything because of his insecurities and the poisonous words of a man who never cared for him.

She opened the door for him in a heartbeat, her face soaked in tears.

“No, no, sweet plum.” Bucky took her in his arms, praying to the deities she wouldn’t repel from his touch.

“You pushed me out of your lap.” She sobbed, her chest heaving and her forehead pressed to his shoulder.

His accusations hurt but the fact that he pushed her away somehow hurt her more.

Bucky couldn’t help but let his tears fall as well.

How could he be so thoughtless? She was the one good thing in his life and he almost let her go. No amount of restaurants he could open could make him feel as happy as a smile from her would.

He could write a library and collect every prize ever known to humankind, and she would still be the best thing Bucky has ever won over.

“I’m stupid, baby. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His hold tightened, engulfing her smaller frame in a desperate hug, “please don’t cry because of an idiot like me. I’m sorry, sweet plum. Forgive me, baby.”

“Why’d you do it?” Her sad eyes looked at him in question, full of confusion yet void of bitterness.

“I- sweet plum-” Bucky didn’t know how to answer her question because now that he looked back, he could see how stupid it all was.

Why did he follow her for 3 consecutive nights while she went to meet Sam instead of just trusting her? Why did he choose to believe and trust in Ryan’s words and not her love for him? Why was it easier for him to imagine her with someone like Sam but impossible to think of her with someone like himself?

“It’s because I’m a big idiot,” Bucky replied.

“Bucky.”

“Please forgive me, plum.” Bucky pecked her temple.

“Tell me what happened.”  She demanded softly, wiping Bucky’s own tears away and kissing his chin.

“Nothing happened, sweet plum. I got inside my own head again. I’m sorry, baby.” Bucky lied with a sad smile, too ashamed to admit Ryan’s words almost had him ruining the best relationship he’s ever been in.

She nodded understandingly, her hand cupping Bucky’s face as she rested his forehead on hers.

Bucky would tell her when he was ready. She didn’t want to stay mad at him. She knew he had issues with self confidence and she wasn’t about to make him feel even worse. He would come to her when he was comfortable. Bucky would tell her on his own.

“Please stay.” She whispered, her teary eyes heavy with sleep, yet afraid to go to bed and have Bucky leave after.

“I’m not going anywhere, sweet plum.” Bucky kissed her forehead, taking her by the hand to their bed.

~

“You know you can talk to me, right?” Her soothing voice whispered, filling the dark room.

Bucky was laying wide awake, Ryan’s words playing in his ears over and over again. What he did to his girl and how he made her cry. All the messed up shit he did just hours ago gnawed at him and took the sleep away from his eyes.

“I ran into Ryan,” Bucky finally replied, unable to sleep while he’s hiding something from her, “he filled my head with thoughts about you leaving me for Sam, and I let him.” He admitted to the ceiling, hesitant to meet her eyes.

“I would never leave you,” she promised him without reluctance, cupping his face and making him look at her.

She wanted him to see all the love her eyes held for him with no shame.

“Please don’t. I will lose the weight, I will—”

“Wait, what? He told you I’d leave you because of your weight?” Both hands were back on Bucky’s cheeks, thumbs wiping under his eyes.

Bucky nodded.

“And you believed him?”

“It’s why he left me.” He shrugged.

“Bucky,” she sighed.

“I know I know. It’s what’s on the inside that counts—”

“Don’t talk as if you’re not physically breathtaking!”

“Baby—”

“No! You have no idea how handsome you are, do you?!”

“Plum, you don’t have to say such stuff.” Bucky shook his head sheepishly and regretted it when he saw sadness cover her delicate features.

She quickly shook it off, scratching her forehead before taking Bucky’s hand, helping him sit up in their bed.

“Sweet plum, what are you doing?” Bucky asked when she started moving the covers down his torso.

“Gonna love on my man. Would you let me, Bucky? Can I love on you?” she asked, her voice soft and sweet.

Bucky nodded, hypnotized by the adoration shining in her eyes and she started to undress him.

Her eyes never left his as she took piece by piece of clothing off, revealing his beautiful figure to her, her smile only faltering when she bit down at the sight of her man in all his naked glory.

Bucky’s body was lit up under the soft moonlight coming from the window, helping her appreciate every curve and inch.

This gorgeous human being was his and he was hers.

“You’re so fucking sexy you take my breath away,” she moaned, slipping out of her own sweater, “and I don’t just mean the way you make me cum so many times until I have to fight for oxygen.” She brushed her lips on his.

Bucky was speechless. He could only stare and try not to lose his own oxygen.

“Keep your eyes open for me, Buck.” She pecked his lips once and he opened his eyes at once, not even realizing he’d closed them in the first place.

She smiled at how fast he followed the instruction, leaning back on the headboard and licking his lips.

Bucky’s groan when her bra hit the ground made her giggle. She slipped out of her panties, leaving herself bare before Bucky’s eyes.

“Come here, plum,” Bucky’s arms reached for her but she shook her head.

“This is about you, Bucky Bear.”

She climbed on the bed between Bucky’s legs, her hands wandering along his shins, thumbs caressing up his inner thighs. She bowed forward, peppering kisses on Bucky’s soft flesh.

“I love your thighs,” her lips moved higher and higher, the tiny kisses and nibbles driving Bucky crazy as he tried not to touch himself, “love how thick they are. So strong. So perfect. I would ride them all day if you’d let me.”

Bucky whimpered when she accompanied the honest words with a bite, leaving her mark on his pale flesh.

“And that ass,” she moaned, her hands sliding underneath Bucky, pulling his legs up and cupping his ass cheeks.

Bucky’s shy gasp made her smirk. He was so precious she could eat him. Maybe she should some day…

She let Bucky’s legs settle back on the bed and kept kissing up and up, skipping his twitching cock on purpose and placing wet kisses on his tummy instead. Her eyes locked with his and Bucky bit his pink lip.

He looked so beautiful, blushing, disheveled and turned on like that. His pupils were dilated, his cheeks rosy and his breath uneven; she was falling in love with this chef all over again.

“I love your tummy so so much,” her tongue dipped in Bucky’s bellybutton and the flush spread from his cheeks and on to his neck and chest.

Another moan slipped from his lips as her warm tongue lapped at his skin. She was full on licking him now.

Her words were romantic but the way she was loving him was driving him insane.

“I love to feel it against me when we hug,” she kissed his right side, “I love when you let me rest my head on it and I get to hear you breathe and feel your heartbeat,” she kissed his belly, “I love how it warms my back when you spoon me. And I love feeling it pushing against my ass when you take me from behind.” She pressed a final kiss to his left side.

“My favourite has got to be your cock though.” She gave his leaking dick a single pump and his hips were already bucking off the bed, “I’m a sucker for this cock, baby. Literally.”

Bucky was too busy whining when her mouth wrapped around the crown of his cock to call her out on her bad joke.

His whole body was on fire with need for her. He needed her to do something, anything.

“Plum, please. Let me get you ready. I need you. I need to be inside you.”

Bucky didn’t want to cum in her mouth, not this time. He needed to be buried deep inside her and he wasn’t sure how long he would be able to last.

“I’m ready,” she said, situating herself on top of his cock, rubbing the tip on her wet folds, letting out filthy mewls at the feel of him against the lips of her pussy, “always ready for you, baby.”

Before Bucky could argue that he should at least make sure she was prepared to take him just in case, she was pushing the tip of him in, stretching herself out on his cock with her head thrown back and her mouth open in a silent scream.

“Fuck, plum, so tight,” Bucky groaned, feeling her pussy grip every inch as soon as it disappeared inside her.

When she has completely impaled herself on Bucky’s cock, she stilled, taking a minute to get used to the stretch.

No burn has ever felt as good as the burn she got when Bucky’s dick split her in half. Getting opened on this cock was her favorite thing in the world.

She dragged her lips along his stubbly jaw as she waited, kissing all over his face, savoring the moment as sweetly as possible as if the head of Bucky’s cock wasn’t almost touching up her cervix.

Her open palms glided from around Bucky’s neck to his shoulders and down his arms until she reached his palms.

“and those hands, I think you already know how much I love your hands.” She chuckled as she continued and Bucky nodded, squirming below her.

“I love when you hold my hand; makes me feel safe; chosen,” she rolled her hips, making Bucky groan wantonly.

“I love how fast you can make me cum on the fingers of your left hand.” She whined when Bucky’s hands dug in her sides as she moved on him, surely leaving bruises behind.

“Fuck, plum-” Bucky was so close so fast and he wished he could last longer but the movement of her body on top of his, the words leaving her mouth and her walls snug around his cock were too much.

“I love you. Every inch, every part. I love all of you, Bucky.”

Bucky groaned in reply, chest heaving as he watched her take him.

“I love every part of you. I crave your touch like my lungs crave air.”

Bucky involuntarily thrust up, making her eyes roll.

“Oh Buck!” she wailed, Bucky hitting her favorite spots so good.

He couldn’t stop his hips from meeting hers every time she came down to take his cock over and over again, eyes glued to where he was disappearing inside of her.

“Nothing could ever match the feeling of being filled up of you, Bucky.”

“I love you, plum ahhh fuck,” Bucky moaned, overwhelmed by emotions and ready to burst any second.

“I love you too, Bucky bear. You’re my everything; my one and only.” She kissed him hard, thighs shaking around his body as she came on his cock.

Bucky couldn’t help but let go himself, cumming harder than he has ever before, filling her up with so much cum until he felt it leak out of her despite having her plugged on his softening cock.

She moaned at the warmth of his cum, shuddering when it seeped out of her.

“Fuck, plum,” Bucky sighed on her shoulder, breath still shaky.

She giggled shyly, burying her face in Bucky’s neck.

“Where did that come from?” Bucky asked, cupping her cheek so he could look at her.

She was glowing, smiling at him so innocently as if his cock wasn’t still buried deep up her leaking, pulsing pussy.

“From here.” She pointed to the spot between her breasts.

“Right here?” Bucky leaned forward to press a kiss on her hot skin, making her laugh as she nodded.

“I love you,” he whispered on her lips.

“I love you, Bucky. I love every tiny detail about you inside out. Nothing will ever change that.” She promised, seeing his eyes soften once again, insecurity dissipating.

“Thank you, plum.” Bucky hugged her close, kissing her shoulder and the back of her neck.

“Thank you for letting me show you how much I love you.”

“So you love my cock huh?” Bucky teased.

“Buckyyyy,” she whined, trying to get away as her face heated up.

“No, say it.” Bucky bit his lip, looking at her with a smirk.

“You know I do. Stop.”

“No, plum. I don’t know anything.” Bucky shook his head trying to act serious, “say it again.”

“Iloveyourcock,” she mumbled, trying to take herself off his cock.

“What was that, plum?” Bucky thrust upward into her and even with a soft cock he could make her make the sweetest sound.

“Hngh, I love your cock, Bucky,” she moaned, throwing her head back.

“Hmm, how much?” Bucky swirled his hips, feeling himself get hard again.

“S-so much,” she admitted as his cock stretched her sensitive pussy.

Bucky held her close, turning them the other way around and gave a deep push when he was on top, his cum making the filthiest squelching sounds as she screamed an “oh god”.

“So much you’d let me take you again?”

“Yes, yes,” she nodded frantically, not wanting the man to stop his thrusts.

And he wasn’t going to.

Bucky’s tummy pinned her down as he pressed his lips to hers, eating up her squeals as he pounded her into the bed, showing her how much he loved her.

~

“So you really don’t care about my weight?” Bucky asked, supporting his body up on his elbows as he stared at her glossy eyes.

She could barely remember her name as she tried to come down from the other two orgasms Bucky has just given her, his body still on top of hers, but that wasn’t a question she needed to think about the answer to.

“I only want you okay and healthy, Bucky. If you’re comfortable, I’m comfortable. If you’re happy, I’m happy. Otherwise, you’re perfect to me,” she told him with a shrug, pushing his wet hair behind his ears, “every little thing about you is perfect.”

“I love you so much, plum.”

“I love you more.” She smiled, heart fluttering at the look he was giving her.

“Not possible.” Bucky kissed her lips, “not possible, plum.”

~

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[marvelouslizzie]

No One Else Matters

Summary: Things between you and Bucky Barnes have been going great until an Avengers dinner party reminds you of that one night you spent with Steve Rogers. Now you are afraid that the meaningless past hook-up might jeopardize your future with Bucky.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 4.1K

Warnings: 18+ NSFW MINORS DNI, secret relationship, alcohol consumption but no one is drunk, semi-public sex, unprotected p in v (on birth control and clean), begging, pet names, dirty talk, mentions of past hook up with Steve Rogers, eavesdropping, no mention of y/n

A/N: Another random idea that turned into a one-shot thanks to my amazing friends. Thank you so much @notafunkiller for beta-reading and editing. Also, some lines belong to her because she helped shape the story and I appreciate it a lot!

This story isn't any form of Steve Rogers hate. I just wanted to write a story like this and it wouldn't work with anyone else besides Steve. If you don't want to read a story where Steve is a past hook-up that didn't work out well, please stay away from the story.

All work is mine, please do not repost or translate without my permission. 

Every like, comment, and reblog is highly appreciated. Don’t hesitate to message me. I would love to answer questions or start a conversation as long as it doesn't include any kind of hate.

Read more tag starts after the first paragraph of the story.

Coming to this Avengers dinner might have been a big mistake. Essentially you were looking forward to this night because it had been a while since you saw your co-workers. Some are more like friends than co-workers, but working for SHIELD keeps everyone busy. Small events like this help people to get together, catch up and maybe plan other stuff for the future, but tonight feels somewhat different.

You were enjoying yourself until you saw Bucky and Steve casually chatting on the other side of the room. That doesn’t happen very often and it reminds you of things you'd rather not think about. Things that happened years ago. Like that one time, you hooked up with Steve. It was buried so deep into your memory, you simply forgot about it and it’s not like you see Steve that often. Occasionally, his team asks for your help and you try to do your best. And you have been nothing but friendly to each other since that night. You remember him taking it pretty well when you said you’d rather stay friends with him. He probably wasn’t looking for a relationship anyways.

It was before everyone found out HYDRA was nesting inside SHIELD for years. He was simply the golden boy. The first Avenger who unexpectedly returned. A savior. Everyone was in awe of him and tried to be their best version. It felt like a fairytale came true.

The problem is whenever people make an idol of someone expectations go over the roof. And when you meet that person, see what they are like up close, you just notice he’s just like anyone else. Even though they didn’t do anything wrong or bad, it still feels somehow disappointing.

He was different than what you expected him to be. You noticed that pretty quickly and decided to keep things professional. It worked out amazingly until… now. You look around, trying to calm yourself down, keeping that memory to yourself because this is definitely not the time to bring it up.

**

When the dinner finally starts, it turns out to be a good distraction. You chat with whoever is around you about recent missions, the latest gossip, and things SHIELD is planning to do in the near future. But your eyes keep wandering towards Bucky, who is seated across the table. It’s a huge relief to see Steve and him aren’t seated together or even close to each other. Everyone knows they used to be good friends, but that’s not the case anymore. Since Bucky is back to himself and started to work for SHIELD, things went downhill for their friendship. They slowly drifted apart.

You try hard not to glance back at him again, but he’s looking at you. That makes things even harder. You notice how his lips form a small smile whenever your eyes meet and how he tries to play it off as something he did because of his conversation. But you know his smile is caused by you and even though you don’t want to accept that, it melts your heart a little more.

After the dessert is served, people start to focus on their drinks more. Different groups are forming, and when you want to take check on Bucky, he quickly tilts his head to the right, signaling you to leave the room and meet him. You look around to see if anyone noticed, but no one’s focus is on you two. 

You do nothing but watch him discreetly walk away first, without waiting for an answer. He knows you will follow. And that’s exactly what you do: you place your empty glass on the counter and leave the room as subtly as he did. What you don’t notice is that someone actually has been watching you very closely.

You have no idea where Bucky went exactly, so you start to wander around, trying to guess where he’d choose to hide until he grabs you with his arm, pulling you inside an empty room before quickly locking the door.

“Bucky!” A half-yelp leaves your lips, but it’s muffled by his hand.

“It’s me,” he whispers against your ear before he starts to kiss your neck sloppily. “Relax.”

He doesn’t waste any time. His hands are everywhere on your body: grabbing your breasts over the clothes, squeezing your ass.

“I missed you.” His breathy whisper gives you goosebumps. 

“Oh, I missed you, too.” You grab his face with both of your hands and finally kiss him properly. He happily sighs and lets you take control. His lips are soft, tasting like bourbon, which surprises you because he is usually a beer kind of guy. Maybe he decided to try something different tonight since he isn’t the one paying. 

That reminds you of the party and everyone inside. Including Steve Rogers. Bucky’s ex-best friend. And that make the anxious feeling in your gut returns. You need to tell him about what happened between you and Steve. Even if you’re afraid that it would change everything between you two. But you aren’t ready to lose him. Not when you’ve just started to realize how strong your feelings are for him.

He doesn’t fail to notice the shift in your mood. You aren’t as present in the kiss as if you have something on your mind. He stops kissing you unexpectedly, making you give him a confused look.

“Are you okay?” He sounds genuinely concerned.

You take a deep breath. Maybe it’s just better to tell him now and get it over with. What’s the point of delaying the inevitable?

“I gotta tell you something.”

You see how his concern grows even more. His expression is serious and full of worry.

“Do you want to break this off? Is that what it is?” 

God, the way he asked that question just hurts something inside you. He sounded so broken, so afraid.

“No, no! Of course not.” You quickly clear the air, leaving no space for any kind of misunderstanding. “But you might wanna break things off with me after I tell you… this.” 

You can see how your words confuse him. He squints, trying to understand what you are talking about and coming up with a reasonable explanation. You know whatever he’ll think about won’t be even close to the reality, but you didn’t expect his response either.

“Are you pregnant? Is that why you are nervous?” His hand caresses your cheek as he asks you. “You know I wouldn’t leave you for something like that, right? We can do whatever you want. It’s totally up to you.” 

No, you aren’t pregnant. That’s not even a possibility. You’ve been on birth control even before you two started to have sex. Still, hearing his soft-spoken words makes you melt inside. 

“No, baby, I’m not pregnant.” 

You both take a breath after eliminating another possibility. He looks at you fora few seconds, trying to decide if he should say it or not.

“Is it about you dating Steve?”

Words can’t describe how surprised you are. Questions flood your mind instantly. How much does he know? When did he find out? Who told him? And dating? No, you definitely did not date Steve Rogers. God, you have so many questions to ask. You don’t know where to start. 

“You know about that.” It comes out more like a question than a statement. The shock is so clear in your voice. 

“Of course, I know.” 

“How? When?” The questions come out one after another and make him smile a little. You stop yourself from asking even more and decide to make one thing clear. “And I did not date him. It was a one-time thing.”

“Oh.” He sounds surprised. Maybe he thought it was more serious, but if so why didn’t he bring it up before?

“When did you find out?” You have to know. 

“Not so long ago.”

“Who told you?” 

“Sam. He thought there was some kind of tension between you two, but I couldn’t see it. So he explained.” He doesn’t sound like it bothers him much, which is relieving.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I could ask you the same.”

He’s right. He can ask the same question. Your answer is simple, though.

“I actually forgot it happened.” Is he really smiling? “It wasn’t that memorable to me.” 

“That bad, huh?” 

You can’t help but laugh. God, you love him so much. You were worried sick about how he would react and here he is joking about it.

“Do you want an actual answer?” You finally ask. 

“Yeah, sure.” He doesn’t seem to mind.

“It was okay.” 

Now it’s his turn to laugh. “So it was bad.” 

“Like I said, not memorable.” You choose to repeat. You don’t wanna disrespect him that much, but you don’t even remember much about it. That was one of the reasons you wanted to stay friends anyway.

“Doll, it’s fine.” He finally decides to answer you seriously.

“So you don’t mind?” 

“It was way before us. It’s not my place to judge you for it.” 

That’s a huge relief. You were so worried he would just choose some kind of bro code over you but no. He chose you. You breathe out with a smile on your face.

“And if someone is gonna get judged for their past, it’s not gonna be you.”

You instantly frown because you understood immediately what he meant by it.

“That’s not the same thing. I chose to hook up with him. You didn’t choose to get brainwashed.”

“Yeah, of course, but I am the one who killed those people.”

“Bucky, no.” You touch his chest, trying to comfort him without realizing it. “Don’t go there. Please. That’s not a fair comparison.” You want him to be free of this guilt. He’s trying to redeem himself so hard, it has to end somewhere.

“Fine.” He finally accepts it. “I don’t care about your past. I only care about your present and future. Is that better?” 

“Yes, it is better.” You wrap your arms around his neck and close the distance. “You are always so forgiving, yet you are so harsh to yourself.”

“As long as you are mine, I don’t care about anything.” 

That does it. An unexpected jolt of arousal overwhelms you. Suddenly, you don’t feel shy anymore. 

“Can you…” You try to collect your words. “Can you fuck me like you did the last time?” Asking that out loud feels a little weird. Maybe you should’ve drunk a bit more.

You watch as his eyes widen in response. Oh, he wants that as much as you do. No need to feel shy.

“Which position exactly?” He sounds so cheeky, but you can see his question is genuine. He needs additional info because it wasn’t a one-and-done.

“Against the wall.” You bit your lip, remembering how good it felt. So rough, yet so full of pleasure. You can’t help but shiver when you remember that orgasm.

“Fuck.” He surpasses a moan. “We have to be quiet, doll. Can you do that for me?” His voice is really low.

You eagerly nod in response. You aren’t sure if you can actually do it, but you will try your best if he’s going to do what you asked for. 

“God, I love you so much.” You can’t hold yourself back anymore. Hearing those words from him sparks something unstoppable inside you. Grabbing him by the face, you crash your lips against him. 

“I love you, Bucky.” You keep kissing him. “So much.” Your hands move south, unbuckling him as quickly as possible. 

Your movements are rushed but not sloppy. Like you did this a million times before. It feels familiar, but it doesn’t change how much you need him. Urgently. And he doesn’t seem to mind that your act as if you are in a hurry. When you finally unbutton his pants, they pool around his ankles, and that’s when he decides to lift you up. His hands stay under your ass while he presses you against the wall, your dress already curled up around your waist. 

“Are you ready for me, doll?” He asks with that voice he uses when he’s really aroused. It turns you on even more and you didn’t know that was possible.

“Yes.” You want him inside you so much. You need his lips on you. “Please, Bucky, I need you.”

“You do?” Oh, youknow this tone too well. He loves to tease you and make you talk more about what you want, and it’s always so rewarding. So you don’t hold back.

“Please, fuck me, I need your cock so badly.” Even though it’s dimly lit inside the room, you see the shift in his eyes. Your words are feeding some kind of primal need inside him. “I need you, baby, please. I’m so wet.”

“Let’s see if that’s true.” He holds you with one hand and aligns himself to your entrance with the other. You shouldn’t be surprised by how strong he is, but every time he manages to astonish you. He doesn’t even struggle to carry or hold you. When he finally thrusts inside you, a loud moan escapes your lips. The stretch is so fucking delicious. “Shh.” 

“Sorry, sorry.” You quickly try to apologize. “It just feels ssso good.” A low moan follows your words.

“You know I love to hear you, doll.” He starts moving. “I love how you always beg for more.” His free hand goes to your head, pushing a strand of hair back so he can see your face better. “But this time we need to keep it quiet. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“I’ll be good, I promise.”

That makes him smile. You wrap your hands around his neck again, wanting to be close to him. That’s when you both hear a sound really close to you. So close that you feel like it came right at the door. You both still for a second, listening to find out if someone is outside, but there’s no more sound. So that noise is long forgotten in a minute.

You don’t even care if someone is outside. You don’t care if someone hears you fucking. Bucky Barnes loves you. No one else matters. Your lips clash against his. It’s such a sloppy kiss, but you love every second of it. His hand moves to your neck, holding you in place as he starts to pound on you.

“Is this how you wanted it?” He keeps asking, wanting you to speak, but you can't. “Is it that good you went speechless?”

You nod eagerly.

“Come on, darling. Use your words.” He’s moving relentlessly, taking your breath away with each stroke.

“Yes.” You finally manage to say. “Oh god, yes.”

“Yes to what?” He taunts you. “Is that what you wanted or is it that good?”

“Both!” You say louder than you intended, then you remember you promised to be good and you lower your voice. “Yes to both!”

“Good girl.” His flesh hand travels to your neckline. He quickly pushes the straps of your dress down more, finally revealing your breasts. You aren’t wearing a bra, thanks to the padded dress. “God, look at you.” He marvels at you. “Such a pretty little doll. All mine.” 

His mouth latches on your right breast, sucking and biting it while he keeps moving. He knows how to use his mouth well everywhere. It makes everything so much better. You can feel that pleasure starts to bottle up, your abdomen tensing.

Oh, he truly knows how to get you there. He knows how much you love it when you two climax together. It feels heavenly… like you are in your own little world and there’s no one but him there. Nothing else matters. As your legs start to shake with overwhelming pleasure, you imagine going back inside, talking to others while his come is dripping out of you. No one would know what you two were up to. Not a single soul. It’s your little secret. The thought makes you moan a little bit louder. Your hands grip hard on his shoulders. 

Bucky moans right next to your ear. “God, you feel so good.” His hands are gripping hard on your ass. “I wish I can stay inside you forever. I don’t wanna move. I don’t wanna go anywhere else. I just wanna keep fucking you, until you beg me to stop.” Does he know what his words do to you? Does he notice how it amplifies your orgasm? Or does he just say whatever he wants to say? “I’m gonna come.” He warns you. “I’m gonna come, baby. I’m gonna come.” 

You ride your orgasms together, as he empties himself inside you. His head falls on your shoulder while he keeps holding you. His lips press against the crook of your neck. While you keep taking deep breaths, you can feel his heart racing. 

“Are you okay?” He asks while moving away enough to take himself out of you.

“Okay?” You question as he gently puts you on your feet. “I feel amazing.” 

You lift yourself on your tiptoes and give him a full wet kiss. 

“Now I believe you.” He gives you a little smile that only makes you want to kiss him again.

“I’ll be louder when we go home so you won’t have an ounce of doubt.”

“Yours or mine?” His question comes instantly.

“I don’t care.” You really don’t. All you want is him. Where, when, and how are just details.

He helps you shape your hair back to normal while you pull the stripes up. Your underwear is a mess and you are dripping out already. Bucky takes a napkin out of his pocket and kneels in front of you. He gently pushes the serviette between your folds, cleaning you up enough so you can go back inside. 

“Thank you.” You love it when he takes care of you like this. “But you know that won’t be enough. I will keep dripping all night.” 

“I’m counting on that.” You can see on his face how much that thought excites him. “Keep dripping onto your underwear while talking to others. Remember what we did here. Imagine what we will do later.” He stands up while you fix your dress and you realize that you can’t wait to leave this party already.

“You have such a dirty mouth. I love it.” You grab his face with one hand and just force him to kiss you. Not that you can actually force him to do anything, but he lets you anyway. “Come on. Let’s go back.”

**

It’s been a while since you returned to the party. Everything seems normal. No one even realized you were absent. No one is suspecting anything. That encourages you to look around for Bucky. When your eyes meet, he gives you a teasing smile while casually chatting with Sam.

The whole night you didn’t say a word to him. Not around other people. But you don't see any reason to keep avoiding him. Everyone knows you two are friendly. So you decide to walk over and chat a little.

“Oh, look who remembered us!” Sam jokes as soon as he notices you.

“Hello to you too, Sam.” You don’t mind his teasing. “Good to see you missed me.”

“Hey.” Bucky raises his beer bottle to casually greet you. He probably got tired of the bourbon.

“How are you, fellas?”

“Oh you know, missions and drinks. Same stuff,” Bucky answers your question. 

“Nothing new?” You tease him, just to see how he would react.

“Nope. Just little old me doing the same things.”

“Really, I keep telling him to go on a date or something but no. He prefers this misery instead.”

You try to surpass a smile forming on your lips, well aware of the exact reason why he’s declining the offer.

While you’re staring at each other, Sam notices Steve on the other side of the room and raises his hand. 

“Hey, Rogers!”

That’s definitely the last thing you need tonight, but there’s no way you can stop Sam. Steve joins your group in a couple of seconds, but for some reason, he looks… kinda miserable.

“You alright, man?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” He absently answers. “I’m fine. Feeling a bit under the weather.”

“Maybe that super serum is finally wearing off.” Sam jokes and it manages to make Steve smile for a second.

“How are you all?” Steve asks while looking at the whole group, but his eyes stay on you for a bit longer than the rest.

“Oh, we are fine. We were talking about the lack of Mr. Barnes’s dating life.”

God, he isn’t going to let that go, is he? 

“Speaking of dating…” Sam continues while taking his phone off. “I met this guy the other day and he’s perfect for you!” Is he talking to you? He shows you a photo of this blonde guy who honestly looks alright, but he’s practically a stranger. “He’s a good guy and he fits your type. I can give your his number if you want.”

“What the fuck, Sam?” Your response makes the rest laugh. “You are playing matchmaker now?”

“I mean… someone gotta do it and I was hoping you would find someone to return the favor for me.”

You look at Bucky just to see he’s kind of enjoying this while Steve looks thoughtful for some reason.

“That’s definitely not my type.”

“Really?” Sam side-eyes Steve for a second to see his reaction, but it’s like he already knew that. 

“And I am already seeing someone, so…”

“Wait a second!” Sam sounds surprised. “You are seeing someone? Since when?”

“Why are you so surprised? You thought I would inform you about my love life or something?” Bucky is laughing quietly on the side, and Sam looks a little uncomfortable.

“I don’t know. I thought you were single. You are already off the market, huh?”

Bucky subtly nods to his last comment but doesn’t say anything.

“Yeah, it seems so.” You put your drink on the nearest surface and stretch your neck a little. 

“Tired?” Bucky asks this time.

“Yes. I’m thinking about leaving. Maybe I should call an Uber or something.” You make a move to take your phone out.

“Actually… I was considering the same thing. I can drop you home, you can save up the money.”

“Really?” You didn’t expect him to offer to leave with you. Usually, one of you leaves first and the other follows, but maybe after tonight's events, he decided that there’s no reason to hide anymore. “Sure, that'd be great.”

You see Sam rolling his eyes. “There go hours of effort.”

“You wanted to leave before?” It’s obvious you are talking to Bucky.

“No, not really, but he assumes that and tries to talk me into staying every time.” You start to laugh. It’s not hard to imagine why Sam thinks he’d rather be somewhere else.

“Sorry, Sam, but we are old. Apparently we need more sleep.” You are mocking yourself and Bucky at the same time, wondering how he’ll react.

“He is old, but you… not so much.”

“My soul is old and that’s enough.” You raise both of your hands and wave a goodbye. “Anyways, time to go. Good to see both of you.” Your thumbs and index fingers move around like two guns pointed at Sam and Steve.

“Good night,” Bucky simply adds.

While you two quietly walk away, Sam is already suspecting something is up.

“Did I drink too much or is there something going on between them?” Sam asks when you are far enough not to hear it.

“They are together.” Steve tries to sound as casual as possible.

“Wait! Really?” He thought something was just blooming between you two, not a full on relationship. “How do you know?”

“I heard them.” Steve notices how it sounds and quickly adds: “Talking.”

“And you are okay with that?”

“Yeah, sure.” That doesn’t sound convincing at all. “It’s not my place to say anything. It was never that serious.” He isn’t sure if he’s trying to convince Sam or himself. “I mean… I think she’d want to get serious, but she talked about staying friends and I jumped on the opportunity and agreed because I didn’t want a relationship.”

Sam nods. “Well, good for them I guess. They seem like a good match.”

“They really do.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #celebrity!bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x oc #marvel x reader #sebastian stan #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky x reader #bucky x you #my stories

[thevillainswhore]

Perverse Desires

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 4k

Summary: Assigned an undercover mission, you’re partnered up with the bane of your existence, Bucky, to pay a visit to a s-ex club. What could go wrong?

Warnings: Smut (s-ex club, oral f receiving, f-ingering, nipple play, voyeruism, exhibitionism, degradation)

A/N: unbeta’d, dividers by saradika

Um, idk where this came from tbh, enjoy tho x

“Are you sure I’m the right person for this, Cap?”

The mission brief Steve handed over to you had stunned you in all honesty. You had been on numerous undercover missions for the team in the past, so there was no doubt in your mind or anyone else’s that you were capable for the job. It was your speciality - having a knack for being precise with discrete sufficiency and perfect timing to be able to get in and get out without making a fuss. But, this was totally new, even for you.

“Agent, I have no concern whether you’re fit for this job. I know it’s… different.” Steve clears his throat and you know this is as awkward for him as it is for you. “But, you were highly recommended and you have a- um, how d-do I say this? You, er-“

Tony interrupts Steve’s rambling from his seat in the corner of the office you were all situated in, decidingly having enough of watching his co-worker stumble from embarrassment.

“What Captain prude is trying to say, sweetheart, is that you have the right look for the job - great features, killer body - y’know? You’ll draw the target out no problem.” He finishes his explanation by throwing a wink paired with a smug smirk at Steve’s flushed cheeks.

“Yes. Thank you, Tony.” The grimace on Steve’s face has you desperate to laugh at his unease, but you manage to keep it in, eager to get out of this office soon as possible. “Your skills and experience are also compatible with the nature of this mission, Agent - it’s imperative we don’t mess this up.”

Skimming over the mission brief once more, you take in the role you have to play. An exclusive member of a popular underground sex club that’s been flagged up by Fury for suspicion of covering up a huge drug ring. Target ‘Antonio Maxwell’ - the leader the Avengers were looking to take down. While it wasn’t a world-ending level threat, the new drug allegedly supplied by Maxwell had already implemented significant damage and a high number of mysterious death cases to those in contact with him, concerning enough for higher ups to ask for help with this.

That’s where you came in.

You had enough background knowledge of ring leaders and crime bosses to call point on this - having worked undercover multiple times in this specific area over your years as an agent. Knowing how men like this worked and their strategies to cover their tracks was your forte. This would be a piece of cake for you. Yeah, the sex club element was a new challenge for you, but you were up for it.

“Okay boys. I’m in.”

Pleased hums and mumbled chatter from Steve and Tony as they finished up the paperwork with your agreement faded to the distance as you read till the bottom of the page of the brief - a new detail you must have missed before catching your eye and making you frown in confusion. Lifting your gaze to the men, you question the two of them one more time.

“Um- guys, it says here I’ll be working with a partner? Can I ask who it is?”

And just as Steve and Tony throw each other a worried look that has your eyes growing wide with realisation, you hear the door click open, a tall, beefy figure joining the room to announce his presence.

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

“Sorry I’m late Punk, what did’ya need?”

Bucky Barnes.

“Y’know you don’t have to look so happy to see me dollface, I know how much you love spending time with me.”

Hell didn’t have shit on this.

Barnes is the literal bane of your existence. Constantly a pain in your ass since he had nothing better to do with his days than annoy you. Avenger you may not be, but the amount of time you still have to spend around him is ridiculous. Training, gym, drills. He just seems to be in your presence 24/7 and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was doing it on purpose. His teasing and childish remarks at your capability to do your job always has you biting your tongue around him. Frustration leading you to walk away from what you were previously doing, or causing you to snap in anger and scream at him in front of the other recruits - smug smile plastered over the bastard’s face knowing he’d won, yet again.

Bucky was unbearable.

You are also possibly the only one in the entire Shield initiative, who hadn’t fallen for his charm or swooned over him - women and men actually falling over their feet just at the sight of him - never mind what they did to actually have a scrap of his attention.

Sickening.

And so you believe it’s because of this reason, Barnes has made it his business to make sure every day is torture for you. His fragile masculinity unable to comprehend that you’re just not into him. Not desperate enough to whittle your entire being to admiring him.

Even if he did have them ocean blue eyes you occasionally got lost in.

Where the hell did that come from?

“Just because we’re paired together Barnes, doesn’t mean we have to speak - let’s just get this mission done with and go back home. Sooner this is over the better.”

Bucky’s mock gasp at your scolding only boils your blood hotter.

“Okay, first of all, ouch, I thought we were friends, baby.” His low chuckle and his pet names have you fighting the war going on between your cunt and your head.

“And second of all, we kinda have to talk. It’s part of the mission - the whole sex crazed relationship we got going on to be exclusive members of the club, remember? Silly bunny, I know your head gets a little fuzzy sometimes, but catch up dollface, you’re slacking.”

Okay, that shouldn’t be making my panties wet.

Huffing a frustrated sigh and ignoring his efforts to rile you up, you snatch the mission brief out of the compartment of the car and place it over your legs to read it over one more time before reaching your destination. Not giving Bucky the satisfaction of seeing your thighs rub together to stop the ache in your pussy and the butterflies in your stomach.

“There’s a good girl.”

Fuck.

The tacky neon signs and the disco lights of the bar you arrive at almost give you a headache worse than Barnes did on a bad day - you know this is a front to their downstairs adult party.

Stepping out of the car in your knee high leather boots is a task, but you make it look effortless as you smoothly swing your legs round and stand up, shuffling your tight, mini black dress down to cover as much of your ass as possible. Your outfit had to match the vibe of the character you were playing and you didn’t sell her short.

Bucky, however, got the better end of the stick in his full black suit. Top three buttons of his shirt undone to reveal his broad chest with a smattering of hair.

Stupid fucking Barnes and his stupid, slutty chest.

Closing your eyes and inhaling a deep breath to calm your headspace for the mission, you fail to notice the silent ex-assassin creep up beside you and whisper in your ear, “Last minute nerves, dollface?”.

Your eyes open wide in shock at the feel of his breath against your neck, goosebumps running down your arms and you push down the urge to shiver. “Oh Jesus fucking Christ, do you mind? A bit of personal space would be nice please”, turning your head towards Bucky, you realise too late how close he is to you, noses almost bumping together as his intense gaze pins you to your spot.

“Can’t start getting all jumpy on me now, baby bunny. Thought you were good at your job.”

You can nearly feel the motion of his lips moving as he speaks. How easy it would be to just move that tiny bit closer to finally know if they’re as soft and plump as they look.

You’re better than this, he’s making you look weak - that’s his plan.

Your leather heels click as you walk away from him, tearing your body out of danger and berating yourself for acting just like those back at the compound, the lovesick recruits who put Bucky Barnes on a pedestal. You would not be like them. Not in a million years.

You don’t see Bucky cock his head as he watches your hips sway side to side, but you definitely hear his low whistle in reference to your ass - his grunt of laughter following soon after when you stick your middle finger up over your shoulder at him.

Security protocol of the club doesn’t take as long as you thought it would, the tech department handling your fake identity documents with the utmost care to ensure there would be no issues.

Now, you stood at the ominous red door at the end of the hallway, about to be let into the most prestigious sex club known. You couldn’t say you were totally ready, the natural fear of the unknown rattling your psyche. Yet, you didn’t let it show. Face stoic with a subtle sultry undertone to enhance your allure.

Bucky’s coded knocks on the door echoes through the hallway, his cold metal hand snaking over your waist and squeezing the meat of your hip. If the door hadn't opened as quick you would have stomped on his foot.

Would of served the fucker right.

And soon enough, with a private spoken password, only sent to the invited elite, you were in.

Holy. Fuck.

Had Bucky not kept his arm around your waist you would have fell flat on your ass.

Everywhere you looked had your heart beat erratically speeding up. Cocks. Tits. Pussys. All of it was on show without a care in the world. Threesomes, gangbangs, doms and subs. Any sexual position or kink your mind could conjure up was playing out in front of you - the glow of the red strobe lights highlighting the sweat, spit and cum covering numerous naked bodies.

The music blasting over the speakers had no chance of silencing the high pitched moans and needy whimpers of pleasure. Whips smacking against skin and leather cuffs clinking against railings - you didn’t know how to process your senses going haywire.

“What’s a matter, dollface? Don’t tell me you haven’t seen a cock before.”

You don’t think you could have suppressed the tingles shooting through your nerves at Bucky’s use of the word ‘cock’, the image already engraved in your mind of you squirming in his hold as he tells you his filthy thoughts.

Bitch, now is not the time.

Right, you had a mission to complete and you couldn’t fuck this up.

“Shut the fuck up Barnes. We didn’t come here to fuck around and argue, so you scour the left side of the room and I’ll take the right - if you see Maxwell then communicate through the coms.” Without listening to what would without a doubt be another jab at you from Bucky, you stepped away and left him alone, praying that a moment away from him would clear your head.

It had been at least an hour of searching, still no sign of Maxwell or at least any type of drug dealings you could snap a picture of for evidence. The ache ever present in your feet from the six inch leather boots. You had scoured the entirety of your side, ignoring the clapping of wet skin and grunts of feral men. You just needed a minute to rethink your strategy and come up with a new plan - something worthy enough to draw Maxwell out of his hiding spot for the night.

Stepping into the nearest open plan room, you lean against the wall and rub your temples in an attempt to get your brain flowing. Not noticing the growing crowd gathering to watch the spectacle on the sofa in the middle of the room. You really hadn’t paid attention to the man laying a woman down and spreading her legs for everyone to get a good view, too preoccupied with your own situation.

It only registered what was happening when you heard the first breathy whine of a woman, slowly lifting your head to witness a man licking her pussy in languid strokes, thumbs holding her folds open to suck her clit.

Shit, this is really happening.

It also occurred to you that the woman kind of looked like you - same hair colour and body type, enough to have you imagining it was you in her position.

You swallowed the growing knot in your throat, the arousal pooling in your lacy underwear creating a sticky mess. Chest heaving up and down as the scene before you had your breaths coming in heavier.

What the fuck am I doing?

You had never counted yourself as a voyeurist. You most definitely were not inexperienced and had experimented plenty in the bedroom with partners, but this was a total new sensation for you. Watching someone else bask in the pleasure their partner was bringing them, legs trembling uncontrollably. It was really doing it for you.

Without permission, you found yourself stepping closer, greedy to be just that tiny bit nearer to the main event. Your mouth stayed open as you placed your hands on both of your arms, licking your lips with raw need.

As you got a closer look at the man, you took in his mid length brunette hair, tied up in a bun at the back of his head. He had a broad stocky build, beefy and probably big enough to tower over you should he stand up. Wait…

He looks like Bucky.

You shifted on the balls of your feet at your new epiphany, shaking in anticipation on whether to stay and watch or leave.

Surely it couldn’t hurt to watch a little, right?

Bucky was growing fed up with the lack of leads on his hunt for information. No sightings of drugs and no clue where the leader of the drug ring was. He guesses you were still searching on your end too, a silent line on his com alerting him you’d found nothing as well.

He should probably go check to see how you’re doing.

While Bucky knows how irritated he makes you, it wasn’t his intention to make you dislike him, believe it or not. In fact, he had the biggest crush on you and just didn’t know how to deal with it. It’s true he really is used to most people gawking in lust over him and the endless invitations to go out for a drink. So when he first observed your blatant disregard for him, it sent him into a frenzy, powerless to his instant attraction for you. He was desperate to get a reaction out of you, even if it had you wanting to pummel him into the ground.

You’re cute when you’re angry, sue him.

And he’s not stupid enough to not comprehend the tension between you, you’re just unwilling to give in - don’t want the shame of contradicting yourself and falling for him like the rest of them.

Silly little bunny, you’d give in soon enough.

So imagine his surprise when he silently walks into the next room to find you there, hand trembling against your neck as you watch a man sloppily eat a woman’s pussy, teeth biting your lower lip to stop any noise from coming out of your mouth.

His naughty little minx, getting off by watching other people fuck. He was impressed.

Bucky wouldn’t have pegged you as a little voyeur. He can’t say he’s disappointed though.

It’s times like this where Bucky praises his super hearing from the serum, low chatter from the upper floor has him pulled out of his thoughts of you and sneaking a glance up to see a middle aged man leaning over the open plan railing and looking directly out at you. Maxwell.

Fuck, he was onto you.

Options speed through Bucky's head as he quickly concocts a plan to kill two birds with one stone. Throwing the target off your scent and getting to have some fun with you.

Time to play, babydoll.

Glued to the scene in front of you, your surroundings blur, mission forgotten as you focus on the sounds of the woman’s sloppy wet cunt, obscene squelching from the man’s thick fingers that fuck her pussy and her juices spraying out.

All the more reason for the loud gasp that escapes you as a cold hard hand wraps around your throat and drags you back into a firm chest, the whir of fingers squeezing the sides to slightly cut off your airway. Warm breath tickling the curve of your neck as electricity shoots through your body.

“Who’d have thought a stuck up little bitch like you enjoys something as dirty as this, huh?”

Shit.

“You’re a filthy fuckin’ slut, you know that baby? Y’know how disgusting you are getting off on this?” You can’t help crossing your legs to try and create some friction to ease the ache in your cunt and the needy whimpers that echo across the room even with Bucky's hand choking you - blending with the slick noise of the woman’s wet pussy on the sofa.

You weren't banking on your mission partner catching you in the devious act, anxiety bleeding over you as he finds out how shameless you are and how much you want him.

A large number of the growing crowd have turned to watch the display of you and Bucky. Humiliation washing over you from his degradation and how exposed you feel.

Bucky hadn’t felt this horny for as long as he could remember, his hard cock straining against his trousers over how much he’s enjoying turning you to putty in his hands for everyone to see.

You’re mine, little bunny. Even if everyone can see the dumb fucked out mess I’ve reduced you to.

“C’mon dollface, you’re normally so feisty, where’s them claws you like to scratch me with, kitten?”

His condescending words only cease to turn you into a bigger puddle, unable to get your words out without moaning or stuttering, “B-bucky, p-please.”

Even though Bucky wants to hold out longer, he can’t help but bring his other arm up from his firm hold on your waist up to your tits, toying with your peaked nippes over your dress.

Somehow, the little shit knew they were sensitive.

His grip on your throat moves up to hold your jaw, making sure you’re still watching the other couple play as he tweaks your nippes, rubbing his thumb over them and squeezing your tits. He fucking loved it. The broken moans you no longer care to keep down break free as drool drips down your chin.

You didn't think you could like being spoken to the way Bucky does, his harsh words but soothing tone has your head fuzzy and your mind empty, no coherent thoughts other than the man behind you.

Your ass rubs back onto Bucky’s crotch as you squirm in his hold, the throaty rumble he lets out only worsening the throb of your cunt.

“Y’know they kinda look like us don’t ya think, bunny baby? Is that what has you so fuckin’ gone, huh? You wanna know how good I’d eat your pretty little pussy?” He starts to grind his cock into the curve of your ass, the thin material of your dress leaving no guesses to how thick he really is.

It’s helpless as your head flops back onto Bucky's shoulder, boneless in his arms. You’ve forgotten about everyone else in the room with you, only enough room in your head to process who’s making you feel so good.

The tingling of your swollen clit has you wailing needy moans, the lack of stimulation edging you and forcing tears from your eyes.

“Oh dollface, you’re crying now? You need me to make all those tingles go away?”

You couldn’t nod your head fast enough, dragging his hand to place it over your soaked panties under your dress with pleas whispered against his neck. He’d punish you for that in normal circumstances, but right now he really wants to see you cum.

His warm fingers gently start rubbing your pulsing clit, the added friction of your lace underwear making your eyes roll to the back of your head and high pitched whimpers to fill the room. Gyrating your hips to follow his motion, you can feel the knot in your stomach getting tighter, so close to that release you’re internally begging for.

“You’re so fuckin’ desperate, bunny, my cocks rock fuckin’ solid for ya, bet you could take this fat cock in your tight little cunt.”

You can feel the brink of your orgasm on the precipice from his words, his Brooklyn accent spilling through as he continues to rub his huge cock against your back.

But it’s the switch from rubbing to repeatedly tapping your bundle of nerves as he licks the trail of sweat from your neck to groan in your ear that makes you finally let go.

“Now, fuckin’ cum for me before I leave your pathetic ass begging for me.”

Your legs give out as you suck lungfuls of air back in, eyes cross eyed as you see stars from how powerful your orgasm is. You don’t think you’ve ever cum that hard before in your life, and you’d crawl to Bucky on all fours to beg for it again.

Eventually, your high slowly descends and you come back down to earth, body limp but twitching with spasms. Should you even try to take a step forward you know you’d fall flat on your face, so you're grateful for Bucky keeping a tight embrace around you and cooing shushes into your ear as you muster a fucked out smile on your face.

You don’t care to see if anyone’s still around, if the couple that turned you on and got you into this state in the first place are still going at it.

Bucky, however, takes a peak back up to Maxwell, knowing he’d watched the whole show and his worries had been reassured by your brazen display that you weren’t suspicious. He catches the back of his coat, walking down the steps and into a back room.

The smirk grows back on his face as he takes one hand away from your body, your whine of displeasure all the more satisfying for what comes next, he won’t be able to see your face but that’s okay - he’s more than happy to feel your reaction instead.

Sucking his fingers from your juices that are still running down your leg, he presses the button on the com to send an update on status to backup and Steve.

“Target's position secured. Distraction followed through and on route to prepare for arrest, over.”

Your eyes rip open from your hazy daydream as you soak in Bucky’s update to the rest of the team. Blood running cold when it finally processes his motive for your little show.

“My my little bunny, I gotta say I’m impressed you folded so easily for lil’ old me.” Bucky’s murmur against your head vibrates through your entire being, but you can’t bring yourself to move an inch.

His chuckle has fury bubbling up to the surface, yet you’re speechless as he leaves a gentle kiss to your temple and departs with his final words.

“Didn’t know you were a squirter either, doll. I had fun, looking forward to the next time too. But let’s go catch Maxwell for now, yeah? I’ll even keep hush of your unprofessionalism on the job.”

You can only stare as he strolls towards the back room where you can only assume Maxwell is, whistling a tune to himself as he tucks his hands in his pockets, uncaring to the salacious acts of sex still occurring around you.

You’re so fucked.

A/N: I have to thank my angel baby @rookthorne for the inspiration in writing this after one of our little domme sessions 👀 loves you so much kotenok 💗 thank you for reading lovelies!!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky fic #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fic rec #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fic #james bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky smut #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #bucky fanfiction #sebastian stan characters #sebastian x reader #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan smut

[thornsnvultures]

making time

Bucky Barnes x plus size!fem!Reader

summary: Bucky takes advantage of a slow work day to bend you over your desk.

cw: 1.1k words, 18+, Bucky has a filthy mouth, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, (spoiler: twist ending 👀, dad!bucky)

a/n: written for @buckybarnesevents connect 4 june-iverse. the prompt I used for this one was my #3 "co-workers". I seem to have a problem with not not putting a twist on the prompt lol sorry 😅 moodboard by me, divider by @/saradika

The click of your office door locking behind you sends a thrill down your spine. There's not much time. Minutes is all Bucky has to show you how much he needs you.

It's not often the two of you get time alone. Always busy, always making sure the Boss is happy. Your workload is constantly overflowing. But right now it's just you and him and he's not wasting any time.

You moan Bucky's name into his ear when he lifts you up and knocks the papers on your desk to the floor.

"Hope those weren't important," he says as he trails hot wet kisses down the column of your neck. You know he doesn't give a damn about any papers when he's tugging your shirt up and over your breasts, only lifting his mouth from your supple skin for a moment to remove the offending article.

His hands cover your breasts, cupping and squeezing them through the lace of your bra, the one he knows you wore just for him, just to tease him.

"Fuck, you're so perfect."

Bucky tugs back the lace to swirl his tongue around the your nipple, the bud tightening from the cool air and his hot tongue on your skin.

"Please," you whine as he rocks his bulge against your core. He's got you pinned to your desk under his weight and you can barely move but your hips move in time with his thrusts, desperate for him to fill you. "Bucky, I need you. Hurry," you tug at his hair when he bites at your breast, gasping from the pain and feeling your panties growing stickier with your need at the same time.

"I know, sweetheart. I know," his hands run down your sides giving your tummy a squeeze before tugging the hem of your skirt up your soft thighs until it's bunched up around your waist. He doesn't bother taking your soaked panties off all the way, his movements too hurried to care if they make it to the floor.

You're looking up at him as he stares down at your pussy, creamy and pulsing, waiting for him to spread you open.

"Such a pretty pussy," Bucky slides two thick fingers through your folds, up and down, lightly nudging your clit until you're gasping and twitching. With your legs trapped and pushed up towards your shoulders, Bucky pounds his fingers in deep. The gooey sound of your pussy alone nearly pushes you over, but it's the way Bucky twists his fingers, curling them up against the roof of your cunt that sends you over the edge.

"That's it, sweetheart. Let go for me. Need you dripping so you can take this fat cock."

It takes everything in you not to scream when you release over Bucky's hand. You've surely made a mess of your desk below you, but all you care about is having him inside you.

"Now, Bucky, please," you sob. "I need it."

"Shh, I got it right here for you, baby."

Bucky pops open his pants, releasing his cock from its confines. His pumps the shaft once, twice, a bead of precum pooling at the tip before tapping it on your clit. You jump from the light touch and a moment later Bucky's lining himself up with your quivering hole, pressing the bulbous tip in slowly.

"Fuck, look at you, sucking me in so good. Such a hungry little pussy. You gonna take it all, sweetheart?"

You can't speak, just frantically nodding, mouth open wide as Bucky slides in, inch by inch. By the time he's bottomed out he's leaning over you, pressing your legs deeper into your chest so he can kiss you, his hips grinding into you, making himself at home in your cunt. Because it is his home. He belongs there.

"Fuck me, Bucky. Please," you use what little air you have left in you to beg him to move, clawing at his still clothed shoulders.

He gives you one last kiss on your forehead before absolutely pummeling you with his cock. Harsh slaps filling the room as he slams into you, pushing you up your desk with every thrust.

Bucky holds you down, keeping you still with one hand while the other works your clit until you're at the edge again.

"This creamy little pussy is all mine," he growls. You frantically nod your head as his thumb circles your clit. "Mine to use whenever I want. Yeah?"

"Yes! Yes, all yours," you gasp.

"Then come for me. Come on my cock, baby."

Bucky quickly covers your mouth before you let out the shout you can't hold back any longer and you scream into his palm. You can feel him deep in your guts, pulsing and grinding his own shuddering release deep in your core.

Bucky pants above you, sweat sliding down his temple. You keen as he eases out of you, his seed following not long after in thick globs that trickle out of you and land on your desk. Another thing to clean, but you can't find it in you to care.

Your legs are still spread wider open on your desk, you're too gelatinous to move at the moment. Bucky bites his lip, taking in the sight of you used and sated as he grabs some tissues from a box on your desk and cleans you up. Bucky tosses the soiled tissues and helps you shimmy your skirt back into place before giving your ass a firm tap.

"Better?," Bucky asks as you sit up, wrapping your arms and legs around him like a koala bear.

"Mm-hmm," you sigh into his kiss as he cradles your head in his hands. "Just what I needed."

"I know when my baby's stressed."

You smile at Bucky and lean in for another kiss when someone bangs on your office door.

"Mom! Are you in there? I can't find dad and I want a corndog!"

You collapse against Bucky's chest and groan.

"Next time we're getting a hotel room," you rub your face into Bucky's solid chest.

"Mom!"

"You heard the Boss, you're on corndog duty," Bucky chuckles pointing his thumb towards the door.

"I'm coming!," you shout, rolling your eyes at Bucky before hopping off your desk, your legs still buckling under you.

Bucky follows you out of the room. Your son is gone, likely waiting impatiently for you in the kitchen. Bucky walks behind you, his hands curving around your hips as you go.

"This weekend. We'll send him off to Rebecca's, get a hotel room. No. That bed and breakfast you like with the hot tub," he smirks as he whispers into your ear. "Sound good? A little vacation from all this hard work?"

"Sounds fantastic," you sigh as Bucky presses a kiss to your jaw.

"Good," Bucky gives your ass another playful smack and pushes you towards the kitchen. "Go. I'll clean up your office so you can get some actual work done."

"Thank you, Mr. Barnes. I sense a raise coming your way," you tease and wink at him as you walk down the hall.

#Connect4AU #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x plus size!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes headcanon #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fan fiction #dad!bucky #dilf!bucky #my fics #bucky barnes event

[imyourbratzdoll]

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

I’d like to thank @junipermuses - @royalsweetteaa - @st3rgirl - @foreverenchantingchrisevans for all of their help with creating my first kinktober and their putting up with me annoying them with it💗 and an extra thanks to @foreverenchantingchrisevans for making my kinktober sign💗

🌸𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐘 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓-𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑!🌸

🔞𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊/18+ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊. 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆! 𝐀𝐋𝐒𝐎 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐎𝐅 18 𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄!🔞

𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐈𝐙𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐋𝐋, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑.

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓.

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🌸𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 1🌸:

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3rd 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘 - 𝒾𝓃𝓃𝑜𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉

ft cop boyfriend steve rogers x girlfriend reader.

dry humping and praising

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5th 𝐖𝐄𝐃𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐃𝐀𝐘 - 𝒷𝑒𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒹 

ft jock jake wyler x naive reader.

glory hole and corruption/innocence

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7th 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐘 - 𝒻𝒶𝓌𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 

ft roommate colin shea x roommate reader.

voyeurism

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9th 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘 - 𝓈𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉 

ft sheriff lee bodecker x criminal reader.

face-fucking and cum eating

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🌷𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 2🌷:

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10th 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘 - 𝒹𝒶𝓏𝑒𝒹 

ft tutor jake jensen x student reader.

cream pie and breeding kink

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12th 𝐖𝐄𝐃𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐃𝐀𝐘 - 𝒹𝑒𝓁𝒾𝒸𝒶𝓉𝑒 

ft step-dad johnny storm x step-daughter reader.

exhibitionism

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14th 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐘 - 𝓂𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓌 

ft neighbour lloyd hansen x neighbour reader.

dubcon

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16th 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘 - 𝓈𝓅𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹 

ft boyfriend chris evans and his best friend sebastian stan x girlfriend reader.

sharing kink and cuckolding

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🍄𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 3🍄:

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17th 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘 - 𝓅𝑒𝓉𝒶𝓁 

ft camboy ransom drysdale x camgirl reader.

spanking and being recorded

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19th 𝐖𝐄𝐃𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐃𝐀𝐘 - 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓇𝑒 

ft best friend’s brother curtis everett x inexperienced reader.

somnophilia

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21st 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐘 - 𝓈𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 

ft coach lance tucker x assistant coach reader.

overstimulation and semi-public sex

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23rd 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘 - 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝒸𝒾𝑜𝓊𝓈 

ft doctor steve kemp x patient reader.

dacryphilia and knife kink

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💗𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 4💗:

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24th 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘 - 𝒷𝒶𝒷𝓎𝒹𝑜𝓁𝓁 

ft boss bucky barnes x co-worker reader.

fingerfucking

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26th 𝐖𝐄𝐃𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐃𝐀𝐘 - 𝓂𝑜𝑜𝓃𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 

ft caregiver frank adler x babysitter reader.

cockwarming

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28th 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐘 - 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂𝓎 

ft lawyer andy barber x naive reader.

daddy kink and thigh riding

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30th 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘 - 𝒻𝒶𝒾𝓇𝓎𝓉𝒶𝓁𝑒 

ft were-bear ari levinson x fairy reader.

monsterfucking, public sex and sex pollen

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31st 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐃𝐀𝐘 - 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓌𝒷𝑒𝓇𝓇𝓎 𝓀𝒾𝓈𝓈 

ft daddies ari levinson, nomad steve rogers, curtis everett. their best friends bucky barnes and andy barber and reader’s teacher jake jensen x little student reader.

group sex, begging, voyeurism, degradation, praising, daddy kink, sir kink, semi-public sex, fingerfucking, facefucking, overstimulation, spanking, sharing kink, cum eating, breeding kink, dirty talk, oral sex, nipple play, spit kink, hair pulling, squirting, deep throating, cock and ball worship, cuckolding, aftercare, being recorded and teasing

this fic is dedicated to @junipermuses without her, it wouldn’t exist💗

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31st 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 2 - 𝓁𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂

ft stepdad steve rogers, step-uncle bucky barnes, stepbrother jake jensen and his best friend johnny storm x naive reader.

voyeurism, degradation, praising, daddy kink, sharing kink, fingerfucking, facefucking, overstimulation, spanking, breeding kink, dirty talk, oral sex, hair pulling, deep throating, cock and ball worship, aftercare, exhibitionism and teasing

also this one @junipermuses 💗

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31st 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 3 - 𝒶𝓅𝒽𝓇𝑜𝒹𝒾𝓉𝑒

ft stepdad steve rogers, step-uncle bucky barnes, stepbrother jake jensen, his best friend johnny storm, neighbours ari levinson, andy barber and their brothers curtis everett and frank adler x naive reader.

voyeurism, degradation, praising, daddy kink, sharing kink, cuckolding, fingerfucking, group sex, facefucking, overstimulation, spanking, breeding kink, dirty talk, oral sex, hair pulling, deep throating, cock and ball worship, cum eating, aftercare, teasing, spit kink, semi-public sex, begging and exhibitionism

and this being part 2 of lavender dreams, dedicated to @junipermuses 💗

#kinktober 2022 #kinktober #imyourbratzdollasks #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #imyourbratzdollwork #imyourbratzdollmasterlist #imyourbratzdollkinktober #chris evans x female reader #sebastian stan masterlist #sebastian stan fluff #sebastian stan characters #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan #chris evans one shot #chris evans x you #chris evans imagines

[artficlly]

me & the devil (one-shot)

Wild West Marvel AU

outlaw!bucky x saloon girl!reader

The Diamondback Saloon and Hotel has always attracted bad men, and Bucky Barnes happens to be one of them.

Warnings: violence, death, wound descriptions, lots of blood and gore, mention of guns, swearing, sex worker reader, lots of talk of sex work, vague mentions of past non-con and abuse, lots of angst, sexual tension, breaking law, bank robbery, lmk if anything needs to be added.

Word Count: 11.2k (whoops)

A/N: hi! this is a pretty angsty/gorey fic I've been working on. i started this a month back while watching west world. i love westerns, rdr and all thinsg cowboy so this was so fun to write. i was thinking of maybe a part two just due to how long this got lol. sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist

It was still morning when trouble walked in. In the two months you had been working at The Diamondback Saloon and Hotel, it had taken you only days to figure out who was trouble and who wasn’t. There was an energy to them, something more clinging to their bodies than the grime and grit of the wilds. The saloon would fall into a hush, an unspoken knowing between all within. It wasn't just the guns on their person, but the way they held themselves. A swagger and a smirk, bruises on their knuckles, a twisted nose from a fight long forgotten An essence of something deeper, a whisper that hissed in warning. 

That intensity screamed danger, and all those inside knew to obey it or face its wrath. 

“Them boys look like trouble.” Charlotte hummed, echoing your thoughts entirely. The two of you stood leaning back against the bar, examining your new patrons. There were three of them, young and deadly. They had that energy and that intensity. With just a flick of your eyes, you could read it – fatality written into the dirt under their nails to the subtle splatter of blood along the cuff of a shirt. 

“Maybe that’s reason to steer clear for once.” You muttered back to the woman, your fan fluttering as you eyed her with a frown. “The last lot didn’t even pay you.”

Danger didn’t often walk into Silverton, but when it did, it always stopped by The Diamondback for one final drink and fuck before facing the open wilds. Danger had different faces; some returned, some didn’t. The three men who now took up a table in the back were certainly new to you. 

“The ride was payment enough.” Charlotte giggled as she batted her lashes. “Them boys always have a lot packing.”

You rolled your eyes with a huff. "Yeah, and half of em’ don’t even know how to use it.” 

“I’ll take my chances.” Charlotte announced with one of her coy smiles you had grown to know so well. She strutted off in the direction of the group of men, hand dragging across shoulders and cleavage pronounced in her posture. The men looked at her up and down like a meal – predators and prey. You often couldn’t tell the difference between the two – who was prey and who was predator. Considering how much coin Charlotte would often fish from her corset after a day’s work, maybe she was the predator. You had learned a lot from her in your short time at The Diamondback. 

After a moment of consideration, you turned to face the bar. The barkeep, Crowley, had his eyes fixed on the trio. With a tut, he returned to cleaning the glasses lined along the bar. You were barely able to hear his low voice over the piano. “I swear that girl ain’t got no fear.”

“I guess that’s what comes from workin’ in a job like this long enough.” You replied simply, abandoning your fan on the bar as you snatched up one of the clean glasses. 

“I swear I seen them boys' faces on a poster up north in Rustler’s Grove.” Crowley muttered, eyeing you disapprovingly as you slid the glass in his direction. “You drinkin’ this early already?”

“Be a gentleman, won’t you?” You replied with a beam, elbows propped onto the bar. “Whiskey. The stuff from the back, not that watered-down shit for the guests.” 

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” Crowley grumbled, abandoning his post to rummage around for your request. You took the brief moment to cast a glance back across the room. 

Charlotte was now perched on one of the men’s laps; he had a darker complexion, and curls of dark hair were escaping from under his hat. You noted how one of his hands gripped Charlotte’s upper thigh, squeezing the exposed flesh. Her hand explored his chest as he whispered in her ear. Across the table, his two companions seemed deep in a hushed conversation, completely oblivious to the table of men eyeing them suspiciously nearby. 

You ripped your eyes away, instead putting your focus on your hands, which you had clasped tightly together. You never wanted this life; you assumed no whore truly wanted this life. Instead, you all stumbled into it one way or another. A broken family, a dead husband, a lost soul – each of you had a story that led you down this path. All you could do was put on a smile and tell yourself that you liked it, pretending that you had some kind of freedom or power over your situation. 

Your eyes fluttered upwards, watching Crowley through your lashes as he returned and poured the liquor into the glass. “You’re thinking too much again; all you’re gonna end up in is a whole world of pain.”

You considered his words, turning them over in your mind before speaking. “That’s what the drinks for.” You hummed with a weak smile. “No thinking if the whiskey drowns it all out.”

Crowley offered you a hollow smile, more of a grimace, as his weathered skin pulled tightly at the corners. “Damn right.” 

You shot the whiskey back in one swallow, with a moment of silence following as you allowed yourself to feel the burn in your chest. It was a familiar sensation, one you had relied heavily on to get through the past two months. 

“Whiskey this early? A woman after my own heart.” A deep, husky voice spoke from beside you. Trouble. There he stood. It seemed one of the trio had escaped Charlotte’s clutches; if it had been to talk to you or simply drink at the bar, you could not know. You couldn't help but notice the intensity of his gaze as it bore into you. He was taller than the other two and broader, with large shoulders and a chest that seemed to fill out his shirt in all the right places.

Your eyes quickly swept back across the room, seeing Charlotte still occupied. A few of the other girls circled nearby like vultures, searching for the coin they knew was just under their nose. 

“Buy me another one, then we can talk.” You replied easily, plastering on a sickly-sweet smile. You wondered if he saw through it and whether he knew how much you hated yourself. You knew it was foolish to think so.

The man silently motioned two fingers at Crowley, and your glass was quickly refilled. You swirled the amber liquid, eyeing the man as he examined you in return. He seemed to live a rough lifestyle, with skin weathered from the sun, sand and dirt clinging to flesh and clothes alike. His knuckles were bruised and swollen, and there was a scar above his left eyebrow. Strings of brunet hair poked out from beneath his hat, paired with piercing blue eyes that seemed to penetrate your soul. The muscles in his chiseled jawline flexed as he swallowed back the liquor with a stoic look. Your tongue ran over your bottom lip as you watched his adam’s apple bob. He had a rough, handsome charm to him, despite everything telling you to run. It always seemed to be that way with troublemakers. 

“How’d a girl like you end up in a place like this?” He hummed, placing his glass back on the bar. You smile at him from behind your own glass, keeping eye contact as you finish the liquor with ease. Whiskey made you comfortable, and whiskey made you fun. Most of all, it made you forget. 

“How do you think most girls end up in this place, hm?” You reply boldly, watching as Charlotte ascends the stairs with her new client in tow. “Sad stories, bad stories. Every whore has a sob story; do ya really want to hear a sob story?”

“You’re new here; ‘least you weren’t around when I was last in these parts,” he chuckled in response. Another round of liquor was poured into your glass with a quick flick of the man's callused fingers. 

“New…” You hum, your fingers tracing along the sticky, dark wood of the bar. The man’s attention was fixed on your every movement. “How new do you consider... new?”  

“I was ‘round here about a year ago now.” His gravelly voice replied, and another shot of liquor was swallowed. Your eyes briefly danced back across the room, a table of patrons shouting over a game of poker stirring your attention. The man next to you didn’t even flinch as a glass was shattered and chairs screeched as they tumbled to the ground. 

“I guess I am new.” You finally spoke, sending another perfectly empty smile in his direction. He ran his tongue over his teeth with a chuckle. “What’s your name?” You ask.

“James. But most people just call me Bucky.”

“Bucky.” You hum in thought, drinking yet another shot of the amber liquor. 

“You wanna head upstairs, sweetheart?” He asks, watching as Crowley abandons his post behind the bar to clear out the poker table, the group having resorted to whipping out their guns. You ignore the chaos, shrugging with a simple smile.

“Sure thing, cowboy.” You say as you hook your arm around the back of the bar, stealing the bottle of whiskey while Crowley was distracted. Bucky followed your movements with a grin, following you up the stairs wordlessly. 

—

Finding an empty room was easy; most of the girls had unspokenly claimed a room they reused throughout the day. The rooms in the Diamondback were modest, as expected for a small town. A double bed with fresh sheets, a chair next to an unused fireplace, and a dresser near the door with a bowl and pitcher of water placed atop it. 

Your back was turned to Bucky, and you could hear the creak of the bed as he sat down. You dared to look up through your lashes, meeting his eye through the mirror that sat atop the dresser. Bottle of whiskey forgotten, you turn to face the rugged man. You can't help but feel a little weak in the knees under his intense gaze. A hand runs over his stubbled chin briefly before removing the worn leather hat from his head. His hair, a rich, dark brown, emerges from beneath, his hand running through the messy strands.

You step forward, carefully taking the hat from his large hands. The remnants of sand and dirt prickle your fingers as you brush the pads over the fabric. You had come to learn how much the men who frequented the Diamondback valued their hats; there was an unspoken lore or story attached to each one. With his hat delicately placed on the bedside table, you return to Bucky’s side. 

With the whiskey doing its work, you smooth your hands over the dark fabric of his shirt. Your hands looked so small, delicate, and clean next to him. You found him handsome; if you were younger, you probably would’ve been intrigued or charmed by his looks as well. You knew to avoid trouble like him, but under different circumstances, at a different time?

The thoughts bubble in your mind as you seat yourself close next to him, breath fanning across his skin as you lean in. Your movements are slow and deliberate. You test his response with a quick peck of your soft lips against his before quickly closing the distance. He was so rough in comparison to you; his body was sturdy as a rock. His lips were chapped from days spent in the sun, and his stubble was coarse against your smooth skin. 

His hands gripped your waist tightly, pulling you closer as you licked into his mouth. A breathless chuckle rumbled in his chest, his lips hungrily consuming yours. Your hands explored lower, feeling the defined muscles beneath the dark fabric. Your hands wrapped around his suspenders and guided them over his broad shoulders. 

Bucky pulled away, his mouth instead traveling towards your neck. You tilted your head, feeling his hot breath across your skin. Squirming in his hold, your eyes fluttered shut as his lips met your ear.

“As much as I appreciate it, sweetheart, I’m just lookin’ to chat.” He breathed. You were so concentrated on his hot breath and his squeezing hands that you could not understand what he had said. You opened your eyes, heavy lidded as you gazed at him in confusion. 

“To chat?” You question, your faces still pulled closely together. 

“Maybe I do wanna hear your sob story, darlin’.” He hummed through a smirk. You felt heat rise in your cheeks, embarrassment flooding your system as you realized he was laughing at you. With one strong push, you wrenched yourself from his grasp with a huff.

“Don’t waste my time.” You hiss at him with a scowl, shooting to your feet. 

“I’ll pay you for your time; don’t worry. I ain’t lookin’ to put you out of business.” Bucky defended himself, raising his hands in the air as if in surrender. You hesitate near the dresser.

“You want to pay to talk to me?” You question him, your skepticism clear in your tone. There were always men trying to get out of paying what they fucked; you’d seen all the different types of scams. Some would run, some would get violent, and some would promise to ‘save’ the girl from this place. You could imagine trouble like Bucky running that type of scheme, saying it was just a chat to get out of payment. 

“I ain’t got many other people to talk to; why not a pretty lady?” He hummed, leaning back onto his muscled arms to view you properly. 

“If you’re messin’ with me–” You began to grumble.

“I ain’t, darling. Just wanna talk.” 

You stared at him for a beat, weighing your choices. Go downstairs and let another grubby man get his hands on you, or stay up here and chat with a handsome troublemaker who may or may not pay you. With a sharp exhale, you retrieve the bottle of whiskey and take a swig from it. “Fine. Alright then.”

Bucky watched your actions with an amused expression, his body language cool and collected against your outward annoyance. He reached over to his leather coat, which he had abandoned next to him on the bed, retrieving a box of cigarettes and matches. 

“You have a real sad look to you.” He commented as he placed a cigarette between his lips. “Standing down by that bar like you don’t wanna be here, I bet it attracts a certain type.”

“What do you mean?” You question him as he strikes the match, taking a long drag once the cigarette is lit. 

“The type of men you attract,” he begins to explain. “Type’a of men who want a girl who don’t want it. Cruel bastards, you know.”

You pause at his words, recounting all of the men you had serviced. Charlotte usually attracted the young ones, the boys who wanted a story to brag about to their friends. The men you attracted were older and quiet. They came to you, drawn in by your melancholy. The whiskey burned your chest as you took yet another swig. Memories best left buried. “And are you a cruel man?” 

“No, well, some might say, but not in that way. I ain’t a mean bastard with a fantasy of being with a girl who don’t want it.” 

“What type of man are you?” Your voice is low, a sense of unease crawls under your skin at his words. 

“What do you think?” He asks, his body growing still. Predator and prey. A part of you enjoyed the thrill of watching him assess your every move. Another part of you was terrified, screaming that you knew trouble and should know better than to get tangled up in it. 

“A dangerous one. An outlaw.” When you say those things, you mentally brace yourself for him to take offense and respond badly. Instead, to your surprise, he chuckles, eyebrows raising in delight as if you had hit the bullseye. 

A gleam tugs at his lips, the chuckle catching in his chest as he takes another drag. “An outlaw, eh? What do you know about outlaws?”

“I know the type.”

“Hah. I suppose you do, workin’ in a place like this.” He comments, hands gesturing to the room around you, the cheap linen and scratched wooden floors. Somewhere down the hall, you could hear Charlotte putting on one of her shows, the paper-thin walls barely covering the moans. “Places like this breed evil; I suppose that’s why I frequent them so often.”

Your back met the dresser as Bucky stood, his frame towering above you even from a few steps away. It only took a couple strides for him to be in front of you, plucking the cigarette from his lips as he took the whiskey from your hand. Smoke engulfed your senses, and the sense of danger grew with his closeness. 

Whoring was a risky line of work; like he said, saloons often bred evil. You weren’t a stranger to a man who got too aggressive, leaving bruises and blood in his wake. Bucky didn’t seem angry; he seemed amused by you, if anything. But you had to remind yourself that he was an outlaw, and most outlaws weren’t strangers to bloodshed. 

“Are you… Are you gonna hurt me?” You asked, your voice weak as you pressed yourself harder into the dresser. He gave you a look and coughed a little, as if bothered by your assumption, as he downed the whiskey. 

“What? No. I just wanna talk. I might be a bad man, but I ain’t the type to hurt a defenseless girl.” 

You visibility deflated as he backed off a few paces, placing the whiskey next to his hat as he ran a hand through his hair with a tense expression. You exhaled a sharp breath, watching the conflict cross his face. Maybe he didn’t mean to scare you; maybe he just needed someone to talk to. You’d heard of big, bad men who couldn’t be vulnerable to anyone. They were so afraid of betrayal that they ended up isolated in a room full of people. 

You could imagine Bucky like that; you almost felt sorry for the handsome man. He just wanted to talk; that couldn’t hurt, right? Your skirts swept across the creaky wood floors as you strode beside him, seating yourself between him and the bottle of whiskey. His azure eyes assessed you with a look of mild surprise.

“What… What do you want to talk about?” You finally cut into the silence. 

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself? How you ended up in a place like this?” He questioned, taking a seat beside you. Your thighs bumped together through the fabric, yet you didn’t lean away. “I always see girls like you in these places – gentle women who fell off at some point. Most of the time, it ain’t even their fault. I guess that’s what happened to you, sweetheart.”

You contemplate his words, plucking the still-smoking cigarette from his lips. He doesn’t protest as you inhale the smoke, tilting your head in thought. “It ain’t a happy story.” You confess.

“Don’t need to be. Sometimes I just need a reminder that whatever god is watching over us is just as cruel as us men can be.” His arms brushed yours as he leant over, retrieving the whiskey from beside you. Careful not to exhale smoke directly in his face, you turn your head to watch out the window as you wonder where to start. The sky was so blue outside, just as blue as Bucky’s eyes. It was alluring in a deceptive way; the summer heat beat down on Silverton relentlessly. Sometimes you were glad to work inside instead of out in that brutality. 

“My momma died when I was young. Cholera.” You begin, “Broke my daddy’s heart. He was a doctor, good one before momma died. I guess not being able to save her broke him. He fell into drink, gamblin', and whorin’. Barely made his appointments, so I had to help him run the office, cleanin’ up and sometimes stitchin’ up the fools that came in when he was too drunk to do it himself. Eventually he couldn’t afford to feed me no more; he could barely care for himself, let alone a child.” You pause to extinguish the last of the cigarette on the bedside table, the scorch mark joining a collection of older ones. Ghosts and memories of the place you sat in.

“So, my daddy, he sent me away to live with my uncle and aunt. They had a homestead not too far from here; my uncle and cousin were ranchers and moved cattle mostly. I liked it out there in the open; I would go ridin’ and watch the sun rise and set. My aunt would worry I would get robbed or worse, ridin’ alone out there. I was still a girl, really. I didn’t care nor really know how evil this place could be.” Bucky hummed in acknowledgement as you spoke, fingers brushing off some ash that had fallen onto your skirt. 

“I would help out on the ranch too; I liked that work. It felt like real work. Good, rewarding work. I liked the animals, playing with the dogs and ridin’ the horses to move the cattle.” Your gaze pulled away from the window, instead turning your head to watch as Bucky took another long drink from the whiskey.

“Then, my uncle died. Gored by his own bull one morning, I tried to save him, but he lost too much blood. It was all so sudden, weren’t nothing we could do. My aunt, she couldn’t bear to live there no more, decided to sell the place. She said she couldn’t take me wherever she was going with my cousin. They were using the money to buy a new ranch back east and couldn’t afford to keep me on no more. She said to write to my daddy and continue working as his assistant until I found a man to marry.” 

“What happened to your pa?” Bucky asked, the liquid sloshing in the bottle as he swirled it in his hands. You took a moment to shamelessly stare at the way the veins bulge over the muscles and tendons. 

“Don’t know.” You finally admit with a sigh. “Never replied to my letter. Either didn’t want me back or is buried somewhere and no one thought to tell me. So I went to the nearest town to find a job; ain’t no one want to hire a woman ‘cept for in this place. I decided whorin’ was better than starvin’.”

“Real shame. I bet a sweet girl like you could’ve made it in one of those cities back east. Married some big shot, lived life comfortably in one of those fancy city manors.” Bucky hummed. You knew the type of places he was talking about – massive manors filled with staff and shiny, expensive things. Hell, you could imagine Bucky having robbed a place like that while the inhabitants were out at social evenings with the rest of the upper class. 

“Maybe. I don’t think I could ever live in a city.” You confess with a shrug. “I like the open air, the emptiness of it all. I don’t get to see it much in this place, but I remember what it was like when I used to go ridin’ all those years ago.”

Bucky’s eyes trailed across your face. “I understand what you mean. I don’t stay in places long, get cold feet. I live in the open; I like traveling without being stuck in one spot.” 

“How did you end up livin’ the way you do?” You ask hesitantly, watching his thoughtful expression flicker into a more somber one. 

“It ain’t much of a clear story like yours. Absent pa, my momma had it rough raising us kids by herself. I got caught up in bad business, thievin’, killin’ and such. Once I got into it, I didn’t know how to get out. I made friends with similar stories; we all wanted to stay doing what we do so we could look out for each other. All of us just wanna stay out in that open; just keep headin’ west, knowin’ we’ll be buried in a place civilization has yet to meet.” His words were brief, and it was obvious to you that he had more of a connection to the outlaws he surrounded himself with than he did with his own blood. 

“Don’t you ever want to settle down some day?” You ask.

“Nah. Once you got the west in your bones, you’re lost to that life.”

You consider his words in silence, drowning out the sounds of other girls working in the surrounding rooms. You understood what he meant; it felt like you hadn’t left those open plains since you first discovered them. You missed riding without a care, the wind tangling your hair as you navigated the emptiness of it all. 

“Well. When you’re out there ridin’ in the empty, you’ll think of me? Some sad saloon girl who just wanted to ride out in the open?” You ask, eyes dipping behind your lashes as Bucky flashes you a genuine smile. 

“‘Course, sweetheart.”

—

Bucky and his friends hung around longer than both you and the other girls expected. Men like them usually only hung around for a few days or less. From Crowley’s muttering, it seemed the law didn’t show interest in them. Either that or the boys were keeping their heads down. 

Most mornings Bucky would come visit you, his two friends switching between drinking and sampling the other girls. Bucky’s eyes never seemed to stray from you, always finding you at the bar with a ‘hey sweetheart’ muttered with the scent of whiskey and leather. You started to enjoy his company, the stories and thoughts the both of you shared. 

Every time he visited, he would pay, neatly stacking the coins on the dresser. He always gave double your rate, a rugged smirk and wink sent your way as he slipped out the door. You found yourself waiting and looking for him each day, lingering near the bar until he and his friends sauntered in. 

Today was no different than any of your other meetings. Half a bottle of whiskey down, the two of you were talking about thoughts and worries you’d never thought to voice. The summer heat was worse than usual, and the saloon was crowded with working men slick with sweat and tempers to match the scorch outside. 

You sat now perched on the windowsill; the window cracked open despite the lack of wind. With your skirts and petticoat bunched up to your thighs to fight the heat, you dangled your legs through the air nonchalantly. A cigarette hanging from your lips as you carelessly stared out at the stretch of blue skies beyond. Bucky had carefully placed his hat on the dresser; his coat peeled off as he watched you from across the room. 

“Do you know what time the law go on their lunch break?” Bucky asked into the silence. Often, when a lull presented itself, the outlaw would break the quiet by questioning you about your clients or the townspeople of Sliverton.

“One o’clock, sometimes two if they’re dealin’ with trouble.” You respond easily, exhaling smoke out the window. It took you a beat to think about his question, your eyebrows drawing together. “Why?” You question.

It was an obvious conclusion to be suspicious: why was an outlaw asking about the law’s schedule? You’d noticed how Bucky’s interest often peaked at the mention of the law, the bank tellers, and sometimes even the gunsmith. You had mentioned how the manager of the bank was a cruel man, often leaving the girls with bruises. The group of you would draw lots when he came in, that or hope he would get too drunk to perform. 

As for the law, they often mixed business with pleasure. During their lunch break, they would often call down the girls to the sheriff’s office to work while they drank over a game of poker. You had been invited a couple times and mentioned it to Bucky off-hand a few days ago. 

“I heard some rumors about a bounty in this area, wanted to stop by when they weren’t… busy.” Bucky replied, a small amount of guilt growing in your chest at your unspoken accusation. The two of you had been open with each other these past weeks. 

“A bounty?” You question. “What are you doing gettin’ involved in that business?” You look over at him. The outlaw chuckles under his breath, his callused hand sweeping through his hair as he leans back further in his seat. 

“Takes an outlaw to catch an outlaw sometimes, sweetheart.” 

You chew on his words for a moment, shrugging with acceptance after not much thought. You could see what he meant; only outlaws were generally cocky enough to risk their lives for coin. That, and they would probably know where another might hide, having lived in their shoes. 

“You do that work often?” 

“Sometimes,” he hums in reply. “Only when we’re tight for coin.”

You swing your feet down to the wooden floors, your bare skin sticky against the warm wood. Once more, heat envelops your figure as your skirts descend to your shins. Bucky watches with interest as you put out your cigarette, stalking towards where he sits. 

“If you’re short, why are you out here spendin’ double on me?” You ask softly, pausing in front of him. His eyes dart upwards, examining your face with a gentle look.

“Sometimes you gotta make sacrifices for a pretty lady.”

You feel your cheeks flush at his words. Normally compliments made your skin crawl and your mouth turn sour, but Bucky had grown on you. Your hand moves towards him before you can think, resting gently on his shoulder. 

“I might regret sayin’ this but… I ain’t worried about the money. I do like our chats for other reasons than the coin.” You stumble over your words, a smug smirk growing on Bucky’s face. 

“Now, sweetheart, I don’t wanna be putin’ ya out of business talking to a fool like me–” Bucky doesn’t get to finish his words, much to your disappointment. Instead, you jerk back in surprise as the door is thrown open. 

In the doorway stands one of Bucky’s friends; you recognized him from his time in the saloon. His face was pink from the heat, and messy blond hair poked out from under his hat. A boyish grin spread across his cracked lips. You noted how large his stature was, nearly taking up the entire door frame. His chest must have been muscled beneath his dirt-stained shirt, his forearms bulging where the fabric had been pulled back to his elbows to combat the heat. 

“I see why you spend so much time here, Buck. She’s a pretty little thing, ain’t she?” Steve comments. You swallow thickly, glancing at Bucky, who sighs through his nose in annoyance. Any tenderness has left his expression, replaced with cold annoyance. 

“This is Steve.” The outlaw explains to you, getting to his feet. “What is it?” 

You recognized that name; Bucky had mentioned Steve over the past weeks. Steve had been one of his childhood friends who had followed him down the path of an outlaw. Bucky had told you how the two would pickpocket so they would have enough to eat. They had robbed and shot their way west; they fucked their way too, apparently. Bucky had mentioned how the two of them enjoyed their ladies, sometimes taking them at the same time in the same room. 

You couldn’t help but let your mind linger on that thought as you studied the blond man. His eyes were looking you up and down eagerly, lingering on your pronounced breasts due to your corset.

“Sam… er, Sam needs to talk.” Steve finally responds, hesitant and careful with his words, as if he didn’t want you to know the true meaning behind his interruption. As you look back over at Bucky, who has crossed over to the dresser, he nods at Steve in silent understanding. 

You bite your tongue as the two outlaws share an unspoken conversation, Bucky returning his precious hat to his head. As usual, you watch as he stacks double your rate on the end of the dresser, a secret, cocky smirk sent in your direction as he slips into the hallway.

“Why is he payin’ you that much? You got gold between your legs or somethin’?” Steve questions, having glanced at the pile left behind. You simply huff at him, slamming the door shut in his face. Through the door, you can hear him bellow out a laugh. 

—

It was a lazy Thursday afternoon when the first shots were heard. Silverton was not unfamiliar with a bit of violence; the occasional exchange of bullets was easy to grow accustomed to. That Thursday was no different, you’d thought, that was until the bullets grew more frequent. Shots rang through the town, sending people scattering into nearby buildings or braving the streets with revolvers in hand. 

That increase in sound blasting through the swelteringly hot afternoon was what made you pause. You were upstairs fixing your updo after a client. Placing the last pin between your strands, you moved to walk cautiously into the hallway. Glancing over the staircase railing, you look into the main bar area. Silence had fallen over the saloon, with chairs and tables empty as if the last patrons had fled. 

Your eyes land on Charlotte, who stood next to the bar, exchanging a worried conversation with Crowley. Quickly, you glance back down the hallway, noting the girls and guests who peeked their heads from their rooms in similar morbid curiosity. 

It felt wrong to linger upstairs listening to the massacre below; instead, you found yourself opting to join Charlotte and Crowley. As you descend the stairs, carefully lifting your skirts so as not to trip on them, Charlotte peaks up at you. 

“Somebody’s robbin’ the bank.” She quickly explains, catching your nervous expression. A bit of relief floods your veins. As loud and violent as that could be, the robbers weren’t likely to hang around for a drink. 

“Sounds like a slaughter out there.” You grumble in reply, finding your usual spot by the bar. Crowley looked mostly unphased, shining his glasses with a faint shake of his head. “You think they’re gonna get away with it?”

“Old man Billy ran by and said they ambushed the sheriff's office before they headed to the bank.” Crowley cuts in, placing the now-clean glass down. “Guessin’ there's still a few of them alive if they’re still shootin’. Pretty smart of them robbers to get them while they were on lunch break.”

A pit of dread grows in your stomach, your eyes glancing to the clock above the bar. Quarter past one. 

“Were any of our girls down that way?” Charlotte asks with worry, but your focus was instead turned to the dusty road outside. You hoped, if not prayed, that if you caught a glimpse of those robbers, it would not be Bucky and his friends. You couldn’t help but feel a crawling guilt, the possibility that maybe you had been duped into giving an outlaw information. You could not handle the deaths of so many on your shoulders. You knew if your careless words had caused it, it would be squarely your fault. 

“No, thank God. Law sent word they didn’t want girls today. Maybe they knew somethin’ was up.” Crowley replies, but you are hardly present in the conversation, instead shifting closer towards the window. You knew it was dangerous, but the pit of worry and guilt was growing in your stomach; you just needed confirmation.

Charlotte let out a sudden and piercing scream as one of the saloon’s windows shattered, a stray bullet richoeing and landing in one of the tables with a thud. “Get away from the windows!” she shrieks at you. 

Only as your brain recognizes the danger do you move away, rigidly walking to Charlotte’s side once more. The woman grabs at your arm, beginning to tug you behind the bar as you cast one last glance out the windows. 

Nausea crawls in your stomach, and bile rises in your throat as Charlotte tugs you to the floor behind the bar. Amongst the gunshots and dead bodies, you saw the group of masked figures emerge from the bank onto the streets. Just a brief moment, a glance, and your world was left spiraling as your breathing grew faster and ragged. Any other person may have looked at those figures and been oblivious, but you had spent weeks tucked away in the upstairs room with Bucky. You could recognize him even with a mask on, with his muscled form and leather hat. Bucky was out there, standing over dead bodies with a shotgun in hand. And it was all your fault. 

Conversations long past swirl in your mind; how many times had Bucky shifted the topic to be about the law, the bank tellers, or the townsfolk of Silverton? How many times had he tricked you into revealing information that wasn’t supposed to go beyond your ears? So many times clients had confided in you, and you had just passed on the information like it were some inside joke between the two of you. 

Charlotte flinched and trembled beside you as the gunshots and shouting grew louder. You could only stare at the clock above and spiral. Crowley remained in place, cleaning glasses with a cold expression as if he alone could ward off any evil. 

Outside, the voices grew louder and angrier. 

“Well, it ain’t me who shot the doctor!”

“He can’t ride like this!”

“You better be fuckin’ right about this Barnes or we’re all dead!” 

Charlotte's hands dug into your arms, pulling you closer as the wooden planks of the boardwalk outside grew alive with the sound of stomping boots. Crowley’s glass cleaning paused as the saloon doors were slammed open in a hurry. Crowley’s mouth opened, meaning to speak to the men who had just stormed in. No words came out; instead, the spray of blood, chunks of flesh, and skull decorated the surrounding area as a bullet was fired directly into his skull.

Beside you, Charlotte shrieks once more as Crowley's body slumped to the floor with a hollow thud. You clamp your hand over her mouth, shushing her as you pull her closer. Your body is trembling, and bile is still stuck in your throat. You try not to focus on the way that Crowley’s brain matter had sprayed across your skin, dewy drops of crimson like a mist. You could feel the moisture, smell and taste the copper in the air. All you could do was try to keep as quiet as possible as the armed outlaws prowled only feet away. 

The next thing to catch your attention is the sound of groaning and hissing, the unmistakable sound of someone in pain. Chairs and tables screech as if they are being pulled together while bullets still rain outside. You try to blindly piece the scene together in your mind, trying to understand why the outlaws had gathered here with lawmen so closely on their tail.

“They can’t hold them off for long out there. One of the law got away; we reckon he’s headed up Deadwood way to get back up.” A woman's voice shouts over the chaos. 

“Where’s your girl then, Barnes? Better be worth it.” A male voice snaps. Through Charlotte's panting and the gunshots, you can hear the thunder of boots storming up the stairs. 

“Someone get me some fuckin’ whiskey.” The injured man speaks through gritted teeth. Your heart beats wildly in your chest, hoping whoever goes to retrieve the liquor doesn’t spot both you and Charlotte quivering in the corner. You press your back harder against the bar, pulling Charlotte closer into your side as she lays her head across your chest while silent sobs shake her body. 

“Barnes! Hurry up!” The woman shouts up the stairs in annoyance, only to be met with no reply. The gunshots outside began to slow, the law seemed to be losing this shootout. 

Heavy boots fall closer, a large figure rounds the corner of the bar. To your horror, he spots the two of you immediately, and even worse, it’s Steve. You recognize him quickly, with his sunburnt cheeks and blond hair and a mask still tied around his neck. His expression was one of relief but also of worry. When you last saw him, he was all smirks and flirting. You imagined it was probably a sight to see both you and Charlotte trembling behind the bar, covered in the contents of Crowley’s skull. 

“She’s here, Buck.” Steve called out, your blood turning to ice. 

A few days ago, you wouldn’t have been afraid of Steve or Bucky. Foolish, you now realize. It was foolish to get so close to danger and not feel her power. You didn’t know what these outlaws wanted from you, but you weren’t going to give it easily.

Steve stepped over Crowley’s body, and you shake your head. Beside you, Charlotte began to sob loudly, her nails digging into your skin. Between her panicked breathing, you could’ve sworn she was chanting, ‘Please God, I don’t want to die.’ under her breath. The woman you had once known was gone, in complete submission to fear. No more coy smiles and soft touches; no more fearlessness in the face of dangerous men. Charlotte was terrified, and so were you. 

“Don’t touch me.” You warn Steve, but he ignores your request. His large hands wrap around Charlotte’s waist, tugging her away. She let out a terrified scream, grabbing and scratching at your arms in an attempt to hold on. Steve’s arms proved stronger, finally wrenching Charlotte away and ushering her away. 

Steve’s attention now turned to you, a gruff sigh leaving his nose as he noticed your defiant look. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, pretty girl.” 

You shove his hands away, the two of you briefly struggling before Steve finally finds a grip around your waist and hoists you to your feet. 

“I said don’t fuckin’ touch me!” You shout at the blond, shoving and hitting at his chest. He grumbles in annoyance, trying to grasp your arms to stop the movement. Behind you, Charlotte is making a noise somewhere behind a sob and a scream as one of the unfamiliar men drags her out from behind the bar. 

You back away further from Steve, still shoving and pushing him away. Only when your back meets something warm and solid does he stop his advance. Spinning around, you stand face-to-face with Bucky. His scent is the same: leather, but this time with a dash of gunpowder. Small blood splatters decorate his skin and clothing. As he grasps your wrists to stop your struggle, you unconsciously note how his knuckles are bruised and split. 

“No...” is all you manage to utter, Bucky tilting his head with a frown as tears begin to streak down your face. You had been foolish enough to trust him and his rugged, handsome looks. You had blindly answered his questions without a care for the consequences because he had been kind and mysterious. He had told you himself he was an outlaw, a bad man. Now how many lives weighed on you too? Even Crowley’s blood was on your hands, literally and metaphorically. 

Bucky’s hand reached up tenderly to wipe the tears from your cheek, his frown only deepening as you flinched away from his touch. 

“As touchin’ as this is, we don’t have the time for this, Barnes.” The woman’s voice from earlier spoke up. Now that you are standing, you could look over to see her. She had a wicked look, messy red hair, and a cut across her cheek. A rifle slung across her shoulder, a revolver, and a knife at her hip. She assessed you with a look of annoyance, a scowl painted across her sharp lips. 

With an annoyed grunt, Bucky obliged the woman’s request. His hand wrapped around your wrist as he tugged you back onto the main floor. You tried to ignore the hole in Crowley’s face as you were forced to step over his body, your shoes slipping in the pool of slick blood gathering on the wood floors. 

“What do you want? You comin’ in here to kill us all too?” You ask, your voice raspy from the tears. Charlotte lingered near the staircase, still sobbing, as a younger man growled in annoyance at the sound. 

“You think I’m here to kill you after everythin’, sweetheart? No. I need your help with somethin’.” Bucky questions, sounding a bit dismayed at your sudden fear. You swallow hard, trying to contain the tears that continue to freely stream down your face. 

“Crowley is dead.”

“Yeah, well, that was unfortunate.” He grumbles, displeased. 

“You’re a bastard, you know that?” You snap at him.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I need ya to stitch up my friend here.” Bucky shrugs off your insult, instead tilting his head in the direction of a bloody sight. Your body shakes with each step, and you feel as if you are only held upright by Bucky’s firm grip, guiding you to a set of tables that have been pulled together. On top lies a man, older and with greasy black hair. Blood stains his shirt, and there is an obvious bullet wound in his lower abdomen. Sweat beads line his brow, his eyebrows drawn together as he battles the pain. You stare at him speechless, watching as Steve returns from behind the bar with a bottle of whiskey. 

“Here ya are, Stark.” The blond mutters, shaking his head, as the injured man eagerly chugs the liquor down. For the pain, you think. He’s drinking it for the pain. You try to attach yourself to thoughts and knowledge you recognize, distracting the noise in your brain in the hopes that your hands and legs will stop trembling. You can barely think, and Bucky wants you to stitch him up?

Charlotte’s wailing doesn’t help your case, nor does it seem to quell the tempers rising in the room. Stark speaks up between gulps of whiskey. “Someone, for the love of God, stop her wailing or shoot the damn woman!” 

The younger, twitchy man makes a loud noise of agreement, revolver in hand, as he points it directly at Charlotte’s forehead. Charlotte’s sobbing becomes uncontrollable, curling in on herself as she wraps her arms around her middle in defense. Your breath comes short, and your shaking hands grip Bucky’s bicep for comfort as you watch in horror.

“Her daddy was shot–” You suddenly blurt out, capturing the attention of the younger man. “He was shot in front of her; this type’a stuff upsets her. You understand?” Your tone was desperate, near begging. You don’t know why you said it, but you hoped maybe the man would have sympathy for her. Charlotte had confided in you about nightmares once; you didn’t know who else knew about the darkness in her life. The young man stares at you for a moment, his hand running over the non-existent stubble with an irritated sigh. 

“You women are so fragile.” He mutters, raising the gun and striking the metal across Charlotte’s face. You gasp involuntarily, ducking your head so your cheek is pressed against Bucky’s chest. Charlotte’s wailing finally comes to a stop; instead, she only sniffles quietly as she holds a hand to her face in shock. 

“Leave it, Parker.” Steve growls, prowling across the room, placing himself between Parker and Charlotte. Parker throws his hands up in surrender, instead stalking across the room to where some of the other nameless outlaws had gathered to keep watch. 

Stark growls in annoyance from the tables once more, the mixture of pain and whiskey elevating his rage. “Trust pretty boy Rogers to be a fuckin’ gentleman. I’ll shoot the bitch myself even with this bullet in me.”

“Barnes.” The red-headed woman warns, sensing the rising tension and passing time.

“What do you need to stitch him up?” Bucky pressed with questions more urgently; it was clear time was running out and stalling would end in bloodshed. 

“I can’t–” You mutter over your panicked breathing. 

“Your pa was a doctor.” Bucky interrupts. “You told me yourself that you used to stitch fools up when he was too drunk to do it himself.”

“It’s been years–”

“What do you need?” Bucky’s voice was more firm, demanding even. You note how the other outlaws lingered nearby, twitchy and ready to pull the trigger at any moment. If you continued to stall, you would surely die. So would Charlotte. You would just have to stitch Stark up as quickly as possible, and then danger would finally leave your home. 

“Clean water, cloth, and a sewing kit too.” You gasp out. “They’re upstairs in my room; the sewing kit is in the dresser.”

“Good girl.” Mumbles to you lowly, your stomach twisting as the gravelly sound. Bucky’s gaze raises to meet Steve, who quickly bounds up the stairs to retrieve the objects. 

“Must be the end of times if we’re trustin’ a whore to stitch me up.” Stark grumbles from below, you sigh heavily through your nose, trying to calm your shaking hands. Beside you, Bucky tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, as if trying to comfort you. Somehow, it gives you the courage to breathe again.

“You’re gonna want to lay off that whiskey.” You instruct Stark with a small sniff, fishing the bottle from his grip and wiping your tear-stained face. “You don’t wanna be chuckin’ that back up with a bullet in your gut, trust me.” 

Stark barks out a pained, drunken laugh in response. “Alright, little lady.” His eyes swept over to Bucky. “She always this commandin’? This why you like her in bed, Barnes?” 

Bucky lets out a sound resembling a snarl, but Steve's arrival bearing the requested items muffles any retaliation. You willed your hands to stay steady as you approached Stark, who was still writhing in pain on the table. Your father had called it ‘the calm’ or even ‘God's will’ when a doctor could quieten his worries to have a steady hand while stitching. You’d never believed in his spoutings until that moment, burying the anxiety of the situation as you instead focused your attention on the injury before you. 

With the bloodied shirt pulled up, you turned him slightly to inspect his back. No exit wound. A sharp sigh left your nose as you realized you’d have to dig around and find the bullet yourself and pray it hadn’t burst into more than one piece. Wetting some of the clean cloth, you use it to wipe away the blood from the skin, giving yourself a better view of the entry. Stark tenses and squirms involuntarily beneath your touch, hissing through clenched teeth. 

Your eyes flicker upward toward Bucky and Steve, catching their attention. “I need help holdin’ him down; he’s not gonna stay still even if he wants to.”

Stark seems irritated by your assumptions but keeps his mouth shut. The men are quick to assist you, with two men holding down his legs while Bucky and Steve take his arms and chest. You keep your eyes downcast as you easily unlatch Stark’s belt. 

“Bite.” You guide the injured man, placing the leather belt between his teeth. You’d heard stories of men biting through their own tongues, even shattering their teeth in the height of pain. Best not to take the risk. 

You take the bottle of whiskey, splashing the liquor over your hands before pausing before the wound. You glance over at Stark’s face; there is a look of determination in his eye as he nods for you to proceed. 

Stark’s body reacts instantly to the liquor, jerking against the hands that held him in place. His groans and screams are muffled through the belt as he bites down, his face growing red. Your hands are steady, and your fingers are nimble and quick as you blindly dig through the wound. Muscle constricts around your fingers, hot and sticky against your skin. 

Your heartbeat is in your ears as you search, drowning out the muffled screaming and the puffing of the men as they use all their might to restrain Stark’s squirming and jolts. Your fingers dig deeper, and a small worry grows in your gut that maybe you might not be able to locate the bullet. Blood spills from the wound, slippery copper sliding down his side and splashing onto the tables below. Your heart is in your mouth, the screams growing worse–

Your finger brushes something solid and hard; the object is slippery and small in comparison to the muscle and organ. It takes a few tries to grasp it between your fingers, with the sleek metal proving difficult to grip. 

A sharp sigh of relief leaves your body as you successfully fish it from the wound, the metal clattering to the table. Thankfully, you note that the bullet is also whole. Blood paints your skin; all you can do is wash it away with the water while Stark pants in relief. 

“How much longer?” The redhead woman asks; she has moved to linger near the doors. Outside, a few men hover with guns, as if expecting more law to turn up at any moment. 

“It is small; it won’t take long to stitch.” You explain, your hands remaining steady as you begin to thread one of the larger needles. 

The woman nods. “Make it quick.”

You follow her demands, quickly dousing the wound once more with whiskey. Stark groans, his head lulling from the mixture of drunkenness and exhaustion. If he were one of your father’s patients, maybe you would’ve comforted him and told him it was nearly over. But you were reminded of Charlotte still sniveling by the stairs, Crowley’s head blown open, and his body still slumped behind the bar. 

Empathy evades you as you dig the needle into his flesh, your mouth set into a line as you easily pull the skin together with each stitch. Stark continues to jerk and shake, his body still held steady by the outlaws who watch your movements with interest. 

Within minutes, you have tied off the thread, successfully putting Stark back together again. The outlaws seem silently relieved, if not surprised, by your efficiency as you wrap one of the clean strips of cloth around his middle like a bandage. 

“He will be able to ride?” Bucky asks as you turn back to the bowl of water, cleaning your bloodied hands. 

“The stitches will hold as long as you don’t ride too hard.” You respond, not quite meeting his eye. “If the wound keeps bleedin’ or starts festerin’ don’t give him whiskey. You can find yarrow and greasewood herbs out in the wild; they’ll help him best.”

The redhead woman makes a sound at your words, swinging around to face you. “What does a whore know about herbs? Your doctor daddy taught you that, or ya tryna poison us?”  

You pause your movements, biting your tongue at her harsh tone. “I read it in a book.” You admit sheepishly. 

The room is silent before Stark surprisingly roars with laughter, clutching his wound as he wheezes with pain at the sudden movement. “A whore that can read? Now that is a treat. What’s next? You can do arithmetic?” 

You ignore his quip, instead drying your hands on the remaining cloth. Your father had made sure you could read, though that was before he spiraled into an early grave. Your cousin had helped you as well, the older boy providing you with stories and adventures to consume. You missed the simplicity of those days, riding the horse and moving the cattle without a care for the real world. 

You were pulled away from your thoughts as Bucky gently touched your arm, seemingly having forgotten your new-found distaste for him. You flinch away from his touch like a skittish animal, sidestepping as you quickly depart his side in favor of Charlotte’s. The woman was still crouched near the staircase, shivering, with a large bruise developing across her cheek and her lip split and bloody. 

You can feel Steve hovering nearby, his expression cold as he watched you usher Charlotte to her feet. You knew his irritation wasn’t with you or Charlotte but rather with Parker, who had struck the woman. 

“Is she going to be–” Steve begins to question as you guide Charlotte up the first few steps. You look back, scowling over your shoulder at the outlaw. 

“Don’t.” You hiss at him, watching as he nods in meek surrender. 

Charlotte is slow to walk; her footsteps are clumsy as she shivers and whimpers in your arms. The redhead woman watches the both of you with an expression of distaste. Below the men gather their wits and guns, Stark teeters in place as he gets to his feet with a cocky expression. His gaze follows the woman's, dark eyes landing on the both of you, lingering a few steps up. 

“Hold on there, little lady!” Stark booms up, his words still slightly slurred from the liquor and exhaustion. Charlotte freezes in place, hands clasped rigidly on your arms. You glance back at Stark, hoping he means to just announce their departure instead of demanding your skills once more. 

“There ain't no doctors out in the wild; what am I supposed to do if this wound splits open? Get one of these fools to stitch it up?” He asks, his mouth curled into a cruel smile. The outlaws shift their weight, as if they are also unsure as to where this is going. 

“Find another town to terrorize?” You suggest tugging Charlotte so she is positioned behind you, hidden from their view. 

“Nah…” Stark drawls, staggering a few steps, a revolver swinging on his finger. “I think… it would be easier if you just came along with us.” 

“What?” Bucky and the redhead woman bark in unison before you can react. Your grip on Charlotte tightens, blocking out the bickering between the outlaws below as you tilt your head to whisper to her. 

“Run.” You mutter, dragging Charlotte up the stairs behind you. You had no plan other than to escape. There was no point in fighting out the front door, instead you would have to risk climbing out one of the upstairs windows–

A shot rings out behind you, and Charlotte's body suddenly becomes a dead weight. You can feel the spray of moisture across the back of your neck, but don’t dare turn to see the sight. 

“Did you really need to do that?” Steve shouts from somewhere below, the sound of unfamiliar, wicked laughter carrying up the stairs. Your heartbeat is so loud you can’t hear anything else, only the distorted voices of the outlaws below. Your mouth tastes like blood as you top the stairs, gripping the railing as you turn to race down the hallway.

A pair of hands grasp around your middle, tugging you backward. A scream, louder and more violent than any of Charlotte's, leaves your throat as you thrash in the grip, scratching and kicking as the chuckling man carries you down the stairs. 

“You sure you want her, Stark? She seems like a handful.” The unfamiliar outlaw carrying you asks. 

“Don’t look so pressed, Barnes. My aim’s good enough not to shoot your girl. You got a real thing for her, haven’t ya?” Parker remarks with a grin. 

Sobs escape you as you struggle in the crushing grip of the outlaw, any sense of your father’s mythical ‘calm’ or ‘Gods will’ leaving your body. Animal instinct takes over; Charlotte was dead. Crowley was dead. In a blind panic, you bite down on the arm of your captor, the man yelping in pain and dropping you instantly. 

Your knees bite with pain as you slam into the hard, wooden floors. After stumbling to your feet, you turn to resume your escape. Your attempt is short-lived, as you are stopped by a familiar body. Leather and gunpowder. You bury your head into his chest, exhaustion and fear taking over as you silently beg Bucky to protect you.

“See! She’s got the spirit. We’ll make an outlaw out of you yet.” Stark remarks with another cruel laugh. “And if your stitching proves useless, you can always prove your worth with what's between your legs.” 

The redhead woman lets out an annoyed grumble at that, and over the cackling of the men, you hear her march out of the saloon to ready the horses. 

“Come on,” Bucky mutters to you, guiding you towards the door. You dig in your feet, nausea rising as you watch the men mount their horses through the windows. 

“I don’t want to.” You sobbed quietly. The brunet outlaw sighs, his movements hesitating as if he were conflicted. 

“I can’t do anything to change Stark’s mind–”

“And when you deem me useless? Are you going to shoot me like Crowley, like… like Charlotte?” Your voice quivers and shakes; your vision blurred from the tears streaming down your face. You had hated this place; you had felt its evilness and oppression. But it was your home; it held your friends. You weren’t ready to leap into the unknown or trust these men who had hurt you. To trust Bucky, who had tricked and betrayed you.

“This is not how this was supposed to go.” Bucky mutters under his breath, then, without asking, scoops you over his shoulder to forcefully carry you from the building. Through sobs, you squirm, his shoulder digging into your stomach as you watch the saloon slowly be ripped away from you with each step. 

“Put me down.” You gasp at him as he finally exits the building. “Bucky– Bucky please just put me down–” 

The outlaw obliges, dumping you on your feet next to a horse. “Get on.” He instructs. 

You shake your head, pushing at his chest. “No.”

“Get on the horse.” He demands once more, guiding you towards the horse’s side. 

You begin to push him away harder, with the other outlaws watching as you sob between hitting and struggling as Bucky tries to persuade you to get on the horse. His patience seems to quickly grow thin, and the watchful eyes of his peers grow equally impatient with hateful sneers. 

His hands move quickly, grasping your wrists and tugging you closer to his chest. You freeze as he lowers his head, his hat brushing your hair as he whispers in your ear. 

“If you don’t get on, these boys are gonna tie you up and drag you behind. We don’t want that, do we now? So what is it, all tied up or sitting pretty, sweetheart?” His gravelly, low voice sends a shudder down your spine, your eyelids fluttering shut briefly. 

“I’ll get on.” You mutter back quietly, pulling back. Bucky nods, pleased, his thumb brushing away the tears on your cheek. 

“Good choice.” 

With a shuddering breath, you grip the horn of the saddle, swinging your legs over to mount the horse. It had been months since you last rode, but the muscle memory remained embedded deep in your mind. Bucky was quick to mount up too, his body sliding in behind you while one of his hands lazily wrapped around your waist, reins in the other. 

The band of outlaws were quick to move once everyone was situated, with fearful townsfolk peering out their windows as the herd moved past in a cloud of dust. You tried to ignore the dead bodies that lined the street, their blood staining the loose dirt. You couldn’t let your brain slip into a dark place, thinking of Crowley and Charlotte still warm in the saloon. A nauseous feeling of dread consumed your being as you noted the blood still splattering up your arms and dress, the rocking motion of the cantering horse beneath you not helping. 

You found yourself leaning back into Bucky, the only sturdy thing nearby. Your head lay back against his shoulder as you looked up at the blue skies above, the heat beating down on your exposed skin. 

The pace only slowed as the outlaws felt they had traveled far enough to evade any lawmen acting as backup. The heat had grown unbearable the further you drew from civilization; these wilds were not the ones you had frequented as a teen. There were no rivers, forests, or grass. There was only dirt, sand, and heat. These were what men meant when they spoke of the west, pure, untamed country. 

Bucky had hardly spoken, leaving you alone in your grief and sickness. He held you steady as you silently cried. Even when you could cry no more and your eyes rolled back from the heat, he continued to hold you steady, ensuring his horse kept an even gait. 

The silence was finally broken as Steve slowed his horse, falling in step with the two of you at the back of the party. 

“She ain’t looking too great, Buck.” The blond commented, leaning in his saddle to inspect you closer. You shied away from his eyes, pressing closer to Bucky. 

“It’s the heat.” Bucky murmured in response, his gaze fixed ahead. The redhead woman had slowed her own horse, glancing back at the interaction with interest. 

“Here.” Steve says, retrieving a waterskin from the pack on his saddle. Unscrewing the top, he passes it to Bucky, who in turn offers it to you. You groan, pushing the offer away. At that moment, you’d have rather become one with the bleached bones of the desert. 

Bucky huffs sharply, lifting the waterskin to your lips. 

“Drink,” he commands. “You lost too much energy crying and wailing back there.”

As soon as the earthy, warm water graces your lips, a survival instinct kicks in, and you greedily take a few gulps before finding the strength to push the waterskin away. Bucky seems happy enough with the amount you have taken, passing it back to Steve. 

The blond man shakes his head while screwing the top back on. “I don’t know what Stark was thinkin’ Buck; I don’t think she’s gonna make it out here.” 

Bucky seems to sigh at that, giving Steve a sidelong look. “She’ll be fine.”

Steve shrugs, nudging his horse forward to catch up with the redhead woman. Through your squinted eyes, you make out the two of them exchanging some hushed words. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Steve don’t know what he’s talking about.” Bucky reassures you, one of his large hands patting your thigh. 

“What if he’s right?” You question, your voice cracked and raspy. 

“There’s no need to worry.” He says it with a hum, accompanied by a small squeeze of your thigh. “I’ll look after you, pretty lady.”

#bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel fic #james buchanan barnes #marvel au #marvel #cowboy au #western au

[sarahowritesostucky]

Pairing: Steve Kemp x reader

Rating: Mature

Tags: sex worker reader, escorting, sugar baby/daddy

Summary: The first time you met Steve was in a hotel bar

"It's an underappreciated artform, the sitting around in hotel bars and exuding the right kind of allure, drawing in the right kind of men."

First Encounters: Steve Kemp

You've never taken offense at the term "prostitute."

"Whore," "hooker," "call girl," "escort," "lady of the night." They're all just different words to describe the same thing: sex for money. An exchange of goods and services that took you from an indebted college student to a lady of leisure in only two short years.

You live in a gorgeous apartment on the upper east side, have a massive wardrobe, access to endless beauty treatments, VIP membership at Equinox gym, a bevy of handsome suitors, and more leisure time than you know what to do with. So you couldn't really care less what people want to call you.

But as they say: "it takes money to make money." Back then, you hadn't exactly had an extra grand lying around for designer lingerie or boutique hair appointments or Botox, so you'd gotten started at an Agency, where—in exchange for a demoralizing thirty percent cut of your profits—a team of other people were willing to spend tons of money to turn you into a perfectly polished, highly desirable product.

Back then you'd been doing more traditional sex work, and maintained a full client list. You would refer to yourself as an "escort" or a "girlfriend" around said clients, depending on what seemed to make the man of the hour happiest. The men would always wind up calling you by your first name, or else by whatever silly pet names they inevitably came up with—Kemp, for example, has always liked to call you "Angel" and "Bunny."

And speaking of Kemp: he was the first of The Five that you met, back then; back before you ever knew you'd wind up being the kept woman of five different sugar daddies.

It'd been winter. You remember because you'd just set out on your own, and that meant giving up the Agency's private door to door car service; which meant sometimes navigating the slushy, snowy New York sidewalks—in heels—on the way to your ... engagements.

You'd parted from the Agency on good terms, bringing with you a decent but not robust client list of about two dozen gentlemen. Most of them were infrequent flyers, however, so business wasn't exactly steady. With a lease in Manhattan and other bills to pay, you'd taken to spending your evenings out on the town, dipping your toes into the fancy sorts of watering holes where the city's elite tended to congregate.

The sorts of men you entertained would often want you to come to their own private residences, but that was strictly against your rules, especially since you were newly absent the Agency's security personnel. The environment in which you met clients had to be somewhere you could maintain control, and that meant either hotel rooms booked by you, or else a private location of your own. Since you hadn't yet gotten the funds to rent out a second apartment purely for gentleman callers back then, hotels were where you worked. And their smokey, soulful lounges were where cast your line.

It's an underappreciated artform, the sitting around in hotel bars and exuding the right kind of allure, drawing in the right kind of men.

You'd been channeling the 90's that night with your sheer black stockings, velvet pumps, and a scandalously short LBD. Your hair had been freshly set and brushed out into Veronica Lake waves. Your lips, lined and matte red, sipped vacantly on a martini as you purposefully made yourself look like a woman sulking over being stood up. That was when Kemp had glanced over from the bar with that unmistakable glint of male interest in his eyes.

You'd clocked the Rolex as soon as he was withing speaking distance, and your eyes dragged slowly up his body: Gucci shoes, Versace bespoke suit, salon-cut hair. Oh yes. He would do nicely.

"I'm sorry, maybe this is forward, but I saw you alone over here and wondered if maybe you'd like some company?

"Do I look that lonely?"

"Perhaps not. But a woman as beautiful as you shouldn't be sitting alone at all. It's a waste."

You'd smiled coyly and feigned being flattered, then pouted over the imaginary date who'd stood you up, scooting your chair to the side and welcoming him to join within flirtatious proximity on your side of the table.

An hour spent talking and sipping cocktails together had you aware of his general profile: married, kids, from Portland; in town frequently for work, surgeon, rich; handsome, witty, and amiable enough to talk to.

Another hour had him aware of your profession, agreeing to your fee, and offering to take you upstairs.

But of course you'd said, "Oh no, silly. That's not how it works." You'd trailed your finger up the edge of his lapel with a demure smile. "We have to get to know one another."

"Yes."

You'd slid your business card across the table with one nude, lacquered nail, and told him how thrilled you were to have met him, and that he would need to make an appointment with your "secretary" if he wished to see more of you. A luncheon was first required, and then the two of you could move on from there, depending on his wants and needs.

"I had a great time with you this evening, Brendan," you'd simpered, standing and smoothing out the lines of your dress, picking up your clutch and tossing your hair over your shoulder. "I do hope I hear from you."

Many lesser working girls wouldn't have shown such restraint. They would've taken the sure thing and allowed Brendan Steven Kemp to whisk them away in the hotel elevator, lay them out on six hundred thread count sheets, and have his merry way with them for a guaranteed sum.

But even back then, you'd known better than that. Sure, you ran the risk of never hearing from him again, but that was the price one paid when going for the bigger fish. You weren't interested in reeling in the sorts of clients who only wanted a one and done.

You were on the hunt for big game, the sort of men who got off not just on having you in the moment, but also on knowing that they had you in reserve, waiting in the wings for their own capricious desires, whenever they should arise. It was the getting you and keeping you; the wanting to feel alive again on the regular, whisked away from boring lives and mundane wives.

So you played the long game, knowing that the right sorts of men will call back, if it's meant to be.

No ultra-high-value man goes after something easy more than once. But if you only let them have a taste, if you make yourself into something elusive and desirable and seemingly rare; well then you're bound to have them swimming round again and again. Men like Kemp want the chase. They want the surface-level mirage of a relationship that makes the sex so much more thrilling.

So you'd shot him one last, lip-lined smirk from across the lounge, and then you'd sauntered out of that hotel bar like you owned it, able to feel the heat of his gaze on your back all the way out to the lobby doors and beyond.

He'd emailed to book his luncheon less than thirty-six hours later, and the rest was history.

Other First Encounters coming up in this order:

Sugar*Baby & The Five Daddies Imagines Masterlist

Masterlist

Tips go in the Kofi cup! 🥰 (Much Love!)

This has been a fill for @sebastianstanbingo

Card: @sarahowritesostucky

Square G1: Escort/Client

#steve kemp #sebastian stan #sebastian stan characters #fresh 2022 #fresh hulu #fresh movie #steve kemp x ofc #steve kemp x y/n #steve kemp x you #steve kemp x reader #sugardaddy #sugar baby au #sugarbaby #sex worker reader #getting together #first meeting #ari levinson #bucky barnes #andy barber #lloyd hansen #reader insert #fanfiction #fanfic

[darsynia]

Shipping and Handling | Ch 1: Vicinity

(Stucky x Reader slow burn, Steve x Reader fast burn, Friendship all around)

SERIES MASTERLIST | STORY MASTERLIST | NEXT

Summary: There's a chance you and Steve aren't the only people dealing with the strange chemical bond from Mistress, so you agree to submit to daily tests that should help Dr. Banner figure out what's happening, and maybe how to stop it. The problem? Seeing each other every day brings a new set of side-effects that both of you hide from each other and Banner until things come to a head-- not just for the two of you, but also for the man who has to deal with you: Bucky Barnes.

The interference/involvement of Mistress has complicated everything. It may have also awakened something lovely enough to make navigating the ethical, emotional, and physical dilemmas worthwhile. Length/Warnings: 3,487 / sexual situations, male masturbation Prompt: @allcapsbingo April Adoptable: Sex Pollen ((I know, right??))

Tags: @starryeyes2000 @munstysmind @ronearoundblindly @chickensarentcheap @themaradaniels @tiny-anne @deepbatched @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @wolfstar-marvelsfan @icequeen1371 @chibijusstuff @nekoannie-chan @brooke0297 @caplanreblogsfics @hails270105 @venusfalling @zzz000eee @eralen @mrsevans90 @myinconnelly1 @thorinsmistress @cjand10 (had a little hiccup with duplicated names that aren't in my backup, and some not linking, sorry about that)

Excerpt:

Steve’s outward appearance of calm is deceptive, but he can’t risk hinting at the turmoil he’s going through, so he’s trying to focus solely on gathering up the take-out menus.

It’s… not going well.

He’s not good with slow stress. Emergencies, yes. Slow-rolling catastrophes with no clear path for remedy? Not his thing, particularly not when he can’t use his strength, use his hands to make things right.

Steve groans aloud. Everything slants sexual lately. Everything.

Chapter One: Vicinity

He’s falling, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

You wake up in the proverbial cold sweat, startled enough to remember only snippets of the bizarre dream-world you’d been caught up in. As if it were a natural thing, you’d been on a spaceship staring out at a planet-sized giant head, and while you were processing that part of the dream, an energy beam had struck your oval-shaped ship, cracking it apart like an egg. Because Steve had given up his buckled seat for you at the start of the voyage, he had nothing to anchor him in the emergency, and he’d been sucked out of the breach. All you could do is watch him fall away from you, knowing that you’d make things worse if you followed your instincts to rescue him.

The phone at your bedside buzzes, and you pick it up-- it’s Bucky, one of two people who bypass the Do Not Disturb setting. Despite not having performed last night, you’ve slept in, which is unusual.

“Hello?” you answer, cringing as soon as you hear the sound of your sleep-graveled voice.

“I woke you up? It’s past nine!”

You’re glad it’s Bucky and not someone who would be actually mad at you for sleeping in, but still. Not cool. “You think I keep Day Worker hours unless I have a show? Be real, Bucky, that would be annoying as hell.”

“Yeah, that’s fair. Is there one tonight?”

“No, rehearsal from lunch to four for tomorrow’s, though. Nineties Night. I’m thinking I might spike my hair to match the choker I’m going to wear, what do you think?” Not really, but you apparently woke up spicy.

“Don’t, I like your hair.” Bucky’s voice is gruff, and he clears his throat with a cough and continues like he’s said something out of line. “Come to my place after and we’ll get take-out. Steve says you two have to see each other once a day anyway.”

You’ve done take-out at your place multiple times with Bucky, but you have only been to the tower once.

“It’s a-- that sounds good,” you say lightly, shifting away from ‘it’s a date’ language. It feels off to use that phrase when Steve’s involved. “What time?”

Bucky’s sigh tells you his invitation had been impulsive, and he’s annoyed to be asked about logistics. Something about knowing that without being told floods you with affection for him. “Whenever? After four, I guess.”

“Dress code?” you tease.

“Wear clothes, please. My roommate’s dealing with some things and I can’t promise he’ll--”  

You nearly choke on your own spit at his audacity, but the distinct sound of Steve’s voice in the background of the call startles you into sliding your knees up to your chest, awareness prickling all over your body. It suddenly strikes you as maybe inappropriate to hear his voice while you’re in bed, like it’ll screw up Banner’s test results, or something.

The conversation you’d had with Bucky last week about not wanting to ignore the Mistress thing in conversation with each other had clearly prompted his cheeky comment, but it sounds like Steve didn’t appreciate what he’d overheard. Ordinarily you’d call for him through the phone, but that feels possibly inappropriate too. You’re very aware of the open window’s drift of cool morning air on your bare arms, of the way the fabric of your nightgown feels on your naked body underneath. Chances are you’d be activating similar feelings in Steve, too. Just from hearing you.

The power in that knowledge is kind of intoxicating.

You decide to compromise, because the raised male voices on the other line have ceased, replaced with silence. “Bucky?” you hiss-whisper into your phone.

“You didn’t hang up? Give me that!”

Steve’s yell is loud through the phone, and you clamber out of bed, the neckline of your summer nightgown shifting over in the process, exposing your left shoulder.

“Dee?”

It’s Steve. Across from you, your dresser mirror shows a reflection that’s almost more disheveled than the day you’d met the man. The whole situation is so absurd that you actually take a second to hold up your phone and snap a picture, thinking you’ll joke about this someday, when it all blows over.

“Dee??”  

“Shoot, yes, sorry Steve, I’m just--” Mixing that image with the distress/concern in his voice has tuned your mood in a dangerous direction, and your smoky tone of voice is on board. Clearing your throat and avoiding the mirror, you say, “Sorry, go on?” The line is silent for a long few seconds.

There’s no way in hell that calling out his name right now will do him any good whatsoever.

You kind of want to do it, though.

Finally, Steve returns, and he opts for his Captain America voice. “Bucky dropped the phone when I caught him joking about this whole situation. I think the three of us might need to set some boundaries during your visit. He said around four. I’ll see you then.” He hangs up before you can respond.

You’ve been horny all day, but helpless to do anything about it. The problem is, you’ve got Rogers on the brain, and his shift to Cap mode on the phone made crossing the boundary to think of him as Steve feel wrong and uncomfortable. The good news is, your mood worked really well for the songs the band practiced all afternoon. Unfortunately, the heat of the day and the fact that the boiler’s still on in the building had all of you hot and miserable.

It’s 4:17 when you finally get out of there, sweaty blouse stuck to your back. You feel like a wilted flower, so you decide to call up a taxi service to the tower instead of walking.

As you wait for your ride to arrive, you wonder if Steve’s day was similar to yours. The good news for the evening is that the two of you shouldn’t be as keyed up as you were yesterday. Banner’s explanation of his pheromone theory had been confusing and hard to pay attention to with Steve right beside you, but you recall him saying the longer the two of you stay apart, the stronger the compulsion is.

The taxi arrives and you get inside, giving the destination as Avengers tower. Speaking the location aloud brings up something else you’ve been avoiding. Bucky’s ‘someday I’ll introduce you to my best friend Steve, we’ve known each other since he was little’ is a far cry from the reality: ‘my best friend Captain America has been famous for longer than whole generations of your family have been alive.’ 

For the first time, you realize that ‘since he was little’ has a vastly different meaning than the one you’d been assuming. Bucky really is an infuriating, lovable shit sometimes. It’s with that combination of low-level sexual frustration, amused annoyance, and bedraggled appearance that you arrive at the tower. The guy at the security counter calls the apartment with a dubious expression that makes you worried he's judging you, but the man eventually nods and directs you to an elevator.

“He’ll meet you in the hallway,” he says, leaning into the elevator car once you’ve boarded to call out a code phrase to the AI that controls the elevator. The guard gives you one last once-over and adds, “It changes every week,” confirming your suspicion that their floor is restricted.

When the door closes, your imperfect reflection in the silver coating has you scrambling to adjust the moist cling of your blouse on your breasts. Unkempt twists of hair are glued to your cheeks and forehead with perspiration, and you’d completely forgot that for an easy ego boost, you always apply performance-quality red lipstick for final rehearsal.

In short, the security guy had a point.

The doors open before you get a chance for a last once-over after your adjustments. The best you can do is a weird crossed-arms stance with your hands spread wide to obscure just how lovingly your damp red top is cupping your assets.

Thankfully, the man standing in the hallway is Bucky Barnes.

You rush out, dropping your hands to gesture at yourself. “Do you see this? Mirrors and I are enemies today,” you tell him, eyes wide. “I guess I’m lucky the guard downstairs didn’t call the cops instead of the apartment!”

Bucky trails his piercing blue eyes along your outfit, his expression impassive at first. For the first time ever in his presence, you feel a little objectified, but you shake that off. After all, you told him to look-- and given the growing appreciation in his gaze, he’s at least giving you a bit of a self-esteem boost. When Bucky’s finished, having followed through by taking in your pencil skirt and crimson sandals with his head tipped to the side, he finally looks you in the eyes.

“Nice toenail polish,” he smirks.

“I don’t know why I put up with you,” you gripe under your breath. “Please tell me you have a shirt I can borrow? They still have the heat on at the venue, Babs is tearing out her hair. If the forecast is right about how hot it’ll be tomorrow night, we’ll have to hand out free cups of ice to keep an audience.”

“Yeah, but we got a gauntlet to run before that,” he tells you. The apartment door’s open, and he stands to the side, gesturing for you to precede him.

“If it’s related to another set of metal doors and a scary British voice telling me to hide, I’ll just walk home, spring heatwave or not.”

“She’s here?” Steve says from inside. He comes out right as you walk over, and both of you stop within inches of each other. “You’re late,” he says-- but the tone of his voice is the exact same stressed, desperate, needy one you’ve tried not to fondly remember. 

You almost respond with, ‘Oh, Steve, if you’re going for ‘stern,’ be careful, but you can’t imagine saying that in anything other than your flirty lounge singer persona, and that would cross too many lines, especially today.

“I got here as soon as I could!” you tell him, drawing yourself up indignantly. Steve opens his mouth to respond, but his gaze is caught first by your lips, then your shirt. You’re confronted with the effect you have on him-- a short, pained breath leaves his lips when his eyes drop to your chest and then quickly back up.  Steve’s eyes dilate, and his throat works as he swallows, twice. He’s as handsome as anyone you’ve ever met, and you’ve done more than meet. An errant (exciting, ridiculous, improper) thought rises to the surface.

This man is your lover.

You suck in a breath, unable to avoid the flood of heat you’re struck with, and your reaction breaks the spell.

“I thought we agreed on four?” he says plaintively, as though somehow you wouldn’t look like this and he wouldn’t clearly like it as much if you’d only been on time.

“All right, none of this shit needs to happen in the hallway,” Bucky says, shouldering his way past you to spin Steve around with a hand on either shoulder. Embarrassment spurs you to quickly follow, and you shut the door, leaning against it with your arms and hands once again trying to cover your clinging blouse. “You: grab the fliers from the kitchen,” your best friend instructs Steve, shoving him in the right direction. He points at you and jerks his head toward the hallway. “You: follow me.”

“Shirts. Why is it always shirts?” you ask.

“Indiana Jones, right?” Bucky says, walking into the room at the end of the hallway. He whispers something you can’t hear, because you’ve stopped at the threshold. Bucky turns around and frowns at you. “I’m not looking to ramp him up, so will you please come in here?”

He seems pretty stressed, so you swallow your worries about being trapped in yet another room in this particular apartment, and walk in a little ways. It’s not enough for Buck, whose ‘hurry up’ arm gesture doesn’t look very non-threatening with his metal arm.

“What are you--” you begin, but he interrupts from over by the closet, sliding a chunk of wire hangers over with a scrape of protesting metal.

“I said what color… undergarment? So it doesn’t show through.”

“Shit, good point, thanks,” you say, coming over. “It’s red, to match the blouse.”

To your surprise, you can see his ear turn red as Bucky coughs and fiddles with a few hung-up items out of your sight.

“This work?”

He hands you a medium blue button-down, long sleeved. “There’s, uh, a bathroom through there. I can sit on the bed, in case you’re freaked to be stuck again.”

Bucky looks like he’d gladly crawl out of his skin to avoid this entire conversation, but there he is, offering to let you change clothes in his private bathroom while he stays close enough to break you out, if need be. You’d go over and hug him if it wouldn’t make ‘awkward’ into ‘unbearable’ for him.

You nod, rushing into the bathroom to change. There’s a basket with towel rolls you’re certain a housekeeper put there, and you grab one of the washcloths to clean up with before buttoning on the shirt. It’s long, so long you spend most of the time rolling up the sleeves and trying to figure out how to tuck the tails into your skirt without looking dumpy.

Steve’s outward appearance of calm is deceptive, but he can’t risk hinting at the turmoil he’s going through, so he’s trying to focus solely on gathering up the take-out menus.

It’s… not going well.

He’s not good with slow stress. Emergencies, yes. Slow-rolling catastrophes with no clear path for remedy? Not his thing, particularly not when he can’t use his strength, use his hands to make things right.

Steve groans aloud. Everything slants sexual lately. Everything.

Leaving the stack of menus on the counter, he rubs the back of his neck and paces the kitchen. In a way, he’s in an immediate emergency right now, albeit a private one: he’s turned on, has tried to ignore it all day, but then you’d shown up late looking like that. It had taken him back to the weeks of staying away, when he’d woken late at night awash in guilt and arousal after yet another dream of the time together in his bedroom. In most of them, he’d stalked over to the light switch and flipped it on so he could see you, sweat-soaked and needy.

He sticks his head into the sink and uses the sprayer on himself in a vain attempt to cool his ardor. All that does is get water in his ears.

From the other room, Bucky says, “Steve?”

“Hang on,” Steve calls out, blindly grabbing for the dishtowel draped on the oven door. When it doesn’t come right away, he yanks at it-- and the entire door of the oven comes off.

“What the hell?” Bucky’s standing in the doorway, and you’ve crowded in beside him to see what’s going on.

“I’m not sure what happened. I just wanted to grab a towel.” Steve’s shoulders are already soaked from his wet hair, and somehow the cloth in his hand is still connected to the detached door at his feet. At least the tempered glass is still intact.

You squeeze past Bucky and come over, gently freeing the towel from Steve’s hand and crouching down to mess with the underside of the oven door. He closes his eyes tightly and starts focusing on his breathing. It’s all he can do to keep still and hide the effect of seeing you sink down to the floor, but he’d forgotten you’re not the only other person in the apartment.

“Steve.”

Steve’s eyes pop open at the menace in his friend’s tone, but right then, you stand back up, the dish towel in your hand and an amused look of confusion on your face.

“It looks like someone reinforced this crochet clasp with metal thread!”

Both of Bucky’s fists are clenched, and Steve has no idea what you’re talking about. Then he looks over at you.

You’re wearing his shirt. It’s hanging loose, and the hem extends past your hips. It’s so easy to picture what you’d look like wearing it some morning after spending the night.

“I-I need a new shirt,” Steve stammers out. Bucky has just enough time to sidestep out of the doorway, and once through, Steve runs.

He manages not to slam the door, but the way his head clunks back against the wood is probably audible in the kitchen. Pulling in huge breaths, he ignores his wet shirt and starts fumbling at his belt.

It’s wrong, he knows, but the way you look wearing his shirt, seeing you practically kneeling at his feet --Steve can’t hold himself back. He’s been on edge all day, and he’d only understood why when you’d walked back into his home in all your sexy, sweaty glory. Anticipation. Whether or not it ought to have happened, the two of you have a bond, one that includes permission for all sorts of things his mind dwells on at the most inconvenient times.

The door rattles in the jamb as he shoves his trousers and briefs out of the way. There’s no way he wants Bucky to have any idea what’s going on here, so he thumbs on the lock (it’s a fig leaf, but one that might give him a few seconds to hide what he’s about to do, if need be) and fall-walks over to the bed with his pants around his ankles. 

Seconds later, Steve has slicked up his hand, collapsing back onto his pillow with a heartfelt groan that’s as quiet as he can make it. Mistress is ruinous, because this devastating pleasure is almost rewriting his DNA as surely as the serum did. Two months ago he would never have pictured himself doing anything like this, but now he’s fucking his own fist in the same apartment as someone who could be his best friend’s girl.

Steve’s touching himself while he’s thinking about you, and he can’t-- he won’t stop. Indulging in this glorious, delirious pleasure has got to be the lesser of two evils.

Despite that conclusion, guilt wars with lust as his hand speeds up, hoping like hell that he doesn’t make too much noise. It’s maybe better than before the drug, as though his body has been rewired, away from heroism and into hedonism. Every little movement ratchets him further toward ecstasy, so much so that Steve tortures himself with variations; a twist of his hand here and there, thumb swirling the head of his cock. He's got the fleshy part of his palm crammed in his mouth to remind himself to be quiet.  

Just as he wonders how much more he can take himself apart, Steve feels his peak rising, and he’s disappointed, which brings up more guilt. You’re a real person, someone he’s laughed with. Someone he could really like.

The thought occurs that if he’s going to train his aroused brain, guilt is the worst possible catalyst.

Steve forces himself to still, to breathe.

“Change it or stop,” he whispers to himself. “She doesn’t deserve that.”

He casts around in his mind for something different, but stubbornly, not something that would force him to stop. Your body’s sated, exhausted curl on his old bed in the time before the two of you had been rescued. The way your weary, heat-tired expression had combusted into frustration at him in the doorway to his apartment. You, simply wearing his shirt.

You’ve wormed your way into intimacy with him in more ways than Steve had realized, ways he likes.

Need overcomes his willpower, and he gives himself permission for a single gentle stroke. The intense sweetness of it gives him an idea, one he’s entirely certain he might go to hell for.

Steve moves his hand slowly, tentatively, and oh fuck, he could picture you doing this so easily. What would your face look like if you could touch him with ease, with patience, without urgency?  

Ironically, this sends him into a rough, mindless frenzy, the white-hot pleasure reinforced by flashes of you in scenes of a possible future; furrowed brow cooking while you complain about how inconvenient the broken oven is, stepping out of the shower in a ratty old bathrobe, hair wet, your skin freshly scrubbed.

In his mind's eye, you're clasping his hand palm to palm, lifting your head to kiss him as he moves slowly inside you, unhurried, loving.

As his orgasm barrels through him, Steve realizes this is far, far worse for his relationship with Bucky and his fledgling something (friendship? More? Does he deserve more?) with you than simply rutting out his sexual frustration with the entire focus on his filthy, unworthy thoughts about your red blouse.

Next Chapter...

#allcapsbingo2023 #stucky x reader #stucky #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers smut #stucky smut #bucky barnes smut #stucky x f!reader #steve rogers x f!reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #steve rogers x you #stucky x you #bucky barnes x you #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #marvel smut #mcu smut #sex pollen #romance #humor #steve rogers imagine #stucky x you imagine #bucky barnes imagine #happy endings (all meanings implied)

[softevnstan]

From the NSFW genarator

 reader handing Bucky Barnes a bowl of cream/chocolate/honey and telling them to spread them on their own body where they want it eaten by reader. Bucky Barnes eagerly complies, and everything starts (or ends) with a sloppy smear on person Bucky Barnes's lips.

pairing. bucky barnes x gender neutral!reader

summary. for valentine's day, bucky brings you a bowl of whipped cream and strawberries. with a game proposition, you very quickly come to learn you're hungry for a different type of cream.

warnings. bucky loves you with all his heart but he's also a hard dom at heart. misuse of strawberries and whipped cream, dom/sub undertones, spitting/spit, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, food play - whipped cream, facefucking, petnames (specifically 'doll' and 'sugar', but these are intended to be for any partner, not just f), fluff, pre-established relationship SMUT - minors DNI. reader's bits are not mentioned in depth here so gender is ambiguous, i like all of my stories to be as inclusive as i can make them :)

a.n. hi, nonny, i wanted this to be out on valentine's day but some things in my personal life held that up. additionally: kinda interpreted this a little bit of the way i wanted to and the way i thought i'd best enjoy writing it, so bucky is the one with the game in mind (bonus: listen to this song as your background music like i did to add to the experience) -- reader is nerdy and likes things like books and candles and reading (reader is me projecting lbr)

also winterdevil friendship briefly mentioned bc i can

w.c. 7.3k

You were only a few pages into your new book - ‘Good Omens’; You’d heard good things about the story in its witty writing and amusing tale. 

Bucky had been paying attention when you’d both gone on a bookshop date and scoured the shelves hopefully for the novel. Even when asking about the bookstore’s directory, the worker reluctantly let you know the book wasn’t in stock. You’d shrugged the loss off with a warm smile; ‘Better luck next time, right?’

Imagine your delight when Bucky brought you a red gift bag with four golden arrows decoratively laid horizontally and stacked upon one another with the words ‘Happy Valentine’s Day’. Inside the bag had even more delightful contents; Peeling past the elegant golden tissue paper, you were excited to find your very own copy of the novel you’d been unable to find in stores. Additionally was a box of chocolates and a candle scented ‘Rose & Apple’.

“Aw, Bucky,” you swooned, “I thought we said no gifts…?” “I know,” Bucky admitted, moving around the kitchen island to come to stand behind you; Arms of flesh and vibranium slowly winding around your waist to hug your body to his own, settling into a comfortable hold so naturally. “But I like seeing you smile.”

You looked fondly at the cover of the book, thumb gently brushing over the paperback cover before setting it down on the counter. You bit your lips together in an appreciative smile, and you felt Bucky’s grin against the side of your neck where he tucked away. Nose rubbing affectionately against your pulse before pressing a chaste kiss.

“...At least now you won’t feel surprised when I tell you I got you a few gifts of your own,” you reveal as you turn your head to usher Bucky’s chin up. “Oh, of course, you got me something anyways!” Bucky huffed on an amused laugh, eyes crinkled in the corners with his smile, and your heart was left to melt.

He nosed into you lovingly, nuzzling and then pressing foreheads together. You took the opportunity to drape your arms around Bucky’s shoulders in a warm embrace; the rest of your quiet valentine’s day was spent peacefully with expensive sushi ordered to your shared apartment, moving the furniture and putting his records on to sway together playfully with giggles and kisses, then wrapped up with movies in the living room and popcorn kernels in between the couch cushions from the way you’d been pelting pieces at one another. You needed no fancy dinners or dates. You both were capable of making a night-in a remarkable memory all on its own.

Though the favor you called in from Zemo wound up with gifting Bucky a signed copy of ‘The Hobbit’ signed by J.R.R. Tolkien himself, and that was pretty good at also making an evening remarkable. The absolute awe in Bucky’s eyes and the way he’d gone slack-jawed when unwrapping the book was worth the six digits that were poured into the cost. Zemo had more than enough to spend and was happily willing to pay off his debt. A book was child’s play for Baron - simple.

You'd only been a few pages into your new book; Having been eager to begin drinking in the story as soon as possible. Bucky knew you were a bookworm; it's part of what you two had so in common - Bucky knew how to appreciate a good story, too. Eagerly diving into the paperback and excitedly tearing through pages was what you did best; On Multiple occasions where Bucky and you had surprised one another with blind-book dates and annotated novels for one another, reading was perhaps a love language between the both of you.

So you’d think Bucky would’ve expected that from you as soon as that book was between your nimble fingers. Good luck with any attempts that may sway your attention or distract you as a whole; everyone should know it’s useless to try. But Bucky wasn’t everyone else. Bucky knew you and knew how to wriggle his way in between you and a good book. 

And his key tool for that this evening seemed to be a wooden food tray with a bowl of hulled strawberries and a tub of whipped cream, and then an additional can that made you raise a brow. Any skepticism was dropped in moments given the natural delight you felt with Bucky in a room. When it was just the two of you, he was the sweetest man you’d ever met. “Surprise,” Bucky beamed softly, earning an amused smile from you in the process. He moved from the archway of the kitchen to step into the living room, rounding the coffee table to take his seat beside you on the couch. 

“Strawberries? You shouldn’t have,” you hum appreciatively, picking up your bookmark to hold your page; You didn’t dog-ear your pages like some savage. 

“Strawberries and Valentine’s Day go hand in hand last I checked. Whipped cream just makes it even better.” the soldier defends, earning a playful roll of your eyes. 

“You’re makin’ me feel like a chump here, Bucky, we said no gifts and surprises,” you softly protest albeit with little sternness to your voice. Book abandoned on the side table of the couch, you leaned to reach for a piece of fruit.

“Ah ah ah,” Bucky stops you, vibranium hand coming to cover the mouth of the bowl. “This isn’t for nothin’, I wanna play a game, sweetheart…” The sultry purr to Bucky’s voice insinuates he’s up to no good. “Huh?” You pause, confused as you look between Bucky’s hand and the bowl. A game? “I should’ve known there’d be a catch. You’re a menace, James.” The words are light and teasing; No real harm behind them.

“Oh quit bein’ so dramatic,” Bucky playfully chides with a teasing pinch to your outer thigh - it makes you squeak in delight and burst into soft laughs before shooing his hand away. Bucky absolutely thrives on your smile and laugh; It drives him crazy. “I’m not dramatic, I’m melodramatic!” you titter happily. “Well, if by ‘melodramatic’ you mean ‘theatrical’,” Bucky commented with a mischievous grin as he safely set the tray on the coffee table. You took the liberty of pulling the throw pillow you’d been laying on and help it live up to its name; Hitting Bucky in the shoulder with the cushion for his ‘theatrical’ comment.

“You love me and my melodrama theatrics all the same, don’t act like you don’t.” “Alas, it’s true.” he sighs sweetly, nothing but love in his gray eyes as he says it; Smitten. The softness of it helps melt some of the banter that had been building. “...And what was this ‘game’ you were talking about, exactly, Bucky?”

Bucky’s eyes light up with arousal, wetting his lips and treating the question as though he couldn’t wait to answer. “Have you ever plaid chicken before, sunshine?” Bucky inquires, and your head shakes side to side. “Alright, I brought out whipped cream. Wherever one person smears whipped cream, the other has to lick it off. The first one to refuse - or chicken out - loses.” 

Your own gaze widens with delight at the sound of the provocative game. At least a game was something you could get behind, and it definitely had a means of spicing things up with Bucky; Not that your sex life was boring, but something new every now and again was exciting for the both of you.

“Aw,” Bucky tuts sympathetically, “I can see it on your face, poor thing. The way your eyes lit up… Sheesh, people are gonna think m’not takin’ care of my babydoll.” The heat that rises to your face is familiar and leaves your chest feeling fluttery. “You do take care of me, Bucky,” you softly utter, squeezing your thighs together. “I wanna play.” the words are airy when they leave your lips, and the voice in which you speak makes Bucky stifle a soft groan in reply.

“Knew you would, baby. Such a perfect little thing, always onboard for whatever I want to try.” Bucky hums his approval and something inside of you swoons for the praise. He even takes a moment to use his fingers and tenderly brush the stray hairs from your face; touching you nothing but gently.

“Uh huh,” you confirm with a jerky nod and a doe-eyed look as Bucky smiles, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. He reaches for the container of whipped cream, popping the lid off. “Wait.” The thought creeps up on you.

Bucky stills briefly, eyes flickering to your face in a brief haze of concern. Pausing the act he’s been putting on for a moment to assure you’re not being genuine when you ask him to ‘wait’. You swallow around the tightness in your throat, attention solely on Bucky as you watch his studying face. Leave it to Bucky to be ready to fret over you at the drop of a dime.

“What if I win?” Bucky’s expression falls for a brief moment before twisting into disbelief and amusement. He laughs, entertained but relieved that’s where your concerns lie rather than somewhere more concerning.

“If you win, huh? Hmm,” Bucky takes a deliberate moment to hum and you shift with eager anticipation. Curious for whatever delicious thoughts may be brewing in that beautiful head of his. “Why don’t you choose — What would my babydoll want as a prize…?” the drawl of his voice nearly makes you squirm where you sit on the couch.

Your mind runs wild with ideas for half a moment before settling on something simple; “You have to go down on me, mouth only. No hands to help.” A swell of pride in your chest at the thought, you could already imagine Bucky looming over you and the warmth of his breath on your core before delving in without the aid of his hands. 

Bucky seems to like the idea as well if the devilish way he watches you is anything to go off of.

“Sounds like a deal, and if you lose, you go down on me, sunshine.” You would hardly consider that a losing game.

“Sounds like a fair match - may the best player win,” you chuckle, the words a meager attempt to take back the reigns on your confidence and not become complete mush for this man by default. Bucky had this charming way of entrancing you. He did it to everyone that got to know him, half the time Bucky didn’t even need to think about it.

“I’ll get us started,” the sergeant takes lead - setting the lid of the whipped cream container on the coffee table and using a spoon he’d brought along with him to scoop up a dollop from the container. Messily, Bucky smears a dab across his bottom lip - all too aware of what he’s doing. Bucky may look innocent, but there are devil horns holding up that halo. You wonder if that’s a reflection of his friendship with Matt.

The grin Bucky wears is devilish when he looks at you; Eyes piercing and somehow even seductive with a swipe of whipped cream on his bottom lip. A soft giggle emits from your being before leaning to pluck up a strawberry. You use the piece of fruit to swipe along Bucky’s bottom lip, successfully scooping up traces of the whipped cream before taking a bite of the strawberry. The taste is ripe and sweet, no wonder they’re occasionally considered a form of natural aphrodisiac. 

Bucky’s flesh hand finds your wrist tenderly after the first bite, causing you to arch a brow. 

“Licking, sunshine.” Bucky corrects. “Pick at strawberries all you want, but the rules of the game required you to use your mouth. Otherwise, that’s not nearly as fun, is it?”

It’s moments like those that made you feel all light and fuzzy. When Bucky talks to you as though you were a helpless and useless thing; It makes your brain fog up with cotton with the way he speaks down to you. 

“No, Bucky,” You exhale sweetly. “Good baby,” Bucky’s hand releases your wrist to lift and cup your cheek, giggling when you’re faced with the whipped cream on his lip again. Not as easy to take him so seriously. Bucky gives an amused huff at the response. “Now c’mon, before this melts and you have to lick that up, too.”

Popping the rest of your strawberry into your mouth, you finished chewing and swallowing before cupping Bucky’s jaw to steady him. Holding him in place when you lean forward into his space; being able to smell the traces of sandalwood and cinnamon on his skin made you shiver. It didn’t matter how many times you were like this with Bucky, your belly filled with butterflies every time in the best way. Tentatively you drag your tongue across his bottom lip, whipped cream sweet on your tongue.

There’s no chance to pull away when Bucky catches your lips in an immediate kiss following. Mouth slotting to yours in the opportunity that the man has, grinning against your lips like the cat that got the cream. His large palm lifted to come and cradle your cheek, the tips of his fingers brushing into your hair where it cups under your eat. Palm cooler than the average person due to the way his body ran cold, but your own warmth helped balance out the temperature difference from time to time. Your cheek felt like fire beneath this hand. 

Bucky kisses you hungrily, a searing claim when he licks hot into your mouth and makes you whimper and shiver. Your fingers still hold his bearded cheeks as Bucky takes his time tasting you; Enjoying it far more than any whipped cream he could ever buy. Bucky parts only after he’s left you breathless, wiping a thumb at his bottom lip with a low chuckle. Your head is left to spin with your heart hammering in your ears.

“Been achin’ to kiss you like that all day,” Bucky confesses. Your lips tingle, mourning the loss of Bucky pressed against your like that. “You’ve had countless chances, Bucky - we’ve been here alone all day.” You defend while lacking a legitimate malice to your tone. 

“It’s different,” you almost wave him off at the defense and make yourself busy with the whipped cream when Bucky elaborates. “I wanted to be soft with you today; I think we both deserve a little tenderness every once in a while. But sexy games give me a reason to kiss you like that.”

“Sometimes I struggle to believe that you’re the same stoic sergeant everyone quakes in front of.”

“I’m not; Not with you.” The words are raw, and it would make your heart turn to mush if you weren’t turned on by his kindness.

“You’re sexy when you’re sweet,” you coo, fingers brushing up his jaw to draw Bucky in for another quick kiss.

“And you’re sexy all the time, sunshine.” Bucky hums right back before meeting you partway for a small exchange of pecks. You both linger there for a moment, the kisses stolen not nearly as heady or heavy. Then you’re taking your turn. Parting lips and Bucky nearly chases your touch for more when you tut your tongue. A mock of his earlier tutting. “Aww,” you echo back to him, half condescending and half frisky. “I see it on your face, people are gonna think m’not taking care of my Buckybear.” though with your delivery, the words are far less menacing and end with you breaking the character to laugh, especially when Bucky is already crumbling into chuckles in front of you.

“‘Buckybear’?” Bucky parrots incredulously and entertained. “Trying out new nicknames,” you say with an innocent shrug, plucking up the spoon to get more cream on the utensil. “I think it’s cute.” “I like it,” Bucky agrees, shifting to get comfortable on the couch while his predatory gaze follows your hand. “It’s a nickname you gave me, just… Maybe let’s not let Sam hear this one.” “Does he still call you ‘Buckaboo’ sometimes?” You ask, momentarily distracted and appreciative that you and Bucky are able to break up seductive moments with cute ones. You’re convinced it’s proof you’re both truly in love to be able to be this casual and open with one another.

“Unfortunately. Torres heard Sam over the commlinks last week, both of them were dying of laughter.” Bucky deadpans, clearly not finding the situation as humorous as the boys did. You snicker with a shake of your head, assessing the spoon in your hand for a moment before setting it down in the container and abandoning it as a whole.

Instead, you pull your shirt up and over your head – stripping away the layer. The response it earns from Bucky fuels your confidence, the way he straightens up on the couch and wolf-whistles at each inch of skin you show off for him. Bucky always has a way of making you feel perfect; All your insecurities blanch when you were able to feel his comforting presence, always leaving you feeling loved and unequaled in your skin.

“Givin’ me a show, doll?” Bucky muses, a small tilt of his head while he studies you. “Why, enjoying the view?” You coo in turn, meeting Bucky with that same playful banter - this was a game after all, and games are meant to be fun. You discard the top haphazardly to the floor, no doubt to be gathered tomorrow morning. 

“Oh absolutely. Got the prettiest baby in all of New York… I’m a very lucky man.” When Bucky speaks, his voice is thick and warms your face. Bucky is very much the flatterer.

“I know you like it when I say things like that,” doesn’t even hesitate to single you out on the thought. “When I remind you of how precious you are to me, sugar… Just how much I fucking adore you.” Bucky’s voice drips with lust and devotion. Utterly in love. It almost tempts you to drop the game before it gets too far in and have him now; Peel away the remaining layers separating you two and open your legs in an invitation for Bucky to fuck you so roughly into the couch that the legs break and the neighbors know Bucky’s name loud and clear.

God, you’re fucking whipped for this man.

Sometimes you’re still not prepared for the outpour of loving words; Still, you’re trying to remember that Bucky means the things he says and isn’t merely humoring you as exes have in the past. Bucky is nothing if not genuine. 

“Keep sweet talking me, Sarge, and this game might end sooner than you want it to,” You warn with a coy smile before picking up the formerly abandoned spoon. “I’m bein’ honest,” Bucky defends, lifting his hands in a feigned and mischievous. “You know you love when I talk sweet to you, anyways, sugar.”

“You also know it makes me freeze up; I never know what to say things like that, Bucky.” a gentle reminder and your cheeks hurt from smiling - do you look stupid? Bucky would love you anyways, truth be told. 

“Oh, but that’s the best part,” Bucky replies, leaning forward on the couch and closer into your bubble of space. Taking his time letting his eyes drink in the pretty sight you make for him without your top. “It turns you into putty, baby. You start floatin’ so easy, ‘s cute - it’s worth it gettin’ you cock-drunk in the end.”

You stutter - jaw clenching and you feel the tips of your ears burn. Bucky takes more sadistic amusement in the responses he pulls out of you. Plays you like a fiddle. It embarrasses you as much as it makes your thighs tighten and a wetness forms in your underwear. He works you up for fun. It’s maddening and exhilarating and perfect.

“Buckyyy,” you whine, pitiful and with a harmless scowl. Bucky’s laugh is rich and makes your face soften almost immediately. “Well, on with it, sunshine.” Bucky nods towards the spoon clutched between your fingers.

You take the moment to regain your composure. A deep breath - Attempting to shake out Bucky’s influence and his attempts to deduce you to a ditz so soon. Then, with the cold metal of the spoon, you smear a generous streak of whipped cream from your left clavicle to the top of your left breast. 

When you lift your attention from your careful work, you find Bucky’s hungry eyes on you. Looking like a wolf preparing to strike his prey; Oh, to be littered with bites from Bucky’s mouth sounds like a dream. 

“You’re bold tonight. I can already tell this is gonna be fun,” Bucky husks, voice low before moving into your space. 

Right hand coming flush against your hip before smoothing up to frame your chest. He wedges himself between your legs, bringing your back flush with the arm of the couch as he looms over you; The semi that the soldier has been packing pressing prominently against your ass through his jeans. His vibranium hand brushes your hair out of your face, eyes studying you.

“You’re always so small under me...” Bucky hums, metal fingers brushing down your cheek as you lick some of the remaining whipped cream off the spoon; Putting on a show with the slow and deliberate lave it was the tip of his cock. 

Bucky groans, his touch hardening where he holds your chest before lowering himself to let his hot mouth lick over your collarbone. Trailing down, his tongue glides across creamy sugar while littering open-mouth kisses to your flushed skin. His beard scratches against tender flesh and you keen underneath him - Bucky subtly presses tighter against your ass so his cock can make itself well acquainted and he growls low in his chest. Hot breath fanning over your flesh.

The soldier’s hot mouth threatens to go further, tempted to explore every inch of your delicate skin and leave you covered in hickeys. Bucky practices self-restraint, but not before licking up the swipe of whipped cream and suckling a deep hickey into your skin. The purpling skin is beautiful under his skillful tongue and you moan into the air of the living room.

May the best man win.

You’d both gone back and forth. After Bucky licked the mess from your chest and tasted the sugar on his tongue from a shared kiss, he had fun spraying whipped cream on his fingers. 

Watching you have to take each digit between plump lips to suckle and lick the cream off. Beyond the sweetness of the cream, you could taste the roughness of his skin while he played with your tongue. Bucky even took the liberty of pressing his fingers to the flat of your tongue and holding your mouth open until you were drooling when there was no more cream left. When his fingers slip too far, you gag around the intrusion and Bucky grins.

He spits in your mouth to compensate for your time. You moan, thankful.

When it’s your turn again, you take the chance to shimmy your pants off next. Bucky licked his lips - watching you get undressed and not having to do a bit of the work but also being tempted with the inability to touch. Eager hands wanting nothing more to grip supple flesh and lay his claim while he takes you. With him. All good things come to those who wait.

You smeared whipped cream on your inner right thigh - dangerously close to your center and trailing towards your v-line. Bucky took his time settling between your legs. Kissed stamped to the inside of your calves, calloused hands smoothing out the outer of your thighs. Trailing upward, Bucky’s breath ever hot and the whipped cream threatens to drip. 

Bucky catches the drop with his tongue before it can find the couch, licking up the inside of your thigh. His tongue makes you tingle and your brain stops working for a moment; shuddering under his touch and your toes curl. Bucky presses a kiss over the wet patch in your tight briefs and you hide your face. Your core quivers with want. 

Bucky refuses to let you hide for long, working his way back up and gently prying your hands from your face. You share a heated kiss and sigh shakily against Bucky’s figure; Melting between him and the couch.

When it’s Bucky’s turn again, he takes a page out of your book and uses the opportunity to shed away layers. The jeans hugging his deliciously thick thighs are discarded, Bucky hiking up the plain black tee that left little to the imagination of the definition of his abdomen. It’s no mystery that Bucky was packed with muscle; Even in thick coats, you could still somehow always make out his distinct shape with rippling arms, a thick chest, and somehow a narrower waist. You’ve joked about him being a Disney princess once or twice. 

The scoundrel smears the chilled spoon over his chiseled abs and for half a moment you’re in one of those steamy romance novels your mom would read and you’d giggle at.

You lap up the trail from over the concrete muscle down to Bucky’s groin - and he sighs out shaky and delighted. Hooded and heated eyes always watching you, you, you. Nothing else exists in the world to him other than your game. You feel a swell of pride knowing you have such a catch as Bucky; his thick fingers tangled in your hair and carding through as you innocently lick up the cream with a sinful tongue. 

“Fuckin’ gorgeous, sunshine.” the words are drawled out lazily and hushed from Bucky’s swollen lips; He’s been chewing them and biting like crazy.

The tent in his briefs doesn’t surprise you at all - you’d be insulted if he wasn’t aroused.

Still, you’ve taken every task he’s given you like a champ. Bucky is running out of safe skin to present, and you’re in for the long haul. Winning or losing makes no difference to you. By the end of the night, it’ll be Bucky’s hands that have touched you and brought you to your climax. No one else. You’ve already won.

But that doesn’t stop you from sitting back and shivering when the cold metal touches your bare nipples. Smearing a generous amount of cream to both bare and pebbling buds. Bucky is simply excited to get his mouth on you in a way that isn’t so safe anymore. His lips close around your nipple and leave you gasping - sucking and rolling the bud against his skilled and velvety tongue. 

You’re wet; fingers holding Bucky’s head, merely along for the ride as he circles the areola with the tip of his tongue before pinching the delicate skin between his teeth and making you cry out. So sensitive. He kisses your ache better before subjecting the other nipple to the same torment; Bucky’s hot and wet mouth is heaven and your body speaks louder than your wanton moans or words ever will. You want him so unapologetically, and Bucky knows it. Prides himself on it, even.

It’s only a matter of time before you’re out of whipped cream and both of your teeth have rotted from your skull from the sugar; Something has to give otherwise the both of you could be at this all night - would that be so awful, though?

Bucky could wait you out easily. Run you out of choices until all that's left to cover with cream are the places he wants to get his tongue on the most. That's too easy; the back and forth between you two is what helps sparks fly. 

Your fun is interrupted on Bucky's turn. He's trying to swipe whipped cream on his chest when he fumbles the spoon; the dollop slides right off the flimsy metal and falls to Bucky's bare shin, trailing down to his foot. 

Both of your noses scrunch. Bucky's look of disgust is quickly replaced though by a mischievous glint, the soldier raising his leg up to balance his heel on the couch cushion. 

"Better hop to it, honey." Bucky singsongs.

You playfully swat at his thick thigh, hand wanting to linger just to feel the muscle under your palm. How easy it would be to glide up and cup his cock. 

"I'm not licking your foot, Bucky." You stifle the words only because you can't contain the giggles. 

"Rules are rules - unless that means I win…?" Bucky perks up, and ah, no wonder why he got all delighted. He sees this as his golden ticket win. 

No way he's serious. Your relationship and dynamic is very experimentational, but feet aren't on the table - sorry, Bucky. Licking one of his boots is a different story, but that's for another day where you have more time and the sweet words are replaced with filthy titles and the soldier joins you in the bedroom rather than your loving and chaste boyfriend.

“I’m not licking your foot.” You reiterate, “Pick somewhere else, for real?” “Ah ah ah, Sunshine. When we started playing we agreed.” Bucky protests and you are tempted to steal that spoon away from Bucky and swat another spoonful of whip cream at him. Instead, you pout; trying to wiggle your way. “Oh c’mon.” Bucky knows you won’t do it, the pain in the ass that he is (and you adore).

“Then I win,” Bucky declares matter-of-factly, and really, has defeat ever been such a pleasure? You shrug your shoulders to acknowledge your defeat, flashing the man across from you a bashful smile. At least you don't have whipped cream sticky on your foot - you're the real winner in that case.

“That means you, sunshine, gotta get that sweet mouth of yours on my cock.”

“Yes, Bucky,” you agree with an airy giggle. “I know what going down on someone means.”

When you go down on Bucky, he’s kind enough to give you a pillow to kneel on between his thighs. It helps recompense for the iron-grip in your hair as he guides your head up and down the steady length of his cock.

You’ve long started to adapt to the girth by now. The first time you’d attempted to go down on Bucky, the thickness of his cock had overwhelmed you. You could only take so much before nearly sputtering - and vomiting during sex isn’t sexy. It left you to have to make up for what your mouth couldn’t reach with skilled hands pumping the base of his dick and playing with his balls. 

Now you can take Bucky without gagging, and it’s worth it to watch his eyes roll into the back of his head when you suck his cock. You’re his pretty cock-sleeve and Bucky has no problem letting you know it:

“Yeah, that’s it… Such a slutty fuckin’ mouth, droolin’ all over me, baby.” His fingers fist your hair at the root, every pull a delicious sting as he guides your head up and down his cock. The corners of your lips stretching around the intrusion, eyes watering and everytime you moan at the way he fucks your mouth, it sends a vibration through Bucky’s cock that just has him reeling for more. “Oh, oh God… I’ve got the prettiest fuckin’ cocksucker - a work of art."

The words are filthy yet flattering; your chest fluttering while your hands brace on Bucky’s thighs. You keep your jaw slack, making the slide as easy for him as possible as the tip of his cock abuses the back of your throat. There's a certain fulfilment that comes with being used so filthily; Solely existing for Bucky's pleasure in that moment as he shifts from guiding you to thrusting. 

Your nose buries in the neatly trimmed pubic hair, flush with his pubic bone every time he cants his hips up into your willing mouth. This is how all blowjobs tend to go. With you taking the lead before Bucky can't handle it anymore and pummels your poor mouth. 

It leaves a delicious ache. 

Drool slips down your chin, doe-eyes fixed on Bucky despite the bleary picture he makes with tears dripping down your cheeks. Your sounds are muffled yet still whorish; your skin prickled with heat and the knot in your stomach slowly building. You grind your hips into the air looking for something to hump. You whine when you find nothing; more drool pooling past your red mouth as Bucky tilts his head back into the cushions with a low moan. 

"That's it, take it, take all of my cock, baby. Like you were fuckin' made for it, mm, my precious little fuckhole. God, I love you, love my messy whore."

Your head is swimming, all you can focus on is the feel of the cock thrusting in and out of your slack mouth while Bucky uses your hole to his delight. Even when your head feels light from the lack of air, you float happily and trust Bucky. Bucky always takes care of you.

He tugs your head up by your hair, pulling you off his cock, and only then are you able to swallow lungfuls of air; gasping with spit-slick lips and a gossamer connects you to the tip of Bucky’s flushed cock. 

“Cock-drunk. Like I said.” Bucky playfully chides and you whimper pitifully in response. Bucky laughs condescendingly at how pathetic you are and your chest blossoms. His hand cups your face tenderly, vibranium fingers wrapped around his dick while he smears his cockhead against your cheek. You turn your head instinctively towards the cock, mouthing wet kisses up the length and Bucky barks out a laugh at how hungry you are.

“Fuck, when did you get so desperate? You’d think I never touch you.” He traces your lips with the flushed tip; your tongue darts out to lap up the pre-come. 

“As if I don’t have you bent over the nearest surface every other day; Pumping you full of my seed and leaving you fuckdumb.” Bucky slaps the length against your cheek wetly. You tongue down his shaft, as much as Bucky’s clutch in your hair will allow, and mouth at his balls hungrily. Bucky groans low and primal in his throat.

“Dirty, dirty…” His hand comes to hold your jaw, tongue sliding past your loose and parting lips. Playing with your tongue, Bucky shakes your head like a dog and you mewl. Fingers curling into the flaps of his jeans from where you’d pulled them open. “Shh, you’re alright, honey. M’just playin’ is all, yeah, you’re so cute like this. So airheaded n’ dumb.”

You suckle on Bucky’s thumb, your reply coming in a pleased purr to have your mouth full again. It’s not his dick, but you’re more than happy to bob your head. Bucky bites his lips and grins wickedly. 

“I love how stupid you get for me, baby. It’s absolutely adorable, knowin’ you’d let me do anythin’ I wanted to you,” Bucky coos all too lovingly for it to be merely lust and heat. 

He slips his thumb from your lips and you chase the digit with a whimper; Mourning the loss. Bucky just grips your hair again and pulls you back to his balls. 

“C’mon, sunshine, suck on my balls.” The weight in your mouth nearly has you salivating, sucking on Bucky’s balls and right where you’re meant to be; Worshipping this man.

His cock is heavy against your face as Bucky jerks off to the gorgeous and whorish sight you make for him. The bruent groans, stroking his cock as Bucky watches you intently mouth as his heavy sac; Saliva dripping all over his skin and making a mess. His cock jerks infront of you, pulsing and veins bulging. 

“That’s it, good pet… So fuckin’ good, yeah, you’re so perfect — Fuck, what am I gonna do with you..?” Bucky guides your mouth back to his cock. Up the length and taking the head between your lips before swallowing him down entirely. Back to the steady bob as you moan around the intrusion and Bucky groans roughly into the thick and heavy air.

“I wanna fuck your face, sunshine,” Bucky rasps out, and you stutter your ministrations for half a moment to peer up at him in the helpless daze that consumes you. “Yeah, you like that idea? Don’ gotta do nothin’, honey, just let me use that pretty fuckhole of yours.” The words purred out so sweetly, you profusely nod. Eager to be of use. Pulling off his cock, you utter the word: “O-Okay…” “Good fuckin’ pet…” Bucky’s fingers thread delicately through your hair until he’s tightening the grip. Sinking you down onto his length yet again and forcing you to take every inch he gives you. It doens’t stop there. Instead the soldier braces his feet on the carpet alongside where you’re sat between his open thighs. He pistons his hips up - hitting your gag reflex and causing you to sputter around his cock.

There is no mercy. Bucky fucks up into your face, setting a progressive pace to allow you to slowly adjust but not for long. It’s only a few moments later that he’s fucking up into you like his own personal hole. Piercing steely eyes burning through you as he watches you choke and sputter on his impressive girth. It’s a mess of spit and tears that stream down your cheeks from the brutality of the face-fucking. 

Heavy balls slap against your jaw and Bucky moans. You tingle between your legs, wet from being able to be a tool for Bucky. An object of pleasure; Something about it has always turned you on in being able to please your partner. There’s no better pleasure than Bucky using you like the fuckhole you’re made to be, and he lets you know that.

“God, baby, you were made for this. Should just keep you for this one day; Make you my pretty little fuckdoll and the only thing you gotta worry about is fuckin’ yourself stupid on my cock. You make such a pretty sight, fuck, I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you…” The litany is breathless as Bucky continues to thrust his dick in and out of your welcoming mouth. 

You choke and sputter; Face hot and eyes burning with tears that drip off your chin in fat droplets. Cries die in your throat, high off the euphoria of the moment and burning on the adrenaline of being used as a fleshlight. Your lips ache; His pelvis smacks into you every time he ruts his hips up. Bucky slides down your throat easily. He’s right. You’re made for it.

You don’t know how long it goes on for. Instead you ogle in heaven, seeing and feeling nothing but Bucky. Even through the wet and slick squelches of your mouth being used, you couldn’t be happier. You roll your hips to find nothing - you suppose that’s the punishment of losing the game. Only one of you get off.

He fucks your face until you’re dizzy and can’t breathe. When you fear you might sputter for air is when Bucky unravels; Your throat flexing around his cock and fingers feeling every now and again in your throat for the tell-tale bulge. 

It’s when Bucky’s hips stutter and the dirty talk bleeds more into primal noises rather than words. Grunts through his teeth, low growls while he abuses your throat up until the moment Bucky’s hips jerk harshly. The movements stutter, and Bucky punches out a harsh gasp. Then you feel it. 

The hot pump of his come down your throat; Filling you up.

You threaten to choke and Bucky hushes you, rubbing sympathetically over your windpipe. “Shh shh, that’s it, swallow every last drop, baby. Take it all…” He rolls his hips impossibly deeper into your sore jaw. You feel drunk and you weren’t even the one that got to ride out their orgasm. With a few last grunts and rolls of his hips, Bucky withdraws from your sensitive mouth. Half-soft cock falling and you greedily swallow for air.

Bucky pets you through it all - whispering out your praise. How good you did for him. How much he loves you.

You take a moment to recover, head pillowed on Bucky’s inner thigh as he pets your hair lovingly. You drool onto the denim of his jeans, and if Bucky minds, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he watches you with loving eyes and a soft hum; As if this wasn’t the same man who just deduced you to his filthy fuckhole. If you didn't know any better, sometimes you'd think the man who fucks you and the man who bought you a book you'd been dying trying to find for Valentine's day were two separate people.

Bucky does it because he knows you love it. You could tap out any time with the special little word you both selected months ago when your sex life began to spicen up past vanilla rocking. But you don’t. No, you take it all and then some because it feels good and sometimes you’re convinced it’s what you were made to do. 

You take your time recouping. Bucky rubs through your hair lovingly and affectionately, soft hums to add noise to the space. You smile, delighted, as if you’re the one who’s won and come. Calloused fingers trace the shape of your smile and you nearly preen. Slotting open your droopy eyes, you find Bufcky still there. Still sweet.

“You did so good, honey. M’so proud of you.” He praises, knowing now that he has your attention. Your grin splits and give him a toothy smile. “My sweet sunshine,” Bucky’s voice is soft and inviting, a lopsided grin on his chiseled features. You feel like the only thing in the world for a moment.

Although you want to talk, words don’t come easily and instead, you drag Bucky down into a languid kiss. Bucky groans at the taste of himself on you, but other than that, he’s chaste and gentle. Knowing when to play rough and when not to. It’s heaven when his lips move against yours so tenderly. Your heart still flutters like a teenager in love.

The both of you remain that way for a few minutes. Slow kissing even if you imagine Bucky’s back burns from the lean and your neck is starting to ache from how you crane it. Still, there’s nowhere you’d rather be than with Bucky.

“How about we head on to our room, sunshine, and I’ll take care of the rest?” Bucky purrs against your throat when he trails kisses down. The brush of his beard tickles and the feeling of his warm breath on your skin makes you happy to be alive.

“Actually,” you say after a beat, swallowing hard and clearing your throat. You pull yourself together as much as you can before leaning back and away from Bucky. 

He eyes you with a mild look of concern as you prop back against the coffee table, reaching for the untouched can that Bucky had brought in with his game proposal. You pop the red cap off and it scatters to the floor below, lost. Then, pulling yourself up to sit on the edge of the coffee table, you shake the can. You lift your hips, shimmying out of the underwear you’d been left in - both of you are half naked at this point and you’ve seen one another countless times, you have nothing to hide.

The pair pools around your ankles and you use your foot to toss them, discarded like everything else that’s met the floor this evening - save for you. Bare legs spread, an open invitation and show. Bucky’s eyes light up, and you adore how he seems to treat everytime like the first time again, too.

“I was thinking about a round two,” you purr with newfound confidence and second wind; Spraying a strip of whipped cream down from your navel and disappearing between your legs. “What do you say, Barnes?” 

“Oh, you’re on.”

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[captainsimagines]

pretty woman, this is me trying || three

Summary: Bucky Barnes does not like to be touched. He’s completely ready to live a distant life and give up when the time is right. Until Stark hires him his own personal pretty woman. Over time, Bucky Barnes begins to learn how to touch again. How to feel again. How to love himself again.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female SexWorker!Reader

Trope(s): Holiday Fanfic ; Slow-Burn ; Friends to Lovers

Based on the Song(s): sweet nothing by Taylor Swift and Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls

(3/14)

Mini-Series

Warnings: references to past sexual abuse; strong language; references to sex; reference to past trauma

Word Count: 2,390+

Author’s Note: Steve isn’t going to be evil, I promise. Oops. xxMoni

~

    You entered through a different entrance today. One less guarded and one that didn’t full-body screen you.

You dressed in a simple t-shirt and jeans with a puffy sweater to protect from the cold. Unsure of where to go after entering, you wandered around the visitor center for a few minutes.

No one looked at you funny. They had a nametag ready for you and a cup of coffee. You were treated spectacularly well by the secretaries and random agents you passed. Perhaps they didn’t know your occupation, perhaps they did. It’s hard to believe they’d act the same way with Natasha Romanoff.

Then again, Natasha Romanoff would skin them alive before an insult was even thought.

“You lost?”

Oh, fuck. Oh, shit. It was Steve fucking Rogers. Steve fucking Rogers was talking to you.

“Uh, yeah. I’m looking for Bucky Barnes.”

Something strange flashed in his eyes. You swear his chest puffed out a little more and a guard went up. “What did you want with him?”

“He invited me over today. Something about taking a walk in the park.”

“Bucky doesn’t take walks in the park.”

“Bucky could have been talking in code for all I know. But he does know I’m coming.”

Steve stepped closer, crossing his arms. “I know his codes.”

You did your best not to cower, but he was so much bigger than you. One push and you’re certain he could pop one of your main arteries. “Can’t you just call him?”

“We have a roster of all the known visitors. If your name isn’t on the list, then you’re not allowed up. So let me go check—”

“It’s alright, Rogers. I invited her. Don’t pull the shield on an innocent.”

Bucky emerged from the hallway in that famous sweater and leather jacket combination you’ve seen him wear in paparazzi photos. But since it was actively snowing outside, his hair was down. Down and wavy and freaking conditioned.

“See, Captain Rogers? I wasn’t about to blow up the building.”

Steve looked you up and down, sneering for a second before it turned into something kinder. Was this the famous Captain America? Rude and overprotective? You understand that you’re a stranger and Bucky Barnes wasn’t a person to venture out all that often, but did you look menacing? Was there some kind of sign hanging over your head that read: Evil Hooker?

Or.

Steve never mentioned you being a hooker. A sex worker, even. Nothing of the sort came out of his mouth. He actually believed you to be Bucky’s… friend.

So Tony Stark and Bucky were the only ones who knew about this deal. Well, and Pepper Potts and Maria Hill. It made this whole thing a lot more comfortable. You didn’t really want the Captain America knowing you were hired to “fuck” his friend.

“Where did you meet?”

Bucky grumbled something incoherent underneath a heavy breath, glaring at his friend as he rushed to stand next to you. Not touching, but still… protective. And that little detail made you feel ten times greater than the star-spangled man.

“We met last week. At the bakery down the road. Now if you’ll excuse us,” Bucky explained, tilting his head for you to follow him. He began walking back to the hallway he came from, not sparing another glance over a shoulder. You met Steve’s eye—his incredibly judgmental eye—and gave him a tight smile.

“Bucky usually tells me about girls,” Steve interrupted you mid-step, speaking low enough that not even the super soldier ahead of you could hear.

“I don’t know your relationship,” you reasoned.

“No,” Steve sighed, looking you up and down again. “You don’t.”

You squinted at the man, suddenly angry, but you did yourself a favor and reeled in the frightful emotion. He had a shield and super strength, but the ball forming in your stomach had every indication of barreling through those things. Being looked down upon by men did something to you. It made you vicious, and rightfully so. A sort of viciousness that turned light blue to red and urged you to claw downward.

“It was nice meeting you, Captain.”

You turned on your heel, head held high, swallowing the neanderthal rage pounding through your veins.

    Bucky really liked milking the fuck out of the heater. Your cheeks were hot and you were starting to sweat in your boots.

“Tea? Coffee?”

“You got bread?”

Bucky, looking away from you,  paused. Quite comically, you might add. He lowered the coffee pot and turned around, one eyebrow high and lips threatening to widen into a grin. “I have bread.”

“And butter?”

“I’ve got bread and butter.”

“Good, because I’m starving.”

Bucky pulled out a long roll of French bread—freshly baked—and removed the packaging. He sliced a few pieces, piling them in a small basket. Then he got some packaged butter from the fridge. Not just any butter. Those tiny packets of butter from Panera. Dozens of them.

“You’re my favorite Avenger.”

Bucky snorted, buttering a piece of bread for himself. He stood while you sat on one of the barstools, buttering your own piece as well. “All it takes is to feed you, huh?”

“Well, when I asked for bread and butter, I was expecting you to toast some wheat bread and pull out the margarine.”

“Never. This is my favorite peasant dish. Might as well have fresh ingredients.”

You covered your mouth, laughing softly. “A peasant dish, huh?”

Bucky shrugged. “My Ma used to make this. But sometimes she’d head down to the Puerto Rican stores and buy some tortillas. I’d eat them with butter and jelly.”

“Please tell me they were flour and you at least heated them up.”

“I am not as uncultured as I look.”

Now that made you grin big.

You two ate in a comfortable silence, awkward questions stored for until after your stomachs were full. In the meantime, you glanced around Bucky’s apartment. You noticed things you didn’t have the time to notice yesterday.

Small accents on the walls: drawings, picture frames, and hanging ornaments. Drawings Captain Rogers most likely drew. Pictures that only showed Bucky, Steve, and Sam. Ornaments that didn’t have Christmas accents exactly, but rather the names of each individual Avenger. Like those Avengers made the ornament themselves. It was a personalized apartment, after all. Like Bucky valued his personal space and wanted it to be comforting when he returned from a hard day of battling the bad guys.

Kind of like you.

Your apartment was full. Like, literally. Counters full of picture frames, Etsy art, sweaters strung randomly. It was homey and warm, made to be welcoming.

You wonder if Bucky feels the same: Like more will never be enough.

“We can play 20 questions! Though, it might get kind of boring unless we search up the question chart—”

“I don’t like being touched.”

You paused, mouth wrapped around a strangled syllable. Something cracked in your throat before you cleared it, the remnants of the end of a word. “Alright, straight with it. Got it.”

“I was tortured and brainwashed and abused and sexually assaulted while in Hydra custody. That’s why I’m comfortable with hiring you. You have a choice, and you give me a choice. The two go hand in hand.”

You wanted to say something. Anything. But nothing especially intelligible sprang to mind.

“And don’t apologize or tell me, ‘Damn, that sucks.’ I’ve heard enough of it throughout my two years of freedom.”

“Then I’m drawing a blank.”

His lips twitched, but he continued, “Just… Be normal with me. Just don’t touch me.”

“No touch at all? What if I have to push you out of the way of a moving car?”

He made a noise resembling a chuckle. “I’d probably survive it.”

Not even to save his life? Alright, you can work with that. This man simply wanted companionship and you were an expert in that, too. Kendall enjoyed touching your waist or holding your hand during dinner, kissing you on the cheek or hugging you for too long. But he was, first and foremost, seeking company. And since this Christmas Ball called for nothing more than your company, everything was settled.

“And don’t get me wrong,” Bucky started, looking pained as he spoke. “I want to… I just…”

“Bucky,” you said, keeping your voice soft. “Is there something else you want to ask me to—”

“I want to learn how to touch people again. For them to stand near me again. To not… panic when someone raises a hand for a fucking high-five.”

You nodded, somewhat understanding. “It’s a gradual process. Some of the girls who experienced abuse while working or by monogamous partners described it that way.”

“Do I just need to get used to it?”

You shook your head. “It’s more like… Reminding yourself that sweet touches exist, too. That casual touches are just that. Casual. That accidental touches are bound to happen.”

“Tricking my mind into it.”

“Perhaps. But then again, it won’t be a trick that far down the road. It will be real.”

Bucky grumbled, looking down at the counter. Ideas were flying around in your head. Things to get him reacting well to you being around, the smallest of jump scares, ideas for the softest touches.

But this wasn’t just any client. This was Bucky Barnes. World War Two veteran, prisoner of war, war hero, Avenger.

That was who you were trying to help.

And you had the perfect method for introduction.

“Up for a walk?” you suggested, hopping off the barstool and grabbing your purse.

Bucky stood slowly, raising an eyebrow. “To where?”

“The fun is in the surprise!”

Bucky Barnes looked you up and down, assessing, but ultimately took a chance. He followed you out of the apartment, locking the door behind him.

And that alone was an achievement.

He followed you.

You would not fail him now.

~

     “Keep up with me!”

Bucky tried his best to keep the rumble of his laugh minimal. He wanted to be nice, to make this experience comfortable for you, too. But he didn’t want to seem overeager—What if you took it the wrong way? What if you expected something from him? So Bucky did his absolute best to not smile fully, to keep his laughs low, to keep his hands in his pockets.

He jogged to catch up, nearly slipping on ice. He doesn’t know how you haven’t fallen and face planted yourself. You were wearing running shoes—Bucky, and he has been chastising himself since you arrived at his front door, completely assumed you would be wearing heels. Everything he knows about sex workers is unbuttoned blouses and shoes too difficult to walk in. But then again, there are the ones who make their income on the internet.

You twirled and clapped your hands together, looking up at the sign that blinked through the layer of freshly fallen snow.

And Bucky made it a goal to google everything about sex workers in the modern age, because he feels like he should be punched in the face and spit on.

Oh.

Bad thing to think about right now. Bucky never liked when that happened to him back then.

“You want to get used to touch again? Start here!”

The Manhattan Kennel.

“Animals?”

You snorted, pulling open the door. Bucky raced to hold it open for you, internally cursing that you weren’t more careful.

“You can’t just barrel into someplace without assessing the possible threats!” Bucky whispered-screamed as close as he could to your ear. He understood that it was just a kennel… But to not search for threats ahead of you? Bucky takes it upon himself to do just that.

Two workers behind the counters, both male and in their early thirties. Surrounded by what looked like parrots and turtles—

“You think I, as a hooker, don’t look for threats?”

Bucky blinked, swallowing the embarrassing lump in his throat. You continued, “Two males, both of which look like they could carry me out easily. My purse has pepper spray and a pocket knife. I know how to break a nose with the heel of my hand. The dude on the left has a broken leg, by the way. And I’m pretty sure the one on the right is eyeing you instead of me.”

“Welcome to the Manhattan Kennel! How can we help you both find your lifelong friend?” the man on the right said, his voice a little higher-pitched than Bucky was expecting.

“Exactly,” you finished.

Bucky turned to you, hoping his equal amount of disbelief and proud astonishment were visible.

So he underestimated you. Okay. Bucky was thinking of kicking himself in the ass later, anyway.

“Do you have an area where we can sit and have the little angels run all over us?” you asked.

“Right up here,” the worker responded, as if that was a common request.

Was Bucky going to react well to this? Hell if he knows. He’s never exactly interacted with animals after his time with Hydra. They don’t incite the same amount of discomfort he usually feels when a human being stands near him. And Sam held a Veteran Dog event just last month—not that Bucky went, but he did see them being led into the compound.

But this did seem like a good idea. In theory. At least you weren’t touching him.

“We’ve got a mix of dogs this season. Big ones, little ones, fluffy mates, seniors, puppies—Was there any kind you wanted to look at?”

You turned to Bucky, your eyebrows raised sweetly and doe-eyes waiting for an answer. Were your eyes naturally that big?

“Um,��� Bucky stuttered, swiping a nervous hand down the back of his neck. His metal fingers got caught in the loose strands of his hair-bun. “The seniors sound nicer.”

“Perfect!” the worker cheered, “Just make yourselves comfortable in the green playpen and I’ll have about five dogs come around right now.”

The worker exited, leaving the two of you alone. Bucky created a respectable distance, clearing his throat uncomfortably as you obviously pretended not to notice.

“Do you like dogs?” you asked.

“Never really gave it much thought.”

“Really? I like both dogs and cats. I love all animals equally. I don’t segregate.”

Bucky chuckled, wiping his bottom lip softly. “You mean, discriminate?”

“That, too.”

“Are you looking to adopt one today?” he fished, kicking an invisible pebble with his left foot. Looking down at his feet calmed him a bit.

“Don’t have the space. I’d love to adopt a tiny, little Shih Tzu, though.”

That pulled a small smile to his lips. “You look like someone who would twin with a small dog.”

“You’re not far off. I’d match Christmas sweaters and everything.”

He was in the middle of imagining you squeezing a Shih Tzu sized head through a doggy sweater when the shelter worker returned, clicking his tongue in a call to the dogs behind him. Several older dogs, white around the mouth and eyebrows, came barreling through the small gate. They ignored him at first, finding their own scents much more interesting. But they took notice the moment you fell to your knees, squealing in excitement and comments of sweet praise. Three dogs, a golden retriever and two corgis, barreled into you. Licking in eagerness, barking with elation, searching for your hands so they may pat their heads and tickle their ears. You obliged wholeheartedly, deciding to lay down and take the rushed steps to your stomach, your chest. You laughed and awed, nowhere close to stopping, in a strange and soft element.

You were on your back with weight on your chest, and you weren’t screaming in terror. You were reaching out and fluffing hair on the top of the dogs’ heads, and you weren’t breaking any fingers. Your clothes were being pulled and scratched at, but not torn off.

You were happy. Pumped with glee and spirit.

It damn near made Bucky tear up.

“You want to pet some?” the worker asked, staying by the gate. There were two other dogs drinking from the water bowls in the corner, minding their own business. The chihuahua drank and drank, while the other—a German shepherd—stared at him. The dog tilted his head, his tongue slipping out quickly to swipe at his nose. He made no move to approach Bucky. He just stared, interested, and kind.

Bucky hesitated, glancing over at you for a signal. You turned toward him, grinning from ear to ear, holding one of the corgis to your chest. You didn’t seem to mind the fuzzy butt near your neck.

“It’s up to you,” you clarified, doing your best to shrug. “But this would be a good first exercise.”

You didn’t divulge more information than needed in front of a stranger. The worker made no indication he had even heard at all. So Bucky lowered himself down to his knees, then onto his bottom, crossing his legs in an easy pretzel. He removed his gloves, breathing in long, calculated breaths. Preparing himself to be trampled—with paws, not with boots.

The German shepherd inched closer, curious, his beautiful brown and black coat mesmerizing Bucky. It had been a while since Bucky had seen a German shepherd. Last time was during the war. Steve had just returned with a small, rescued unit and gave his tent over to an injured sergeant. The man, who Bucky recalled as having the most gorgeous green eyes, had given his cot to his equally injured dog. With a horrid gunshot wound in his shoulder, the soldier sat on the cold, forest floor and wrapped his dog’s leg. Bucky hadn’t questioned him, hadn’t spoken much to the soldier, really.

All he remembered about that encounter was saying, “Describe the landscape of where you were held captive,” and the soldier replying, “This rascal probably remembers better than me.” Bucky couldn’t actually ask the dog the same question so he nodded his thanks, and never saw the dog or the soldier again.

Bucky figured it was safer to hold his flesh hand out first—safer for the dog. He highly doubted he would lose a finger to a dog with half his original teeth. The dog sniffed, nuzzling his nose in Bucky’s palm, groaning softly. Bucky released a shaky breath, one that hurt a little as it exited his lungs, but he sat still. He sat completely frozen, not risking moving, because this was the first time someone or something had touched him without him freaking out in a long time.

A paw repeatedly brushed against his knee, telling him to do more than just offer out his hand. So Bucky turned his hand over, rested it on the dog’s forehead, and pet him.

Then he used both hands.

Close to sobbing now, Bucky buried his face in the dog’s neck. The dog did the very same.

“Bucky?”

Bucky hummed, pulling the heavy dog closer.

“Did this make you happy?”

Bucky breathed in the mix of dust, dirt, and—weirdly enough—tortilla chips, that made up the dog’s coat. Honest in his answer, Bucky barely nodded as he mumbled, “It feels good to be hugged again.”

~

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes/reader #marvel fanfiction #mini-series #holiday fanfic #pretty woman au #captainsimagines #by Moni