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The Altar Is My Hips

Summary:

“I’m going to fuck that bratty attitude right out of your system."

-

The one person on Earth who you hate is the very same person who you're paired with on this mission: Bucky Barnes. You can't stand to be around him and you're fairly certain he feels the same way. That is of course, until he slots his thigh between your legs at a gala and sends your head spinning with confusion and want.

*Fast-paced enemies to lovers.

Notes:

don't let this flop besties because

i wrote THIS instead of writing my paper that's due in two days plssss pray for me

Chapter Text

Through the windows, you watch him reach up to run a hand through his brown hair, long and unruly — matches the ruggedness of the stubble on his face. His shirt rides up from the effort, exposing the v of his pelvis, making the material strain against his biceps. He smiles then at something Steve says — he doesn’t do that often — but it’s strange when he does, as if he’s forgotten how to move his face in this way.

 

God, you fucking hated him.

 

“You should wipe the drool off your chin,” Wanda smirks from beside you, bumping your shoulder gently with hers. “Before Buck sees and get the wrong idea.”



“Hardly drooling,” you scowl, refocusing your gaze so that it falls on the mug you’re cradling in your hands.

 

“I’m just teasing you.”

 

“Don’t you ever get tired of doing that?”

 

“Does anyone? It’s my favourite past-time.”

 

You shoot her a glare that’s full of daggers and she raises her hands in mock-surrender. Before she can open her mouth to say anything, Bucky and Steve open the door and come into the room which causes a veil of silence to fall over you two.

 

“There you are,” Steve greets you, offers a nod and a beaming smile to Wanda before he turns his attention back to you. “I was just going over your mission with Bucky.”

 

You shift in your seat uncomfortably, not enjoying the fact that you had been assigned to the one person you couldn’t stand to be around. You and Bucky would have to go undercover at a gala and figure out who was selling and purchasing illegal weapons. When you had realised that you were to be his partner… let’s just say that Peter had unfortunately had to deal with hours of your incessant complaining.

 

“If this goes well,” Steve begins, “we can find out who’s behind all of this and stop it.”

 

Steve continues talking and you just nod along with everything he says, your eyes shifting to focus on what is standing behind Steve only once.

 

Bucky is leaning on the wall at the back of the room, ever silent and ever brooding. You half-expect him to chime in at some point but unsurprisingly, the Winter Soldier is as cold and as distant as he always is.

 

“That sound good?” Steve asks and your attention snaps back to his instantly.

 

“Um… yeah, it’s perfect,” you say quickly, even though you have no idea what you are agreeing to. From the way Wanda raises her eyebrows and smirks, you start to think that ‘perfect’ is not the best choice of words.

 

“Great,” Steve concludes. “Someone will drop off your dress and name badge later tonight. Let’s go Buck.”

 

You watch them leave the room, chatting quietly amongst each other and notice that Bucky’s shoulders seem to be much tenser than normal.

 

“‘Perfect’, huh?” Wanda laughs from beside you, taking a sip from her mug.

 

“I have no idea what he was talking about,” you admit, feeling slightly sheepish.

 

“Distracted by the view?”

 

“Shut up.” You glare at her and wait for her to fill you in on the details. After a while, she obliges.

 

“He just told you what your cover for the mission is,” she explains.

 

You sigh dramatically, placing your hand under your chin to support it. “So, they finally decided that I’m going to pretend to be his assistant? I can’t even get into how sexist that—”

 

“Oh, it’s way better than that,” Wanda says and she can’t help the fact that she’s giggling as she speaks. “They thought that the assistant role wouldn’t be too convincing.”

 

You swallow, sudden nervousness settling in your stomach like a rock. “Well, then what is it?”

 

Wanda starts laughing.

 

“You’re going to be his date.”

 

 

 

Whoever had picked out your outfit is going to be a dead man. You are actually going to throttle them. Not only is it virtually backless, but the slit is so high that it shows off your entire thigh. This means that you can only conceal one gun under your dress (strapped to the opposite thigh, of course) and that makes you uneasy. If anything goes wrong, you hope one gun is enough.

 

Nat tsks at you as she zips up the back of it. “Stop sulking and walk with more confidence.”

 

“I hate this,” you mutter, folding your arms over your chest to hide the absolutely plunging neckline. “It’s way too revealing.”



“It’s hot,” Nat says and slaps your butt as you pass her for emphasis. You jerk away and yell a curse. “Come on, you’re the distraction, remember? The distraction has to be distracting.”



“Which dumbass thought this was a good plan?” you groan.

 

Nat shrugs. “It’s stupid, but it does work. Men always fall for that harmless, beautiful woman trope. They’ll immediately underestimate you, decide you don’t pose a threat and then they’re vulnerable. Bing, bang, boom and we get what we need.”

 

She pries your arms off of your chest and forces you to stand taller. “You have to ooze confidence though. You look absolutely gorgeous — so flaunt that, play the part.”



“Fine,” you sigh. You readjust the straps in the mirror and blink at yourself for a few seconds. The red satin of the dress shimmers under the lights and you realise that Nat isn’t wrong: you do look good.

 

“Alright so, Steve texted ten minutes ago and said Bucky’s waiting in the garage for you,” Nat announces, checking her phone before flashing you a smile. She pulls your hair to the side so that she can clasp a delicate, small pendant around your neck. It settles just in the valley between your breasts, the metal cold against your skin and glinting slightly whenever it catches the light.

 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you say exasperatedly, throwing your hands up and rushing around. “I don’t need to give Bucky any more reasons to be angry with me.”



“I didn’t want to say anything,” Nat snaps, handing you a clutch bag. “Because you clearly needed a pep-talk. He can wait, it won’t kill him.”

 

She leads you out of the room, chides the way you walk — says something about needing to sashay your hips more — and doesn’t stop grinning at her handiwork.

 

You almost stop in your tracks completely when you see him. If it wasn’t for Nat’s hand at your elbow guiding you along, you fear that you might have. Bucky is leaning against the car door, staring at his phone as he waits for you but he hears you nearing and looks up.

 

He’s wearing a suit, pristine and well-fitting — must’ve gone to Tony’s tailor — and his hair is tied neatly into a bun. Both of his hands are covered with leather gloves in order to conceal the metal prosthetic. You blush when his eyebrows raise as he takes you in, his eyes travelling over every inch of you until they stop on the pendant.

 

Bucky’s eyes snap up to meet your own and you half expect him to smirk at you but instead he just nods, straightens his back and becomes as stoic as ever.

 

“Pick your jaw up off the floor, Barnes,” Nat teases, her voice echoing around the room. “Tell her she looks good, she is your date after all.”



Nat,” you snap, embarrassment flooding into your bloodstream.

 

“You look… nice,” he deadpans and you know he’s saying it as a mere courtesy. You can’t shake the feeling that he’s almost mocking you as he says it.

 

It makes you roll your eyes and walk over to the passenger side. “Shut up. Let’s just get this over with.”

 

You climb into the seat and readjust your dress, the already high slit coming up even higher as you sit. Bucky gets in beside you, doesn’t even shoot you a glance and wordlessly turns the engine on.

 

“Good luck!” Nat says through the window and shoots you a wink.

 

 

You’re acutely aware of Bucky’s hand resting on your lower back, guiding you gently from the car towards the doors of the gala. Because the dress is backless, you can feel the warm leather of his gloves directly against your skin. It sends goosebumps up your spine and you can’t stop the involuntary shiver that wracks its way through your body.

 

“It’ll be warmer inside,” Bucky says quietly and you realise that he interpreted that shiver as one brought on by the cold. You don’t correct him.

 

You want to squirm out of his grip, walk faster than him so that his hand can’t rest along your spine in this way. But you also don’t like the way some of the other men are staring at you, almost leering as both of you pass.

 

You know that the only reason that they’re keeping their distance is precisely because of that hand at your back. You know that Bucky knows this too, noticed the way his jaw tensed when he opened your door to help you out of the car and heard one of them whistle. That’s when he had planted his palm to your spine, almost daring them to say or do anything else. You figure he just doesn’t want to stir up any trouble.

 

You are actually grateful for it and more grateful that you hadn’t had to ask him to do this — even if you do feel slightly awkward.

 

Bucky presents your identification to the guards, his hand leaving you momentarily so that he can sift through his pockets for it. You start to think that this won’t work, that the two of you are going to be caught and barred from entry.

 

But the guards only nod and beckon you both inside. There’s no metal detector so the gun stays strapped to your thigh and you only wonder how many Bucky has managed to conceal beneath his own clothes. You walk in first, the guards asking a few more questions to Bucky about his status and other trivial things — utterly ignoring you. You just roll your eyes at it all, walking in and taking in the sight of all the people in this room.

 

Everyone is dressed in fancy, glittering outfits and are laughing languidly with one another. You know that everyone in here is filthily rich and won’t think twice about the money that they’re spending. The objective of your mission is clear: blend in and find out who is smuggling and dealing the weapons.

 

“Well, aren’t you a sight,” somebody breathes and you turn to face a man who’s well into his fifties, eyes wide as they rake you in. “Surely a beautiful woman like yourself deserves a drink and—”

 

“I’ll buy it for her then,” Bucky’s voice states firmly from behind you. He reappears at your side, palm to your spine once more and leads you away.

 

“I’m more than capable of handling myself,” you tell him. “But… thanks.”

 

“You’re my date,” he says monotonously. “I should act like it.”

 

You don’t say anything to that but walk over to the bar and order a glass of champagne to drown some of the nerves twisting in your gut. Bucky’s eyes are scanning the room, looking for anybody suspicious. He denies the glass you offer him so you decide to drink that one as well.

 

After about twenty minutes of idle mingling, you notice something that has your eyes narrowing.

 

“Down there,” you say and point to a window that shows off the gardens outside. “I think I recognise that man.”

 

“From where?” Bucky asks, both of you trying to inconspicuously move toward him.

 

“I’m fairly certain that he’s part of the Harkness crime family,” you murmur, watching the man carefully as he laughs and talks to his associates. “If anybody was doing anything shady, it makes sense that it might be them.”

 

But you can tell that he’s not listening to you anymore, his eyes having caught sight of something else. You follow his gaze and it lands on a different man, one wrapped in a fur jacket and pulling one of the waitresses closer to him.



“Stay here,” Bucky instructs you, tapping his index finger on your back. “I need to—”

 

“Where are you going?” you interrupt, pulling him back by his bicep as he makes to move away from you. “Who is that?”

 

“Nothing,” he shrugs then stops when your eyebrows furrow. “It might be something.”

 

You dig your nails into his bicep, not allowing him to budge an inch until he offers a real explanation. He heaves out a frustrated sigh at you, rolling his eyes.

 

“Fine. I know him from when…” He lowers his voice and steps closer to you, his face dropping towards yours. “… when I was… the Soldier. He deals in things. I had to… dispose… of a few people for him in the past. I think he’s a lead.”

 

You swallow awkwardly. You knew that he didn’t like to talk about this stuff, it was all from a different time when he was… when he was hardly himself. You let your grip on him loosen.

 

“Okay, but I’m going to come with—” you start.

 

“You’re going to stay right here,” he snaps at you, straightening his back so that he towers over you once more. His voice is firm, leaves no room for argument.

 

But he’s never argued with you before though.

 

“I’m your partner on this mission,” you try to reason, eyebrows furrowing with frustration. “Not your actual helpless little date.”

 

“I’m your primary on this mission,” he corrects you. “You will do as I say. This guy isn’t somebody to mess around with.”

 

“I’m not going to just stand here and do nothing.” You cross your arms.

 

Fuck, you are such a stubborn brat,” Bucky mutters under his breath. He rubs a hand over his face in exasperation. “I don’t know how much clearer to be when I say that I do not want you anywhere near him.”



You open your mouth to say the words: “why the fuck do you care so much?” but Bucky’s eyes narrow into slits. Before you could utter a sound, he places a practically bruising grip on your hip and snarls, “I said, stay here.”

 

He leaves without another word, turning his back on you and weaving his way through the room. You can still feel the ghost of his large hand squeezing your hip in warning and you feel like your head is swimming.

 

You have no choice but to comply, slowly lowering yourself into a chair even though it feels like an invisible force is guiding you to. You stare at his form moving across the room, gracefully dodging other guests despite his large size.

 

The thoughts in your head are racing a mile a minute. The one that seems to be replaying over and over on a loop is the way that he had breathlessly uttered the word, “fuck”. You can’t stop yourself from thinking of all the other reasons why he would say such a word like that, the way he had snapped the commandment, the way you can definitely understand how he had been appointed the role of Sergeant in the war.

 

You are also becoming acutely aware that whenever Bucky gets riled up, his Brooklyn accent rolls out thickly. You have only heard it this intensely a few times in the past but it has never made heat lick its way up your spine like it has now. He’s never addressed you with it before.

 

You shift in the seat, dragging your gaze away from him and whatever he seems to be doing and refocusing your attention on the man you had recognised from earlier. You watch him through the window, he’s more relaxed — a little drunk, you realise — and definitely letting his guard down as he gawks at every other man’s date. He’s sitting alone now, the associates obviously having left to do something.

 

You just hope that Nat’s little theory is right, that he’ll see you and think you pose no threat. You decide that while Bucky chases his lead, you might as well chase yours too.

 

You’re careful, cradling a third glass of champagne in your hand as you make your way outside. You make a point not to look in his direction, instead walking to the edge of the balcony so you can lean against the wall and look out at the rest of the garden below. You’re going to let him come to you.

 

You can practically feel his gaze burning into the skin on your back, train your ears to listen for when he gets up from his chair and slowly makes his way over to where you’re standing.

 

“Now why is this little treasure all on her own?” he trills from behind you and you turn, letting the dress catch the light and glimmer with your movements.

 

“My date’s inside,” you say, “I just needed a break from him.”

 

He smiles then, stepping closer and coming to stand at your side by the wall. He’s not ugly; white-blonde hair and dimples in his cheeks, toned chest visible because he’s left some of the buttons of his shirt undone. He’s just not your type, is all.

 

“Hopefully, I can be a little more entertaining for you then,” he offers and clinks his glass with yours.

 

It’s darker outside, the lights from the room stream out the windows and cast everything out here in a warm, yellow glow. It’s still bright enough for you to make out the tattoo that’s resting above the man’s heart — jet black ink that’s illuminated every time he faces toward you. You recognise that tattoo, you know that it’s the Harkness family crest.

 

He catches you staring and adjusts his shirt so that it’s hidden again. “I take it you know what that means, then.”

 

You snap your eyes back to his, sipping from the champagne glass casually as you shrug. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

 

He grins, stepping closer to you. You immediately feel the urge to step back, increase the distance between both of your bodies, but you manage to stay rooted to the ground. Can’t blow this. Gotta get the information you need.

 

His fingertips stroke your elbow and you resist the urge to cringe away. “Hm. I knew there was something about you.”

 

Your eyebrows raise at that. “And?”

 

His head angles toward you, lips dangerously close to your ear as he whispers, “how about we get out of here?”

 

Your stomach twists but you manage to remain calm. “See, the thing is I’m here with my date because we’re after something very… specific.”

 

His fingers trace the curve of your hipbone, his breath is ghosting on your neck as he murmurs, “and what is that, beautiful?”

 

Before you can say anything else, a man appears in the doorway in a rush. “Boss, we got a situation.”

 

“I’m a little busy right now,” Harkness snaps back. “Can it not wait?”

 

“There’s some people asking about Monday’s next shipment at the docks…” the man trails off as he catches sight of you. “You — she’s with him.”

 

“With who?” Harkness yells, frustration taking over him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

 

“Mafia is inside stirring up trouble for us,” the man grunts, his hand reaching behind his back for something. Shit. You know what he’s going to do. “They’re trying to move in on our territory. Saw a man talking to them… discussing business. Saw her enter with him… they were arguing earlier.”

 

He pulls the gun on you in a swift motion and you curse, hands raising in surrender.

 

“Well that’s disappointing,” Harkness sighs from next to you, pinching your hip before grabbing the glass of champagne from your hand and tipping it all down his throat. He throws the glass on the ground and it shatters at your feet as he shrugs and steps away from you. “Alright, tell me who you work for.”

 

He says it calmly, decisively and goes to stand next to the man who’s pointing a gun at you. He gestures for the man to step out more onto the balcony, away from any prying ears and eyes. You know he’s probably done this thousands of times before, that neither of them would hesitate to shoot you.

 

You just need to wiggle into a window of opportunity long enough for you to draw your own weapon. 

 

“Make this easy, love, and just tell me,” he says. “I’d hate to ruin such a pretty face. Although, that sentiment might change as my patience wanes.”

 

You’re immediately calculating in your head; how fast you could whip out your gun, how you could apprehend both of them, how you could put up one hell of a fight. You’re a good fighter, you’ve trained enough hours to be able to take these two in your sleep. If you could bring down super-soldiers, then what the hell were two random men to you?

 

All of this fight dies on your fingertips before you get to move even a muscle.

 

“I’m waiting—SHIT!” screams Harkness before he is slammed to the ground, face-first. The man who is holding the gun whirs around in panic but his jaw connects with Bucky’s fist, the gun wrenched right out of his grip. He whines in pain as his wrist is fractured, tries to throw a feeble punch which Bucky effortlessly blocks. 

 

You dart forward, kicking the gun away and advancing on Harkness. He opens his mouth to scream but you slam his forehead into the pavement, knocking him out cold. Bucky has taken down the other man, holding him in a chokehold until his eyes roll back in his head and he slumps to the ground like dead-weight. You rifle through Harkness’s pockets and grin widely when your fingers close on a card.

 

You stand up quickly just as Bucky turns to face you. 

 

“What the hell were you thinking?” he shouts at you, his accent thick. “Coming out here all by yourself where nobody could see you?”

 

“I had it handled,” you state, dusting off the front of your dress.

 

“He had the gun pointed right at you!”

 

”I was handling it.” 

 

Bucky stalks toward you, his hands curling into fists by his side, the leather creaking with the effort. “I told — I ordered you to stay put.”

 

“I had a hunch,” you say, squaring your shoulders and refusing to back down. “I followed it.”

 

Bucky eyes flash murderously at you, “you could’ve just gotten yourself killed.” His voice is firm, sharp even as he addresses you. Something in you twists and wonders if this is the Soldier that’s speaking to you now. 

 

“Well, I didn’t!” you argue. “I have a job to do and I was doing it. I’m sorry if I didn’t sit and wait for you like a good, obedient little dog.” 

 

“Your job,” he grits, “is to listen to me: the primary on this case. You could’ve just cost us this entire mission.” 

 

“If you just listen to me—”

 

“No, I’m done listening. I should have told Steve to reassign you,” he spits, coming right up in your face. “I knew you weren’t right for this job, Nat should’ve been here instead.” 

 

“Well I wish you had told Steve,” you point your finger right into his chest for emphasis. “Then I wouldn’t have been stuck here with a glorified babysitter. But I’m sorry Barnes, next time I’ll do and say nothing and happily let you fuck up the entire mission.” 

 

You don’t want to admit it — and you never will — but it stings slightly that he doubts you. All your male superiors doubt you and you always find yourself working double-time just to prove that you’re deserving of your rank. When you joined the Avengers, you hoped everyone’s criticism would dissipate but instead it increased tenfold. Now you felt that you had to deserve your spot amongst them. 

 

“You’re a brat,” Bucky snaps at you, his accent slurring the words in a way that has your toes curling. But you ignore it, the anger inside of you taking control of everything else. “You—”

 

I,” you interrupt him, driving your index finger into his chest as you speak. “Found out that the Harknesses have a shipment coming in on Monday. I know where it is, what dock number it is and what time.”

 

You produce the card between your fingers holding it up.

 

“What did you find out Barnes?” You know you’re tempting an eruption when you flick the card at his face for good measure. His temper only rises as you do that, his eyebrows knitting together in fury. 

 

His reflexes are quick; so quick that they catch you off guard and you gasp. His hand darts forward, long fingers closing around your wrist and squeezing it tightly. You try to pull your hand away, but it doesn’t even budge and the card drifts gently on the wind before it comes to rest on the ground beside your feet. 

 

His voice has dropped into a dangerously low octave. He pinches your jaw between his thumb and index finger and angles your face up to meet his absolutely murderous  glare. 

 

“You will not disobey my orders again.” 

 

And you realise that it’s not the Soldier speaking after all.

 

It’s the Sergeant. 

 

You swallow, your stomach starting to flutter with involuntary butterflies. But you’re not going to let him intimidate you, there’s nothing he can do to you no matter how angry you make him. Nothing he would do to you. Right? 

 

“Because I disobeyed your orders, I learned valuable intel that might help us,” you don’t back down. “Even if it’s not the weapons, it’s still something. What I did—“

 

”What you did almost earned you a bullet between your eyes,” Bucky states, his shoulders heaving with his barely contained fury. “And that’s the best case scenario if they didn’t decide to kidnap you and do anything worse.”

 

He narrows his eyes at you as he continues speaking. “What you should’ve done, was wait for me and apprehended him together.” 

 

“He wouldn’t have told me anything if you were there,” you snarl, trying to shake your face out of his grip but it doesn’t budge. “It only worked because I was alone!” 

 

You suck in a breath to continue arguing but he invades your space, chest practically rising and falling against your own because he’s just that close to you. You can smell his cologne now, find yourself wanting to get drunk off of it. Can see the way his muscles are tensed from the anger that’s coursing through him, the way his eyes have darkened in a way you’ve never seen before. His fingers are still wrapped around your wrist, keeping it suspended in the air while his other hand is still pinching your jaw. 

 

He pinches harder when you attempt to start speaking. Something has changed between you both now. 

 

”If you don’t shut that mouth right now,” he murmurs darkly, his eyes flicking down to your lips, “I’ll give it something else to do.” 

 

You can feel the scratchiness of the wall against the bare skin of your back. He’s cornered you into it and there’s nowhere for you to run — if you wanted to, that is. You never were a runner though, you always had to stand your ground. 

 

“Like what?” 

 

Wrong. Thing. To. Say.  

 

He tenses, clearly not expecting that to be your response. His eyes search through your face, looking for a drop of hesitation or regret. He finds nothing of the sort yet he still lets out a deep sigh, releasing his grip on you entirely. 

 

He stands in front of you wordlessly and you smirk at him: you win. 

 

“Exactly,” you continue pushing, “that’s what—” 

 

“I’m going to fuck that bratty attitude right out of your system,” he interrupts and your legs do go weak at that. He catches you, arms circling your waist and pressing you up against the wall for support. 

 

You’re breathless, staring at him with wide eyes because you can’t exactly believe that he’s said something like that to you. He’s amused with your response, large hands spanning over the expanse of your back, of your waist. The leather feels deliciously smooth on your skin but you can't help from wanting him to rip those gloves off, to touch you with his actual skin. 

 

“Is that something you think you want, doll?” he asks smugly, his arms tightening around you in case you fall again. “For me to fuck you senseless?"

 

God, and suddenly that's all you want. You can't stop yourself from imagining how he'd be in bed, how you could spend hours together. You know that his muscles have already enticed you and you can't stop yourself from wondering what he'd look like shirtless. 

 

Bucky grins - really actually grins triumphantly at you - and pulls you flush against his chest. "I think someone ought to put you in your place for once and as your primary… guess that’s my job.” 

 

You just feel yourself nodding vigorously, heat starting to pool at the base of your legs at his words. You don’t know what this is, you’ve barely heard him say anything before but to know that he’s got a mouth like this on him? For someone who’s always quiet, always brooding you can’t believe that he’s talking to you like this — can’t believe how well it’s working too. Can't believe you want him so badly... that he wants you. 

 

You can’t speak, you’re afraid your voice will betray you but your nods aren’t enough for him. 

 

“Need to hear you say it,” he rumbles close to your ear, his breath on your neck making you shiver. He places a soft kiss to the skin there. “Use your words, doll.” 

 

“Yes, yes, Bucky, yes,” you’re nodding, almost pleading, giving him all the permission he needs. 

 

His hands are on either of your cheeks before you can register that they’re there, pulling your face into his own. His mouth crashes against yours, surprising you completely. He’s not gentle, he’s gripping your cheeks tightly and his kiss is rough. Your eyes widen before they flutter shut, your hands scrabbling to find purchase on him — purchase on anything that might ground you in this moment. 

 

You ball the front of his shirt in your fist, the nails of your other hand digging into his bicep. His hands leave your cheeks, trail down your bare back, send shivers rippling up to your shoulders. Heat licks at your spine as he traces it with deft fingertips, as he runs over the curve of your ass. 

 

You gasp involuntarily into his mouth when you feel his tongue swipe across your bottom lip. He only smirks and uses it as an excuse to deepen the kiss. You find yourself tilting your head backwards, sucking on his bottom lip, hands roaming under his suit jacket across the rows of hard muscle under his shirt. 

 

You can feel the moan ripple through you when he slots one of his thick thighs between your legs. The slit of your dress allows for his leg to go right under the material and suddenly you’re not cursing how high it is anymore. 

 

You know that he knows how turned on you are now, the thin layer of your panties is hardly concealing anything. Desperate for any sort of friction, you roll your hips and don’t even stop to consider that later you might be slightly embarrassed that you’re grinding against Bucky’s thigh like this.

 

But his hands find purchase on your hips, he encourages your body to roll and you sigh into his mouth, sigh when his lips trail down your neck. You draw your bottom lip between your teeth when you feel his fingers tracing over the soft skin of your thighs. 

 

He pulls away from you slightly so that his eyes can rake over your body hungrily. 

 

“Who put you in this fucking ridiculous dress?” he curses, his gaze unashamedly dropping to follow the deep v at the front of your dress. “You’ve been driving me insane all evening.” 

 

You want to melt under the way he’s taking you in, the way he seems to be memorising every inch of your bare skin. 

 

“What are you—” you swallow, too breathless and can barely get the words out. “What are you talking about?” 

 

“Don’t pretend like you haven’t seen every man in this room staring at you,” he growls and you realise something. Is he jealous? Has that been the reason why he kept himself so close to you? 

 

You want to kiss him again, can’t believe that you want to kiss him again, and pull his body to yours by his shirt. What the hell was happening? Was this some kind of dream?

 

Before the two of you can do anything else, one of the men that’s lying on the floor groan and stir slightly. That sound is what has the two of you crashing back to reality. You push Bucky away from you slightly and just stare at him in disbelief. 

 

But when the Harkness man starts to stir a little bit more, you regain consciousness and reach down to pick up the card that you had flicked at Bucky.  

 

“Let’s go,” he responds gruffly, stepping to the side so that you can walk in front of him. 

 

And just like that, whatever spell the two of you were under breaks like shattered glass. 

 

You pass him quickly, eyes trained to the ground as you practically speed walk to the car. You can’t believe it, can’t believe that the two of you just… what the fuck just happened? 

 

Neither of you speak in the car, a thick curtain of silence drenched over you both. If Bucky even notices the fact that your thighs are clenched together for the whole ride, he doesn’t say anything about it. 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 2

Summary:

"You can either go and inevitably get bored like you always do," he starts, bringing his mouth close to yours whilst his eyes pierce into you. "Or I can make you cum on my tongue."

Notes:

y'all, i finished my essay and worked ravenously to finish this

but i won't lie when i say this very much got away from me

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

When you had first moved into the Avengers tower, you had gawked at the size of it. They had told you that since there were so many rooms and so few members on the team, you could choose any room you wanted on any floor you wanted.

 

You had just happened to choose the room on the same floor as Bucky — a floor that the two of you shared alone. It had been one of your worst mistakes. You always seemed to catch him in the corridor and had to awkwardly engage with him. 

 

Tonight is no exception: you regret your previous decision even more. How the fuck were you supposed to avoid him if he literally lived a couple metres away from you?  You just couldn’t shake the feeling of his hands all over you, of his tongue down your throat, his chest pressed to yours. 

 

But the panic that's building in your chest is short-lived as you realise that you won't have to deal with any awkward interactions in the corridor. Bucky drops you off at home in silence and before you can even say anything to him, he's reversing the car out of the driveway and speeding away. It makes you sigh but you're happy not to have to deal with him. 

 

You just wish that you could shake him out of your head. When you get to your room, you lean against the door and suck in a deep breath, trying in vain to direct your thoughts to other things. 

It doesn't work.

 

You draw your bottom lip between your teeth and squeeze your eyes shut as his words play through your mind.

 

For me to fuck you senseless. 

 

You swallow, hands balling up the material of the dress in a vain attempt to ground yourself. “Shit,” you whisper to yourself, crossing over to the bed and laying down. You unstrap the gun from around your thigh and place it on the bedside table, sighs leaving your lips as you remember the feeling of his fingers tracing the soft skin between your thighs. 

 

Are you really going to do this? And for him - of all people - him

 

Use your words, doll. 

 

Even in your mind, you can’t escape the gruffness of his accent, how it makes your toes curl. You close your eyes, hand splaying over your lower stomach, reaching down further. You can't just lie here... your body is too needy right now to just ignore it. 

 

You don’t have to even take the dress off, just have to shift it to the side as you slowly stroke your middle finger over your underwear. The lace feels soft and it’s a deep red to match your dress — did he see it? When he had you pinned against the wall, his knee pressing against you — did he see? 

 

You chew your lip as you circle your clothed clit; not nearly enough friction, not nearly enough pressure to alleviate that ache within you. You’ve been aching since he kissed you, the whole car ride home and now finally you were going to take care of it. 

 

You slip your fingers under the waistband of the lace panties, gasping slightly when your fingers trace over your clit. You’re already wet; have been for hours now and you spread that over your yourself, allowing your fingers to circle faster.

 

You start to think about him doing this to you instead, how much bigger his fingers would be, how good the texture of the callouses on his fingertips would feel.  Did he really mean it when he said he would fuck the bratty attitude out of you? You shiver as you think about it. 

 

You sigh as your middle finger circles your entrance, teasing yourself slightly. Is that something you want, doll? 

 

His fingers would be so much better, able to curl and hit places inside of you that you couldn’t reach. You moan when you imagine him doing this to you with his left hand, his metal hand. 

 

You’ve always known that he’s been slightly insecure of it, that he hardly let others see it. But you can only think of how good that cold metal would feel as it soothed over your hot skin, how those fingers would never get tired of curling into you. 

 

You sigh his name as you imagine his lips pressed to the pulse point in your neck, sucking into the soft skin and leaving a bruise that you’d have to cover in the morning, lest the rest of the tower know what you were doing. 

 

“Shit, Shit, Bucky,” the moans tumble from your lips, your eyes squeezing shut. “More, Buck, more.” 

 

You sink your finger all the way in, gasping at the feel of it, hating that it’s not enough — too small and thin to feel full, to feel claimed the way you want to be. But it has to do, you’re too desperate and worked up right now. 

 

You add a second finger, curling both up to hit the spot that has you keening forward, legs spreading wider so that you can reach deeper inside of yourself as you try to fuck your fingers. 

 

“Oh God Bucky, fuck… yes,” your words are breathless, nonsense dripping from your lips as you imagine him rolling your tits in his palms, thumbs rubbing over the nipples. That Brooklyn accent slurring words into your ear could be enough to send you tumbling over the edge and you're startled by how much you want that, want him. 

 

You gasp as your movements become more erratic, desperately trying to satiate that yearning inside of your bones. You ignore the burn in your wrist, pushing past it. You’re almost there… just a little bit more. 

 

“Don’t stop,” you whisper into the dark, “don’t stop, oh Sergeant... feels so good.” 

 

You’re not sure why you said that, it just comes out of your mouth as you lose yourself in your haze. You figure it would turn you on to call him that and it does — you can feel yourself starting to clench around your fingers as your body prepares to start crashing. 

 

“Oh shit,” you moan loudly, “I’m about to cum Sergeant.” 

 

You whisper the title into the air like it's a prayer leaving your lips, chasing that euphoric feeling within you. You're bucking your hips to meet the thrusts of your fingers, eyes scrunched and your free hand balling up the sheets of the bed. You're imagining his lips on your throat, trailing sloppy kisses up to your jaw, large hands spanning over the width of your body. And you're so close to finding that relief that you've been chasing the whole evening, you whine out:

 

"Sergeant, yes." 

 

Fuck, doll.” 

 

You scream in fright. Your eyes shoot open and you scream as you catch sight of him standing in the doorway. You tear your hands away from yourself and grab the blanket to pull over your legs, your cheeks HEATING with white-hot embarrassment. 

 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you’re yelling, hands shaking as you realise that he saw you — that he heard you. God, where’s your gun? You’re going to shoot yourself in the head. 

 

Bucky swallows, looking at you as if you had just slapped him soundly across his face. “You… I…”

 

”Don’t you knock?” you shriek, pulling more of the blanket over yourself. 

 

“You… I was coming home,” he swallows again through the words, his voice hoarse as he speaks. “I heard… heard you calling for me.” 

 

“Get out!” you scream, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. But you don’t know if it’s because of your ruined orgasm or from the sheer mortification of this whole event. 

 

He opens his mouth to say something but you throw a pillow across the room at him. “I said get out, Bucky!” 

 

He drags his feet as he leaves the room, slamming the door shut behind him. The sound of it echoes through you, resonates deep in your bones as you sigh and throw yourself back on the bed, eyes facing the ceiling. 

 

God, you fucking hate him. 

 

 

Four days pass where you actively do everything in your power to avoid Bucky. It’s a little tricky considering that both of your rooms are next to each other, but you’re determined to scale the side of the building and climb in through your bedroom window if you have to. (Realistically, you could surely ask Peter to let you cling to his back whilst he does just that.) 

 

For the most part, you do manage to completely avoid him. You know you can’t do it forever but you honestly have no idea how you’re very going to face him again after what he caught you doing. How are you ever going to come back from this?

 

You slump down on the couch sandwiched between Nat and Wanda; two of your closest friends besides Peter. You haven't told them what happened that night, instead kept it bottled up inside of you and ready to take it to the grave. 

 

"Well, he's invited," Nat says idly, stretching out onto the couch. "So, I suppose we'll meet him tonight."

 

Shit. You haven't been listening. 

 

"Um... who's coming tonight?" you ask sheepishly. 

 

Wanda scoffs from beside you and pats your shoulder. "You gotta stop daydreaming, honey."

 

"My personality trait," you shrug. "Who?"

 

"Some douchebag named John Walker," Nat sighs out. "Some new agent that we're going to work with on a case of mine."

 

"Why can't you handle it by yourself?" you question, eyebrows raising. "Surely, you're enough to deal with it."

 

Nat's clearly annoyed by the situation. She sighs and scrubs her face with her hand. "He has a good team of people and apparently they have a lead. I didn't have a choice, Fury just assigned him to my mission."

 

"I've met him before," Wanda says slowly. "There's just something about him that I don't like."

 

"So, I'm guessing Steve's the one who invited him to tonight?" you surmise. 

 

"Always the peacemaker, that one," Nat says but she smiles. "Our Captain America... bringing us together and fostering harmony between the team."

 

You hear the echo of his boots hitting the stairs before you see him enter the kitchen. Sam is with him, chatting to him about something that you just can't be bothered to pay attention to; because you can see that Bucky's just worked out, can see the sweat on his forehead and the way he's tied his hair up into a ponytail to keep it out of his eyes - and that's just far too distracting. 

 

Sam sees the three of you sitting on the couch and greets you all enthusiastically. Bucky, of course, says nothing. Shocker. 

 

He pours coffee into his mug, his muscles accentuated by the tight-fitting black tank that he wears. Sam's back is to you all now, still caught up in the debate he's having with the Sergeant - with Bucky. Fuck, what's wrong with you?

 

He reaches for something on the top shelf, forcing his shirt to ride up and expose the rock-hard set of abs there. If he’s doing this on purpose, you want to slap him across his face. He doesn’t look up at you once, pretending that you’re not there. 

 

That’s perfectly fine with you.

 

”Why are you tenser than usual?” Nat asks you, looking at you quizzically.

 

”I told you,” Wanda chimes in, her eyes shifting to Bucky before she smirks at you. “Something definitely happened on that mission.” 

 

“Did you guys get into a fight or something?” Nat continues her prodding, unobservant to the way you keep stealing glances at Bucky’s bare arms. 

 

“Something like that,” you mutter, annoyance brewing in your blood.

 

You want to stop talking; you're frightened that that super-soldier hearing can pick up this conversation. The last thing that you need to do is embarrass yourself further. 

 

"I'm gonna go," you say and stand up. Your movement causes his eyes to flash to you now and he watches you over the rim of his coffee cup, nodding along and offering a sentence or two to Sam occasionally. He leans back on the counter, his biceps straining and you swear that he almost smirks. You figure if he's playing a game... you might as well play too, right?

 

Round one: Fight!

 

You purposely let your phone slip through your fingers and bend down to pick it up. You let your shirt fall a little so that it shows off your cleavage before you straighten up in a snap. You make sure to let out a contented sigh as you stretch the muscles in your back, pulling your arms back and making sure that your breasts strain against the material of your shirt. 

 

"Bye girls, see you tonight," you say cheerily, starting to leave. 

 

You walk out of the room but manage to conceal the smug grin that threatens to spread through your face. He can pretend all he wants that he's not affected by you, but you noticed how rigid his whole body became and how tightly he started clutching that mug. 

 

K.O. 

 

-

 

Okay, Wanda wasn't wrong. You fucking hate John too. 

 

He talks throughout dinner, telling you all about his military experience and training. It's boring and you catch Sam and Bucky exchanging judging glances between each other a few times, but they don't say outright anything. Tony doesn't attend; gets Pepper to say that he's too busy with work to step away but you know that he's just taken her out to dinner. 

 

After John starts his fourth story of the night about how he's saved so many people from whatever the fuck, you're ready to drive your steak-knife through your eye by 'accident' as an excuse to leave. 

 

"I mean, you should know all about it right?" John laughs, addressing you by your name. Uhhhhh... why the fuck is he talking to you - and what the fuck is he talking to you about?

 

Your eyes snap up from your plate and notice that everyone at the table is staring at you, waiting for your response. You swallow a little nervously and Wanda hides her laugh behind a cough. 

 

"I for one, think she fits in just fine," Nat rushes to your defence and you could honestly kiss her. 

 

"Oh, I'm sure she does," John continues and then he shrugs. "But still, as someone with such little ability... it must get a bit daunting to work alongside the Avengers?"

 

He's laughing as he says it, like it's some big joke - like he's not tactlessly calling you inadequate right to your face.

 

"Why do you say I have little ability?" you ask, trying to keep the harshness out of your voice as you speak. You clutch your wine glass just a bit tighter. 

 

"Well, I mean," and he laughs again, "everyone here fits the job description a little better than you do, don't you think? They've either been superiorly enhanced, have magical abilities or have built themselves an iron suit to fly around in."

 

And there it is. The ongoing belief that you don't deserve your place amongst them, that you're too weak or small, or not enough to be here. You've heard it all before, everything he's saying is not anything new. You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. 

 

"I have none of those things," Nat argues and her tone is sharp. "Neither does Clint."

 

"Oh please," John chuckles, still incorrectly under the assumption that he's actually being charming.  "Nobody would ever doubt the capabilities of the Black Widow herself and Hawkeye. I'm just saying that-"

 

"Nobody here is unhappy with her performance on this team."




You freeze as the words leave his mouth. He's barely said two words this whole evening and now he's... he's... defending you. 

 

Bucky sits back in his chair, eyes fixed on John, almost challenging him to say anything else. 

 

Unfortunately, John doesn't interpret the threat correctly and he scrambles to regain his footing in this conversation. "I mean, of course I'm not saying that you guys are - but weren't you just paired with the Winter Soldier on a current mission? It's gotta be intimidating to be with someone who's infamous for being a deadly shot. I couldn't have been the only one who was surprised when he was cleared for duty-"

 

Your turn. 

 

"Bucky's not the Soldier anymore," you grit. "That wasn't him."

 

"Of course not, but that doesn't change what he did-"

 

Crack

 

"Fuck!" you shout, shaking your hand as glass sprays everywhere. You were holding the cheap glass so tightly that it actually shattered in your hand, cutting through your flesh. You're not sure if the red stains on the tablecloth are from the red wine you were drinking or if its from your blood. You wince, removing a shard of glass from your palm and stand up to leave the room. 

 

"Shit, are you okay?" Steve asks immediately jumping to your side. 

 

"I'm fine, really," you say quickly, as everyone starts worrying. "Really, it's just a small cut. I'm just going to rinse my hand and I'll be back in a second, don't get up."

 

You reassure everyone again before you leave the room, clutching at your palm. You're brimming with anger, hands practically trembling with it as you enter the kitchen and lean against the counter. You're just about to turn on the tap and rinse out your hand when you hear a set of footsteps entering the kitchen from behind you. 

 

Before you can even turn around, his chest is pressed to your back and he's snaking one hand around your waist. "Sorry, I just wanted a glass from the cabinet here." 

 

He reaches up from behind you to get a glass, inadvertently pressing your hips into the marble of the kitchen counter as he does it. You know full well that there's already a wine glass sitting on that table that he's been nursing for the whole dinner. 

 

But you're angry, your palm is stinging and you weirdly feel calmer with his large hand around your hip, so you don't move away from him. You actually feel yourself keening into his touch and that's all the invitation that he needs. 

 

He sets the glass down beside your arm, both hands now at your hips as he dips his head down so that his mouth is situated right by your ear. 

 

"Haven't seen you in a while, doll," he says quietly. 

 

You're trying (and failing) to act like he doesn't have such a massive impact on you. "That's because I didn't want to see you."

 

"Oh, really now," and you can feel him grin against your ear. He reaches forward and wraps his gloved fingers around your wrist, twisting it upwards so he can examine the damage. "Hmm, I think you'll live."

 

You try to snatch your hand away but he just tightens his hold, preventing you from doing so. He gently squeezes your hip in his other hand in way of offering some comfort. "Don't bother with him, what does he know?"

 

"Didn't you just say the other day that you thought I should be reassigned?" you mutter and you can't hide the fact that John's words really got to you. 

 

He doesn't reply for a moment, just reaches forward and turns on the tap. He holds your hand under the water and you wince again as the stinging intensifies. 

 

"Yes, but not because I thought you weren't capable of the job," he murmurs, breath hot on your neck. "But because you don't fucking listen."

 

He finishes rinsing out your hand, switches off the water and lets it go, reaching up to brush your hair behind your ear. 

 

"But one day," and his voice is impossibly soft as he speaks - so soft that you almost have to strain to hear him. "One day, I'm going to put you on your knees and make you."

 

And suddenly the pain in your palm dissipates into nothing, the ache moving from your palm and down to between your legs. 

 

"Why- why would you want to?" you choke out, your hands clutching at the edge of the counter in a vain attempt at grounding yourself. 

 

"Sweetheart," he whispers to you. "I haven't been able to get the image of you writhing on your fingers out of my head. I had to make myself cum three times that night just to calm down enough to go to sleep."


And you can't help the soft sigh that leaves your lips at those words, the idea of him fucking his hand to the thought of you is driving you a little wild whilst you're caged in his arms like this. 

 

"At least one of us got to," you tell him and you're not sure why you're confessing this to him, but you so badly want to see his reaction to those words. 

 

It's almost instant, he's pinning your hips to the counter with his own, pressing your back flush against his chest. His fingers card into your hair and he pulls your head up, so that it's resting on his shoulder. You stifle the whine that wants to rise out of your throat. 

 

"All you have to do is ask me, love," he tells you. "I'll give you whatever you want."

 

He's off of you in a split-second, already on his way out the door. He stops in his tracks as if he's rethought something and turns back to you. 

 

"Thanks for coming to my rescue back there. But I've made peace with the fact that people still call me the Winter Soldier."

 

He grins then, all teeth and mischief and you already know he's going to tease you. "I must say that I definitely appreciate being called Sergeant though."

 

He winks at you as he leaves. 

 

-

 

When Peter invites you to go to a club with him and a few friends from his university, you don't say no. In fact, it's an excuse for you to wear the short, black skirt that Nat had bought for you a while ago. It feels nice to do your makeup and dress up a little and after last night, you could really let off some steam. 

 

You don't time your exit well though; just as you open your room door to leave, you run into Bucky in the corridor. His eyes go wide when he sees you and he stops in his tracks. 

 

"What the fuck are you wearing?" he asks you harshly. 

 

"What?" you say and look down, inspecting your outfit. "It's cute. Don't act your real age, Barnes."

 

"It's short," he comments, eyes raking over the skin of your legs. "Every asshole where you're going is going to stare at you."

 

You shrug, "maybe I'm okay with that." 

 

You move to walk past him, but he grabs your bicep and pins you to the wall. His hand comes to rest on the wall right beside your head; he's caging you in between his arms again and it's making your head swim with want. 

 

"Maybe, I'm not."

 

Holy Shit. He is jealous. 

 

"What are you going to do about it?" you goad him, lips quirking up into a smile. 

 

"You're such a fucking brat." But his eyes flick to your lips and you know you've won. 

 

"If you want something," you smirk, repeating his own words back to him. "Just ask for it."

 

That's enough to do him in; he crashes his mouth to yours and you crumple into his arms. Your fingers twist through his hair, his arms wrapping around your waist tightly and expelling the space between your bodies. 

 

You pull away with a struggle, only to say - 

 

"Didn't ask for anything."

 

"I'm not asking," he says in irritation. "I'm telling you."

 

"Telling me what?" You just can't help from teasing him. 

 

He cups your jaw with his hand, tilting your face into his. "That I want you. Now."

 

His hands move to the back of your thighs and he abruptly lifts you up, supporting your weight in his arms. Your legs curl around his hips, sighing against his mouth whilst you ignore the fact that your skirt has really ridden up. 

 

He pulls away and his voice is firm as he instructs, "tell them you're not coming. Something came up."


You scoff at him. Did he really think he was going to throw your whole evening away for him? "And tell them what? Pete's waiting for me."

 

"Tell them you're busy or sick or whatever, I don't fucking care."

 

"Buck, I'm not-"

 

"You can either go and inevitably get bored like you always do," he starts, bringing his mouth close to yours whilst his eyes pierce into you. "Or I can make you cum on my tongue."


And just like that, you're melting in his arms and just nodding along. You want that so bad. You've been frustrated for days and you just know this will quell the ache between your legs. 

 

"Yes," you utter, "okay, yes."

 

"There's a good girl," he whispers to you and carries you towards his room, kicking the door open as his mouth reattaches itself to yours. 

 

He tosses you on the bed, pulling your legs so that they dangle off the edge. He leaves a trail of kisses down your neck and you're sighing into his touch and wanting his hands all over you. It's when he kneels between your legs that you can't help but moan at the sight of it. You can't believe that bringing this hulking man to his knees before you would turn you on so much but your cunt is throbbing. 

 

You hastily remove his gloves, throw them across the room and bite your lip when his bare hand skims over your thigh. 

 

"Can't believe you're wearing this," he murmurs kissing down your neck, "and that you thought I was going to just let you walk away in it."

 

"It's a cute skirt," you defend, breathless as he hikes it up to your hip. 

 

"Mmm, my new favourite one of yours," he hums. He dips his head to press a kiss to the soft skin of the inside of your thighs and your hands are balling up the blankets. You silently thank the heavens that you decided to wear your black silk panties tonight. 

 

He strokes a finger along you through your underwear and you sigh as he sucks bruises into the flesh of your thighs. "Oh sweetheart, so wet for me already and I've barely touched you."


And your cheeks heat at the fact that he knows that you're soaking through your underwear, that you can't hide how much you want him. 

 

So, since he already knows - you decide to just tell him. 

 

"Buck," you mumble, breath staggering as he speeds up the way his finger is moving along you. "Need you, Buck. Please."

 

He smirks at you in triumph, but he thankfully doesn't tease you anymore. Instead, he slips his fingers under your underwear and pulls it down, bending your knees so that he can slide it off your legs and toss it away. He wastes no time and thumbs your clit, making you gasp out loud. 

 

"I thought you were going to put me on my knees," you tease him. 

 

"Oh, I still will," he promises and he shuts you up in an instant when he buries his face between your legs. You moan as he sucks at your clit, lifting your leg over his shoulder so that you're spread out wider for him. You try to squirm away from him; it's so good but too much but he doesn't let you move even an inch. His left hand holds you down by your stomach as he practically devours you like you're a feast. 

 

And you're keening when you feel his finger tease at your entrance, his tongue licking at your clit still. He pulls away and sits back on his haunches as he looks up at you, chin gleaming from your wetness. He circles his finger around, testing to see how needy your reaction would be. 

 

"Taste so fucking good, doll," he praises, "I should've eaten this sweet cunt months ago."

 

His filthy words have you moaning, even more so when he sinks his finger into you. You were right; he's so much bigger and it's so much better. Just one of his fingers feels so good, so full and you can't even fathom how you'll stretch over his cock. 

 

"Fuck, you're so tight," he whispers but it's more like he's whispering it to himself. Before you can respond, he's curling his finger into you and his tongue is lapping at you again. 

 

You're suddenly so grateful that the two of you are the only ones on this floor because you just know you're loud. You can't help it; the feel of his tongue licking its way into you is just pure sin. You gasp as he removes his tongue and replaces it with two of his fingers instead, hitting spots in you that you can't reach yourself. It has stars blooming in your vision and your fingers are pulling at his hair, can't stop yourself from bucking your hips into his face. 

 

You actually feel him grin against your clit, smirking as he undoes you in the most delicious way possible. You can feel yourself reaching the peak, can feel the tension building in your core. If he just keeps hitting at just that right angle-

 

“Uh uh,” he chides, “not yet, doll.”

 

He removes his mouth and his fingers from your cunt and you practically whine. "I know I said I'd make you cum on my tongue, but God baby, don't you wanna come around my cock instead?"

 

But you can’t stop yourself; even though he pulls away, you’re so turned on and so sensitive that you can feel your body rocketing toward a soft, shivery orgasm. You bite your lip and tense, trying not to sigh or do anything that might give you away. 

 

But you know from the way his expression darkens and the way that he licks his lips that he already knows. Knows that your cunt is involuntarily fluttering around nothing right now, knows even though you’re trying to conceal it that your breath is coming out harder and faster. His eyes linger on your cunt before he flicks his gaze up to you eyes. 

 

“Ah doll,” he whispers to you, gentle fingers stroking over your knee, up your stomach and between your clothed breasts until they softly settle around your throat. “And here I was, thinking you were going to be a — my —  good girl.”  

 

He applies only a little bit of pressure to your throat before he withdraws his touch completely. You want to whine at that, want to pull him closer to you but he situates himself at the top of the bed, back leaning against the headboard. 

 

“You know I’m going to have to punish you now, right honey?” and his voice is smooth as velvet as he speaks to you — like he’s not saying the filthiest things. “Come here.” 

 

You crawl over to him on the bed, stopping as he spreads his thick thighs and gestures for you to lie down over them. You swallow nervously, knowing exactly what type of punishment this is going to be. 

 

“You’re going to count for me,” he purrs to you, “when we get to ten we can stop — depending on how well I think you’ve learnt your lesson.”

 

From the position of it all, he’ll support you with his left arm and use his right to deliver the blows. You swallow again, trying to work up the courage to say what you want. 

 

He’s impatient with your hesitation. “Now, doll. Or I’ll make it twenty and ensure that you can’t sit down for the next week.” 

 

“Left hand,” you whisper out, your cheeks stinging from the embarrassment. “Want your left hand.” 

 

His eyebrows raise at you in surprise and the metal fingers of his left hand clench in surprise. He’s gentler with his tone now as he says, “it’ll hurt more.” 

 

You don’t say anything — can’t because you feel so self-conscious about this. Can’t tell him that you want it to hurt, that you want it to leave bruises that’ll remind you of this in the morning, that you want the cool metal to soothe your stinging flesh. 

 

You just stare at him and he chuckles after a while. “Come here then.” 

 

You situate yourself over his lap, sighing contently as he strokes a hand up the back of your thighs, hikes your skirt up and exposes your ass to the air. You don't even have time to feel self-conscious as he lazily strokes a finger through your dripping folds. He works you up just to the edge, makes you writhe in his lap before he stops and withdraws his touch completely. 

 

When he brings his hand down against you, you can’t help but cry out, face burying into the sheets. Bucky immediately tenses under you, thinking he’s hurt you. He’s about to remove you from his lap and kiss his way up your entire body as he asks for your forgiveness, chiding you that he knew his left hand would be too much, that you couldn't handle it — but you just lift your face and whimper out: 

 

”One.” 

 

 

 

Notes:

TELL ME WHAT YOUR THOUGHTS ARE PLEASE

the comments on the last chap really spurred me to update faster and i appreciate them!!!

Chapter 3

Summary:

"Want you too, doll," he says gruffly. "Have for so long now."

Notes:

oh oh oh, you know it ain't, you know it ain't - the stallion!

you know it's ya girl!

 

hello :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text


"Fuck, doll. You're so sexy like this."

 

When “two” breathlessly passes your lips, your whole body is warm, sensitive, lighting up like a bulb. You’re surprising yourself with just how much you’re enjoying it, how much yearning is circulating in your bloodstream for his touch. You didn’t realise just how badly you wanted - needed his hands all over you like this.

 

Marking you up. Claiming you. His.

 

Your can’t help but moan: three, four, five, the sounds from both your mouth and his hand are echoing throughout the room. You know he’s holding back, being gentler with his left hand than he would've been with his right. But you’re a mess anyway, from his voice, his hand, him. You’re coming undone by him and ordinarily you would be embarrassed by it — but you’ve never felt this electrified before, it’s resonating in your bones and you're crying out for him.

 

“There’s a good girl,” he says to you, leaning over to press a kiss to the small of your back. “Just a few more, okay doll?”

 

You’re nodding into the sheets, loving the praise that he’s giving you and not understanding how you could want a person this much — how you could want him this much; a man you had hated only a week ago. You feel like if he doesn’t touch you right now — have you right now — that you’re simply going to explode.

 

Six is a gasp, your hips squirming in his lap as you seek out any kind of friction that he can give you. He stills your movements with a practically bruising grip on your waist. The ache inside of you has graduated into a steady thrum that you seem to feel in your entire body now.

 

Seven never comes. And. You. Could. Scream.

 

Your phone is ringing.

 

It trills through a now deathly silent room, the only sounds being the panting of your breath.

 

You’re about to swear, to swipe your phone off the table and hurl it at the wall. You don’t even care if it breaks, thinking that you could just get Tony to fix it anyway.

 

“Answer it.”

 

Bucky’s voice is firm, commanding even. You know what kind of man is speaking to you right now and tingles are running down your spine. Yes, Sergeant.

 

“I don’t want to,” you respond, sniffling only slightly. “Just ignore it.”

 

Bucky’s metal fingers card through your hair and he pulls your head up by a fistful of it. The burn in your scalp coupled with the burn of your ass is just so good. You can’t help yourself from letting a whimper pass through your throat.

 

His lips brush over your cheek, “I thought I told you to answer it.”

 

He releases you and you reach forward, grabbing your phone from where you had tossed it on his bedside table. Oh fucking hell. It’s Peter.

 

You slide your thumb across the screen and answer.

 

“Hey Pete,” you say into the phone, clearing your throat to sound a little less hoarse, a little less breathless.

 

“Hey honey!” he shouts down the phone cheerily and you can hear the sounds of the club in the background. Bucky tenses under you as soon as he hears Peter’s affectionate nickname for you. “It’s late, where are you?”

 

Oh shit. You had never told him you weren’t going to come.

 

“Fuck Petey, sorry,” you start to apologise. “Something came up and shit—”

 

You shriek as Bucky lands seven on you — mostly from surprise than from any real pain. You try to jerk away from him but he holds you tightly in his grip. Only now do you understand what kind of game he’s starting to play with you and you just know that he’s brimming with jealousy again.

 

“Hello? What happened?” Pete’s voice is full of concern and worry, thinking that you’re hurt somewhere. “Wait guys, shut up. What’s wrong? Are you okay—”

 

“I’m fine, Pete,” you murmur into the phone, shooting Bucky a positively murderous glare. He just laughs at you in response and you can’t help but think that you’ve hardly ever heard him laugh before. You’ve been bringing out sides of him that you've never seen and... and it's making your heart flutter. 

 

“No, Pete really I’m okay,” you try to convince him. “I just stubbed my toe, that’s all.”

 

“Are you sure? I can leave and come to you if—”

 

“No!” you shout quickly and then gasp as Bucky takes the opportunity to land eight. You chew your bottom lip to stop any other sounds from leaving your throat. Unfortunately, because you can’t speak — you can’t say goodbye and hang up on Peter either.

 

“Listen, I know that you’re not too thrilled about some of my university friends,” Peter says into the phone and you can hear that he’s walking somewhere quieter, outside maybe. “Especially after what happened last time.”

 

Oh no. Oh, no. Peter can’t talk about that, not right here, not now.

 

“It’s not that,” you start quickly, trying to intercept him. You scrunch your eyes closed when you feel Bucky’s cold, metallic finger start to run through your folds. He circles your clit a few times before removing his hand completely to further tease you.

 

“I promise that Zack’s not here,” Peter continues, trying to win you over. “And none of the others will try and hit on you anymore, I’ve warned them all.”

 

Bucky pinches your bum as the words leave Peter’s mouth. You shift so that you can look at Bucky’s face and gauge his reaction. You can see the jealousy on his face, scrunching his eyebrows together as he shoots you an annoyed look. You decide that if he’s going to mess with you — well, it’s only fair that he gets his share, right?

 

“Is your other friend there? The one with the blond hair?” you say into the phone, grinning as Bucky’s shoulders tighten. “Now, that’s someone I wouldn’t mind groping me on the danceflo— oh!”

 

Nine. You huff a half-laugh, half-gasp, loving that you’re getting to him this way. If you only knew how jealous he was before, it would have opened up a lot more doors for you.

 

“Wait what? You never told me you liked him!” Peter’s laughs. “I thought you were more into the brown-hair, brooding type.”

 

“I can make an exception for— oh shit.”

 

Bucky’s hand reaches down and he starts rubbing his finger over your clit with more conviction now. He couldn’t be more obvious with how he’s trying to assert his claim over you. It’s taking everything in you not to make any sounds, your hand gripping the phone so tightly that your knuckles are turning white.

 

You can feel how wet you are as he spreads your legs wider, can feel how much of a mess he’s making you. You would be embarrassed about it ordinarily, that he has you trembling like this — but he has spread you out over his lap after all and you can feel his own interest poking into you through his pants. It dulls whatever embarrassment that would’ve been building inside of you.

 

“He is here you know,” Peter continues, oblivious to what’s going on. “I’m pretty sure he’ll do whatever you want if you wear that short skirt that Nat bought for you.”

 

“Well in that case, maybe I’ll swing by then,” you say softly into the phone, your voice on the verge of wavering. 

 

“Can play with me as much as you want, babydoll,” Bucky rumbles softly to you so that Peter doesn’t hear him. “But this—” he punctuates his sentence by sinking his finger all the way into you, curling it a few times and hitting that spot inside of you that has you whimpering. “This, is all mine.”

 

He removes his finger from you and brings it his lips, sucking it clean whilst he stares into your eyes. “And I don’t share.”

 

You have to stop yourself from downright moaning into the receiver of the phone.

 

“Okay, bye Peter!” you say in a rush and you hang up the phone before Bucky can do anything else to further your humiliation.

 

If Peter only knew that you were in the lap of the very same man that you had often complained to him about… Well, you were curious to know what he’d say about it that’s for sure.

 

“I actually hate you, Barnes,” you mutter, tossing the phone back onto the table. He tries to stop you from sitting up but you swat his hands away angrily, perching on your knees beside him as you glare.

 

Your irritation is just amusing to him at this point. He shoots you a fake pout, before he pinches your chin between his fingers and leans in close to you. You try to pretend that your breath doesn’t hitch from the close contact, that your eyes don’t shift down to his plump lips.

 

“If you hate me so much,” he whispers to you, his voice dropping into a dangerously low octave as he speaks. “Then tell me why you’ve been dripping all over my lap.”

 

And you want to swoon at those words, swoon at the way he’s talking to you right now. You really would never have pegged him to be someone as perpetually silent as him to be capable of speech like this.

 

You swallow as he pierces you with those steel-blue eyes of his and his eyes drift down as he watches the bob of your throat. You can’t believe that you’re really here and doing this with him right now.

 

You reach forward, hands going to the hem of his shirt as you shift your weight on your knees. He catches your hand in his left one, the metal fingers gleaming in the light as they close around your small wrist.

 

“Uh uh,” he chides. “You’ve got one left, don’t you?”

 

Your ass must be a sight right now and you can only imagine that it’s red and bruised and your knees clench together as the thought of the shape of his hand being imprinted there. A brand that you’re his.

 

“I think I’d rather just have you now,” you tell him instead and he raises his eyebrows at you. “I think you’ve done enough to prove your point this evening.”

 

He smirks at you, his lips so close to your own now that they brush over each other. “And what point is that?”



You force yourself not to blush; you refuse to let him get to you anymore that he already has tonight.

 

“That apparently,” you smile, “you’re extremely jealous.”

 

“Hmmm,” he hums at you, hand reaching up to cup your cheek. His other arm snakes around your waist and he’s tugging you into his lap and you have to bite your lip at the fact that your underwear is currently sitting across the room. “As long as you know.”

 

He closes the space between your lips, pulls your face into his own and kisses you fervently. You sigh into it, hands tangling in his hair, balling up his shirt. Whatever bubble the two of you are in right now — you don’t want it to ever pop.

 

He’s running one of his hands along the side of your body, reaching up to cup one of your clothed breasts through the shirt that you’re wearing.

 

“Buck, I just want you now,” you tell him a little desperately. “Stop teasing.”

 

"Want you too, doll," he says gruffly. "Have for so long now."

 

You’re about to guide his hands under your shirt, direct his attention to unclasping your bra so that you can feel his touch better when —

 

Knock, knock, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!

 

“What?” Bucky shouts, anger in his voice because someone’s interrupting you two. His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you a little closer into his chest. You can’t help but smile as you realise that he’s unconsciously being protective over you. He’s going to kill whoever is on the other side of that door for interrupting. “I’m busy, go away!”

 

“You can jack off later!” comes Sam’s voice through the door. The door handle twists and your blood freezes. He can’t catch you like this, straddling Bucky’s waist. You sigh in relief when the handle jams and say a silent prayer of thanks that Bucky was smart enough to lock the door.

 

“Walker’s called us in to see something,” Sam says. He mentions that he already tried your room and couldn’t find you. “I think she’s out with Peter but it’s fine. I think John will be more of a pain in our ass if she comes anyway so we can at least spare her the annoyance.”

 

You scowl, rolling your eyes as your blood heats. “You’re not even going to say anything about that?”

 

“What do you want me to say?” Bucky whispers back to you. “He’s trying to do you a favour by not asking you to come.”



“He doesn’t want me to come because John will be a pig about it,” you mutter in anger, “who thinks I can’t deal with whatever it is.”

 

“So you want me to just bring you along anyway? So you can prove some point?” Bucky asks irritably, helping you off of him.

 

“You know what? Forget it, Barnes.”

 

You roll off of the bed and walk over to where your underwear is laying, pulling it up your legs. You hear Bucky’s breath hitch from behind you as you bend over to perform the action but you’re too angry with him right now to gloat about it.

 

Sam yells, “c’mon dude, open the door! We gotta go.”

 

“Give me a second!” Bucky calls back.

 

He turns his attention to you and gestures for you to stand behind the door so that Sam can’t see you.

 

“I don’t know why you care about John’s opinion so much anyway,” he says roughly, one hand on the door handle and getting ready to open it. “None of us do and we know that you’re—”

 

“Just leave it,” you snap quietly. “I don’t expect you to understand.”



“Goddammit you are so fucking difficult,” he huffs to himself. “Maybe it’s better that you can't co…”

 

He stops himself before the sentence finds its end but you've heard enough of it. You scoff at him and let out a disbelieving laugh.

 

“Oh, fuck you Barnes,” you snarl.

 

“I didn’t mean—”

 

“Bucky! We GOT TO GO. What the hell are you doing?”

 

“I’m coming!” Bucky shouts, then in a gentler voice, “listen, we’ll talk about this when I’m back.”

 

“I’m pretty sure we just did talk about it,” you say angrily, crossing your arms and turning away from him.

 

“Oh for fucks sake,” he swears under his breath and swings the door open, meeting Sam head-on. “Hey, let’s go.”

 

You pout in the corner of his room for a few minutes, just to make sure they’re really gone and you can’t get caught when you sneak out of Bucky’s room and into your own.

 

Your cunt’s still a mess — all of you is, really — and you decide to hop into the shower. You scowl when you notice the purpling bruises that Bucky’s left on your hips, all over the soft flesh on the inside of your thighs. You don't even want to look at your ass in the mirror. The skin stings slightly when you rub your hand over it. 

 

You’ve never been more confused as you try to consolidate your feelings for him; the familiar anger and hatred that you used to harbour for him has resurfaced — just now it’s coupled with so much want. 

 

It probably doesn’t help that you spend the rest of your shower cumming on your fingers and gasping his name.

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

c'monnnnn we gotta build up that tension somehow right

anyway THANKS FOR THE COMMENTS YOU GUYS LEFT LAST TIME! i read them all and lovedddd them

lemme know your thoughts about this chapter too!

Chapter 4

Summary:

There is only one bed!

Somebody has nightmares!

I present the tropes that are overused for a reason — because they’re GOOD tropes!

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“They’re going to meet at the docks in the next few days,” Steve says, and he nods to you. “Luckily you swiped that card, otherwise we wouldn’t have had any other leads.”


You smirk, looking across at Bucky who’s currently avoiding your eyes and scowling. “Oh, it was nothing. Just doing my job.”

 

"Wow, thank you for your service," Bucky says sarcastically. 

 

Steve looks awkwardly between the two of you before he clears his throat and continues speaking. “Um, well thankfully Tony has a place that’s close to there. He’s agreed to let you both stay—”

 

“Wait, what?” Bucky exclaims, leaning forward on the table. “We? I thought we were done with—”

 

“This is your mission so you two have to be the ones who stakeout what happens,” Steve shrugs, folding his arms as he reprimands the two of you. “It shouldn’t be too long or difficult. You both just have to see if the Harknesses end up at the docks and if they pick up a shipment. Surely even the two of you can handle that simple task.”



“So why do both of us need to go?” you whine, folding your arms over your chest. “It seems—”

 

“It’s better that two of you go in case anything goes wrong,” Steve clarifies. He then sighs and squares his shoulders, putting on his Captain voice. “I know that you both don’t get along with each other but try—"

 

"I want to pull myself from the mission then," you state stubbornly. "Bucky refuses to work with me and consider me an equal partner."

 

"Maybe I would if you didn't put yourself at stake all the time and need me to rescue you," Bucky snaps. 

 

"All the time?" you scoff, throwing your hands up. "You went on one mission with me and I said that I had it handled!"

 

"Handled? You call having a fucking gun pointed at your head "handled?"

 

"I was dealing with it!"

 

"My fat ass you were dealing with it. If I hadn't saved—"

 

"Well, I didn't need you to do that."

 

"Do you ever get tired of being a fucking brat?" 

 

"No. Do you get tired of being the world's biggest dick—"

 

"STOP IT," Steve shouts at the two of you. "What are you both? Five years old? Pull it together and act like adults. This is your mission, I expect you to complete it with at least some level of decorum."

 

You sigh. “Fine.”

 

Bucky says nothing. 

 

You think about how there’s still enough time to shoot yourself in the head. 

 

 

The entire drive up to Tony’s place by the coast is done in silence. Neither of you are particularly in a chatty mood and you certainly aren’t going to be the one to break the silence first. You’re tempted to roll down the window and breathe in some of the salty air, but you figure that Bucky wouldn’t be too keen about letting the cold into the car. You really don't want to give him another excuse to shout at you. 

 

Bucky drives wordlessly beside you, his fingers flexing and readjusting their grip on the steering wheel every now and then. You sigh and reach over, hoping that there’s a CD in the player that will ease the uncomfortable quiet that’s settled over you both. The player whirrs a bit in protest but it eventually clicks and  the sound of sultry saxophone fills up the car.

 

Bucky tenses beside you almost instantly before he coughs and tries to shake it off. 

 

“What was that?” you laugh, staring at him in confusion. He glances at you for a second and shifts in his seat under your scrutinising gaze.

 

“It’s an old song,” he says gruffly.

 

“What’s wrong with that?” you ask. “This is Steve’s car… there’s going to be old songs. I didn’t know you had a thing against jazz—”

 

“This is a song from the 40s,” he coughs, eyes adamantly fixed on the road ahead of him. “Steve and I used to listen to it when we were in the service. It’s just a little weird to hear it now.”



You don’t know what to say to that. What do you say to someone who’s completely out of their time, who’s lost years (and themselves) to brainwashing and manipulation?

 

“I can turn it off,” you manage, reaching forward.

 

Bucky’s fingers dart out and clasps around yours in an instant, stopping your movements. You bite back the squeak that has threatened to form out of your reaction.

 

“No, leave it,” he instructs, his grip on your hand loosening as he returns his hand back to the gear.

 

Your hand retreats back to your lap, almost as if its burning from where you can still feel the ghosting of his fingers. You discreetly flex your hand, trying to shake the feeling of his.

 

 

Tony’s house on the coast is beautiful — but it surprises you how small it is. It's not very in character for him to have bought such a small place, but you suppose he's more intrigued with its location than the grandeur of the house. It's perched right at the edge of of its own private beach and its secluded enough for privacy. You already know you're going to spend hours on the back porch watching the ocean waves in the evening. 

 

Although you train hard — fought your fair share of bad guys — you still struggle when you have to swing a massive duffel bag over your shoulders and lug it up the long driveway to the front door. The bags are filled with weapons and supplies and it weighs a ton, the muscles in your arms strain as you struggle to support the weight.

 

You are trying not to show how much you are struggling with the bags — especially since Bucky seems to be hardly burdened with his own. He’s moving with such speed in front of you and it makes you grind your teeth at the fact that he’s carrying a much heavier bag than you are.

 

God, you hate super-soldiers.

 

Bucky — who is already at the end of the driveway — turns around to stare at you. You see him sigh as he starts to begrudgingly trudge back toward you. 

 

“Give it to me,” he says, holding out his hand.

 

You frown, stubbornness bleeding into your veins and you tighten your hold on the bag for good measure. "No, thanks. I'm fine."

 

Bucky rolls his eyes at you in annoyance. "You're clearly not and I would prefer to get to the house before next week."

 

You try to open your mouth to argue some more but Bucky just walks right up to you and snatches the duffel out of your grip. You swallow. From this close you can see the small beads of sweat that has formed on his skin, can smell the faint tinge of his aftershave. 

 

It doesn't last long; as soon as he transfers the bag to his other shoulder (now he's carrying a bag on each one) he takes off again. His pace is relatively unchanged from before, even with the added weight. You would rather die than say anything but you are grateful that he has taken it from you. Now that you're free to walk, you catch up to him and walk in step. 

 

Bucky unlocks the door to Tony's place, standing to the side so that you can walk in first. You're annoyed with his chivalry; you're angry with him still. 

 

The inside is quaint, has a small fire place that you notice almost immediately. You notice that there's a bit of dust coating everything; Tony must not have been here in a while. 

 

"Oh, you're fucking kidding me," you hear Bucky swear from upstairs somewhere. 

 

"What?" you call up to him, rushing up the stairs to where he is. "Oh shit."

 

There's only one bedroom. Oh for fucks sake. There's only one bedroom. 

 

"Well, sucks to be you, Barnes," you laugh. 

 

"Why do you automatically assume you get the bed?" he scoffs. 

 

You smirk, "isn't it part of that 40s charm to let the lady have the bed while you sleep on the couch?" 

 

"We're not in the 40s anymore are we?" he retorts. "And isn't the 21st century all about equality of the sexes?"

 

You snort. "Fine, we can alternate our days then. Because I do believe in the equality of the sexes."

 

"Alternate? I'm not sleeping on that couch downstairs, it's hardly going to fit me." 

 

You furrow your eyebrows at him. "So you want me to sleep on that couch for the whole time that we're here?"


He sighs, dropping both duffel bags to the floor. "Or we could both sleep on the bed."

 

You blink at him in surprise. You have no problem innocently sharing a bed with friends; you'd done so before in the past with Peter. But you're far from friends with Bucky and honestly you're still a little confused on what your feelings for him are anyways. You're actually shocked he would even suggest such a thing; he was shouting at you only yesterday.

 

 His eyebrows raise in amusement from your reaction. "We don't have to, if you're uncomfortable. I guess I could sleep on the floor-"

 

No. You won't let him win. 

 

"It's fine," you grit. "But... but no... don't... don't like—"


"Use your words, doll," he smirks. 

 

Oh, you're going to fucking kill him. 

 

"I just don't want—"

 

"Don't want me to fuck you?" he finishes and you swallow nervously at his mocking tone. "You don't have to worry about that happening again."


He doesn't have to be such an asshole about it though. You want to ignore the great weight of disappointment that settles in your core at his words. No, stop it. You don't want him, he's such a dick!

 

"Wow," is all you manage out at first. 

 

"What? Isn't that what you want?"

 

You're not going to let him goad you like this. He doesn't get to feel so high and mighty. 

 

"I distinctly remember you telling me that you want me," you snap back at him, walking right up to him and pointing your index finger at him. "And saying how I'm yours and that you don't share and all that bullshit. Or did you forget? So don't stand there and pretend that you weren't—"

 

He catches your wrist in his hand, stopping you from digging your finger into him. He towers over you and you swear he straightens his back to make himself taller. His voice is soft but firm as he hums, "I remember you begging for me. Being so desperate that you couldn't even stop yourself from cumming." 

 

He releases his grip on you. "So fine, you're right. But don't you pretend either that having that pretty ass of yours spanked didn't have that cunt soaking for me." 

 

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment and you can't stop how badly you're blushing at his words. He smirks cheekily at that, under the wrong impression that you're going to back down. 

 

He should know better by now. You never do.

 

"How did your mission go with Sam, by the way?" you respond, fake concern lining your voice. "Can't imagine it was easy with your dick so hard it could poke out someone's eye."

 

He loses his smirk, a scowl taking over his features instead.

 

"That's what I thought," you interject before he can say anything else. "You should find that spare blanket. The floor gets cold at night."

 

 

You both don't speak for the rest of the evening. You eat dinner in separate sections of the house and don't even look at each other when you cross paths on the way to the kitchen. 

 

It's fine with you. Anger has been brimming under the surface of your skin from your previous interaction with him. Unfortunately, you haven't really been able to shake how warm your skin became from his words. 

 

You'd be lying if you didn't admit that that night the two of you had spent together hadn't played in your head on a constant loop. You had woken up the next morning, ass still bright red and so bruised that you couldn't even manage to sit down without wincing. The lower half of your body had been completely marked by him; his hands, his mouth, him. You couldn't have shaken him if you wanted to. 

 

It confuses you. So much fury coupled with such crippling want. You seem to want to be around him constantly; even if the two of you are just bickering like normal. Anything... as long as you're near him. 

 

It's pathetic. You hate yourself for even thinking like that. 

 

You go to bed late that night; not wanting to run into him accidentally. He's already on the floor, apparently asleep and you can't stop yourself from feeling bad about it. There's no way he's comfortable there; the floor must be hard and cold and the spare blanket is way too thin and clearly only used during Summer. 

 

You nudge him with the side of your foot, pulling your cardigan tighter around yourself as you start to shake slightly. The cold ocean air seems to be seeping into the house — you guys must've left a window open somewhere. 

 

"Bucky," you say softly. He groans in response and swats at you. 

 

You gnaw at your lip, wanting to reconsider your previous train of thought. You don't want to be nice to him — but you also do? Fuck, why is everything so complicated all the time. Why can't you just meet a nice guy who isn't a complete pain in your ass? But who could ever hold a candle to Bucky? You've never wanted to punch someone so bad and at the same time drop to your knees for them. 

 

"Buck," you say firmer when you notice how cold your fingers have gotten. "The duvet is thicker. It's too cold for you to sleep here."

 

"Where will you sleep?" comes his response. "I'm not going to let you sleep on the floor."

 

"Um... I will also be there." 

 

He opens his eyes to look at you and you realise now that he was only pretending to sleep. "And you're going to be okay with me there too?"

 

You look away anxiously. "Yeah, well... I don't want you to die of hypothermia or something. Steve would be devastated."

 

"Yeah... Steve would be." 

 

You don't respond to that, just start to climb into the bed and pull the duvet over yourself as you shiver. "I can't believe Tony's place doesn't have fucking heating."

 

Bucky gets in beside you and you have to force yourself not to lean into his frame. "I guess he never needed it, he doesn't come here during Winter." He pauses for a few seconds before he says, "how the fuck am I meant to sleep if you're seriously going to shiver the whole night?"

 

"Now you want me to stop shivering? That's not something I can control, not all of us got pumped full of enhancements."

 

"Didn't you bring warmer pajamas?" 

 

"No... I didn't think it would be this cold at night." 

 

"Oh for fucks sake."

 

Bucky gets out of the bed and walks over to one of the bags, pulling a red, woollen sweater out of it. "Here, you can wear this. Arms up."

 

You don't move. "I don't want to wear that."

 

"And I don't want to sleep next to your shaking body. I said, arms up. Don't make me ask again."


Oh, but you can't help yourself — can you? 

 

"Or what?"

 

He grabs you by the arm and pins you to the mattress, his face so close to yours that you can feel his angry pants. "Stop testing me like this. It's almost like you want me to—"

 

"To what?" you tease, smile spreading through your cheeks. "Because I thought you said that it was never going to happen again."

 

Got him.

 

He scowls at you. "Just put on the fucking sweater and go to sleep."

 

He rolls over then, his back facing you as he pulls the duvet over himself. 

 

You're still smirking when you eventually fall asleep. 

 

 

You wake in the middle of the night, not peacefully: something has startled you. It takes you a few seconds to figure out your surroundings, your eyes adjusting in the dark. 

 

You realise with horror that your arm is draped over Bucky’s stomach, your head nuzzled into the crook of his neck. You try to move away discreetly so as not to rouse him and embarrass yourself further but you can’t move an inch. His arm has curled around you, keeping you locked in place. The only way to move now would be to lift his arm and you’re worried that’s definitely going to wake him. 

 

Bucky’s whispering. No… that’s not right. You can’t understand a word he’s saying — is that even English or are you just that tired? After he says a bit more it clocks. It’s Russian. He’s sleep-talking.

 

That must’ve been what woke you. 

 

You wish you could understand what he’s saying because he seems to be getting more and more distressed as he speaks, his brows furrowing as he seems to argue with someone in his sleep. 

 

His metal hand clenches the sheets, his other hand holding your body a bit tighter to his own. 

 

You decide to wake him up when his voice gets a bit louder and hope that that choice is wise and not one you end up regretting.

 

”Bucky,” you say gently, shifting so that you can lightly press on his chest. “Just a dream, Buck.” 

 

You sit up on your elbow, cupping his face with your palm and tap his cheek with your fingers. 

 

“Bucky,” you try again. “It’s okay— AH!”

 

You scream in shock when his metal hand flies to snatch your wrist, his piercing blue eyes snapping open to stare at you. 

 

He blinks in surprise, as if he’s trying to place you but softens when he reads the fear outlining your features. He drops your hand instantly and moves to hold your face, his other arm pressing you into his body in apology.

 

”I’m so sorry, doll,” he tells you softly. “Didn’t hurt you did I?”  

 

You shake your head — try to at least, the movement is a bit hindered with his hand holding it. But you can’t conceal how fast your heartbeat is racing, know that he’s reading your panicked body language. 

 

He leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead and now you’re surprised with how gentle he’s being, how attentive with you.

 

“M’sorry,” he says again, accent rolling out thickly as sleep still coats his voice. “Just dreaming… remembering something.”

 

He guides you to lay your head back on his shoulder, his cheek burying into your hair. You don’t resist, figure he needs the comfort you can provide him right now. You let him hold you, try to tell yourself that those fingers at your waist, that that heartbeat under your ear isn’t something that you’re enjoying. 

 

It’s a lie, obviously. You never want him to let go of you. 

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” you prompt, your hand stroking a line up and down his chest. You wish he wasn’t wearing a sleep shirt. 

 

“Don’t think you want to hear it, doll,” he responds softly. “It’s not nice. Did a lot of bad things.”

 

”That wasn’t you,” you snap a bit harsher than you intend to as sudden annoyance floods into your bloodstream. “All the things that happened weren’t your fault!”

 

You can feel him smile into the top of your head and it’s strange; you’re sitting with so much anger and he’s… smiling. 

 

“Why do you get so defensive about it?” he asks. “You’re worse than Steve. Even with John, he held it together better than you. Only shouted and raved in my room after John left. But you… you were so livid that you shattered a fucking glass because you held it too tightly.” 

 

You don’t know how to answer. 

“I just… when I first got assigned I met you on the same day,” you speak. “I doubt you remember—“

 

”’Course I do. Pretty little thing with such a fucking mouth.” He taps your spine with his fingers. “You told me to go fuck myself.”

 

You blush. Can’t believe you said that. 

 

“You were being an ass!” you defend. “Like always. Nothing has changed with you—“

 

”Just continue with your story.” 

 

You huff in annoyance and he laughs at that.

 

”Anyway… I don’t know. You used to beat yourself up a lot about it, I think. Didn’t want to be friends with anyone except Steve and Nat… barely tolerated Sam.” 

 

You pause as you try to word it properly. “I think it’s just that I’ve seen how far you’ve come. Almost like I’ve watched you relearn who you are and I don’t think you should be blamed — or keep blaming yourself. I know that you do.” 

 

Silence falls on the room after you say this. You worry that maybe you’ve said the wrong things and made everything worse. 

 

“Maybe we should change the topic,” he suggests. “But… I appreciate how triggered you get.”

 

”I’m not triggered.”

 

”That little scar on your palm says otherwise, doll.” 

 

“Ugh, I hate you Barnes. Let go of me.” 

 

You try to wiggle out of his grip but he only tightens his hold on you, keeps you in place. 

 

“I’m sorry for what I said to you, okay?” 

 

You’re quiet now; all fire immediately doused from those words. This is new territory now.

 

“Did you mean it?” you hear yourself asking.

 

”Which part?” 

 

You say nothing, the words refusing to form in your mouth. You can’t bring yourself to speak, half expecting him to mock you for it.

 

”Doll.” 

 

“I don’t want to say it,” you mutter quietly, turning your face so you can hide it in his shirt. 

 

“I didn’t mean any of it.” 

 

It’s enough to get you to turn to look at him. “What?”

 

”Well, I meant some parts. You definitely were a slut for me.”

 

Bucky!” you squeak in protest.

 

He’s laughing, eyes lighting up as he looks at you. “But I did not mean that it wouldn’t happen again. I don’t know why I keep coming back to you… but I can’t help it. Haven’t stopped thinking about you since that stupid gala.”

 

“Good things?” you tease.

 

He lets a beat pass between you both, fingers running through your hair before he says, “oh darling, no. Not at all.” 

 

You frown at that, the real meaning behind his words not clicking with you at first.

 

”Only wanted to jeopardise that entire mission by pulling over the car and having you in the backseat.”

 

”Oh.” You swallow, a lump suddenly forming in your throat.

 

”I told you that that dress was ridiculous. Drove me wild to see you in it. Insane when I saw what you did in it later.”

 

“Oh my God don’t remind me, that was humiliating.”

 

”Nah, doll. Wish I could go back and punch myself for talking and ruining it. It was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

 

Heat’s licking up your spine again, your legs clenching a little as your body reacts to his words. You can’t deny how much you want him, how much you’re loving his arms around you right now.

 

”Buck,” you mumble out, a half-warning to get him to stop talking before you melt right here.

 

”What do you want, doll?” he purrs instead. “Always give my girl what she wants.” 


And that’s it. The possession in his voice when he speaks about you is all that it takes for you to be putty in his hands. 

 

He knows that you’re struggling to voice what you’re thinking; that you just need a bit of help to ease you out of your shyness.

 

”Tell me, baby. It’s just me.” 

 

You swallow past the lump in your throat, taking a leap as you say, “sick of trying to make myself cum. Know you’ll do it so much better.”

 

He sighs deeply, fingers tightening in your hair and creating a slight burn in your scalp as he tries to stay composed.

 

“What do you mean, ‘trying’?”

 

”It’s not enough,” you tell him. “Not good enough. Just want you.”

 

He’s nodding, bringing your face closer to his own as he confirms, “me too.” 

 

He kisses you gently at first, lips soft on your own before he encourages the kiss to deepen. You’ve forgotten how drunk you could get off of him, how needy you start to feel when his tongue slips its way into your mouth. 

 

You sit up more on your elbow so you can lean over him, smiling to yourself when he moans into your mouth as your breasts settle over on his chest. 

 

He disentangles his hand from your hair and you feel it slip under the hem of your shirt, his fingers splaying over the bare skin on your back now. 

 

But you’re so impatient, can’t stand to wait another minute so you break the kiss, sit up even more and pull the shirt over your head. 

 

He audibly groans at the sight of your breasts, immediately moving so that he can cup both of them in his hands and roll your nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

 

You bite your lip at that, your nipples peaking from the attention and the heat going directly down into your core. Your legs clench a little tighter as he trails sloppy kisses down your neck, down your chest and then finally sucks your nipple into his mouth. 

 

He pulls off you with a pop before his arm is circling around your waist and he’s flipping you both so that he’s on top. 

 

“Fucking gorgeous, doll,” he praises. 

 

You can’t say anything to that, warming up so much under his intense gaze that your only thoughts go to shedding him from his own clothes. You want to lick your way up his set of abs when you see them, spend hours tracing each one with your tongue. 

 

Except all thoughts go out the window when he pinches the inside of your thigh and redirects your attention to where you want him the most.

 

”Please don’t tease,” you whine out. “Can’t take any more of that.”

 

”Little bit of teasing is healthy, doll,” he grins. 

 

Bucky.”

 

”Whatever you want.” 

 

You bite your lip again when he helps slip off your pajama pants, wastes no time in throwing your panties away too, leaves you bare in front of him. 

 

“Always so wet for me,” he groans as he strokes through your folds, collecting your wetness and using it to circle your clit. You dig your nails into his bicep, other hand going to clap against your mouth to stop you from downright shouting. 

 

“Nobody’s here,” he tells you. “Want to hear how good you feel.” 

 

You peel your palm away from your mouth at his request, panting as his finger starts to tease at your entrance. 

 

“Oh fuck yes,” you moan out when he sinks it in, curls it inside of you. He’s learnt how to touch you now, knows all the spots that make your knees weak, make you cry out. You whine when he adds a second, stretches you out over them and you know he’s preparing you for something larger and your body is humming with want. 

 

“So tight,” he groans. 

 

You hear yourself say more, squeeze your eyes shut when he stretches you out over three fingers — already feeling like it’s too much, way more than you’ve ever been able to give yourself. Find yourself wondering how much of him the super-soldier serum enhanced… 

 

Feel your toes curl as your body prepares to start crashing; he’s bringing you to the peak and you’re a mess in his hands.

 

”Bucky, gonna…” Can’t get the words out, can’t breathe with how good your body is feeling. Not as clumsy as when you do it yourself, it’s so much bliss that you’re consumed by it almost.

 

”Cum for me then, gorgeous,” he instructs you. “Make a mess of my fingers like the little slut you are.”

 

But you’re shaking your head, hand darting out to wrap around his wrist and stop his movements before you really lose yourself.

 

He’s confused for a second, unsure what he’s done wrong until you recover enough to say—

 

“Want you now. Want it to be like that.”

 

His face contorts as you speak, so turned on himself by you that he’s straining at his pants. He moves aside so that he can step out of them, cock springing up as soon as it’s freed and he strokes himself a few times to find some relief.

 

You try not to gape at the fact that’s he’s massive, try not to think about the fact that he’s going to split you in half.

 

He leans back over you, kisses you with more passion as those eyes pierce into you. 

 

“All mine,” he says and you sigh into his touch as he thumbs over your clit. You can’t stop the gasp that emits from you when you feel him start to enter you, stretching you out so much more than his fingers did.

 

But the burn is so good and you’re only turned on more by the way he’s moaning at the feel of you around him. He lets you adjust to his size before he moves, going slowly at first and opening you up more with each thrust. The pain subsides, fades into pleasure that has you boneless in his grasp.

 

“Oh God,” you whisper, biting your bottom lip to stop yourself from letting out a stream of sounds.

 

”I actually prefer to be called Sergeant,” he smirks in response.

 

But you know it’ll turn you — and him — on if you do exactly that. So, you don’t hold back. 

 

Yes, Sergeant. Just like that. Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop. Ah, fuck. Please, more. Want you all, want you so bad. Yes, Sergeant, yes yes yes yes. 

 

You can see how dark his eyes get as you speak, the way his hands tighten their grip on your body. He kisses you then, prevents you from speaking any more. Tells you that if he lets that mouth of yours continue like this, that he’s not going to be able to last long. Says you’re making him come undone, unravelling him when he’s supposed to be the one doing that to you. 

 

Worships you, kneels at your altar and worships. 

 

Watches the way your breasts bounce with each of his thrusts and you moan at the expression on his face, clamber to kiss him again and attempt to quell the ache inside of you that only he seems to conjure up. 

 

You know you’re close; know that he knows too — can feel how much tighter you’re getting around him. 

 

“S’good,” you slur out, your hands pulling at his hair, nails scratching at his back.

 

“I know, doll,” he says softly to you. “You have no idea how good you feel.” 

 

You’re briefly worried that you won’t be able to walk tomorrow; the pace of his thrusts has become so punishing that you have to stick your hand out to stop your skull from slamming into the headboard. Even so, you still hear yourself telling him to go harder, deeper, faster — more more more. You figure a part of yourself wants him to break you in half and put you back together again afterwards. He complies with all that you ask of him, letting go and seeking his own pleasure with you. 

 

"Such a good girl," he praises and you practically keen at his words. "Taking me so well. Look at you, you're fucking stunning like this." 

 

You're blushing at his words, your whole body heating with the way he's speaking to you. You just nod your head, trying to get him to talk more to you — know that that accent, that those words will send you crashing over that edge. 

 

"If only you knew how to shut that fucking mouth," he continues, but he's laughing slightly. "Then we could've done this so much earlier — could've had you in a thousand different ways by now."

 

"If only you knew how to shut your mouth," you tell him, fighting through the moans that want to rise out of your throat. "Then I could've been cumming on your fingers instead of on my own at night."

 

"Shit baby," he tells you, lifting your legs so he can go deeper into you. You gasp his name as he bottoms out, panting hard now. "It's fine. I'm going to make up for lost time."

 

It’s his fingers stroking at your clit that have your legs shaking, your eyes rolling back in your head as you cum so hard around his cock that tears form at the corners of your eyes. 

 

You know that you’re shouting, back arching as your body lights up like a bulb. He’s gentler as he thrusts into you now, riding you through your shattering orgasm. It’s taking everything in him not to cum in you right now, every ounce of his strength being sapped away as your cunt flutters around him. 

 

“Fuck doll, I—I can’t,” he manages out, eyes scrunching with the effort of it.

 

You sit up slightly, legs curling around his waist to encourage him deeper and harder into your body with each of his thrusts. 

 

“All yours, Sergeant,” you moan into his ear and he cums with a shout, head burying into the crook of your neck as he clutches you to him.

 

He doesn’t let you go, holds you tightly in his grasp as you both pant and bask in the haze of your orgasms together.

 

You’ve never felt so satisfied, tired and warm before. You definitely understand how quickly you could get addicted to this, to him. 

 

You feel him grin against your cheek.

 

”What?” you ask.

 

He presses a kiss to your collarbone. 

 

“Guess Steve will be glad to hear that we’re getting along just fine.” 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

once again, do not let this flop please besties

i have to wake up in 4 hours but i wrote this instead to give the people what they want

thanks for the comments on the last chapter!! loving everyone’s enthusiasm

tell me what you thought of this one too!!

Chapter 5

Summary:

He holds your face in his large hands, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. “Did you forget why we’re really here? We have a mission to complete. As much as I’d love to bend you over and fuck you till you can’t walk… I am a patient man and I can wait till we’re back home to do so.”

But you’re not nearly as patient as he is.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

You don’t remember falling asleep but when you wake up, you’re curled into the side of his body with his arms wrapped tightly around your frame. Dawn is just breaking over the ocean; the soft tinge of the sunlight is seeping under the curtains and you smile to yourself, feeling so strangely content.

 

There’s only been a few instances in your life where you’ve felt completely and utterly safe. Before you had moved into the Avenger’s tower, you had lived in a small, run-down apartment and had slept with a knife under your pillow. Even after you moved into the tower, you were wary of it — expecting an attack in the middle of the night and so you never fully felt like you were relaxed. It had gotten better with time, obviously, but there are still instances where the wind will blow a little too loudly outside or the staircase will creak in just the wrong way that has your heart pumping a bit faster.

 

But now, lying sandwiched between Bucky’s arms, his chest pressed to yours — a strong and intense sense of calm has settled over your heart. You just know that where you are right now is the safest place in the world because Bucky will no doubt murder the first person to break into this bubble of peace. 

 

The thought of having Bucky in your bed — of you being in his — every night from here on out crosses your mind. You could sleep this soundly, this peacefully every night with him beside you. You’re worried that you’ll never sleep again if his body isn’t wrapped around yours.

 

Your heart flickers in your chest like a dying candle as you explore the very plausible possibility that you might actually be falling for him. You swallow the thought of uncertainty that he’s not catching feelings for you, that maybe this is all just physical for him and he’ll toss you aside when he’s bored. 

 

Bucky’s still asleep beside you, breath still even as it gently hits your cheek. You allow yourself the luxury of admiring him as he sleeps and you can’t help but admit that he really is beautiful. His long hair is open, spread loosely around the pillows and you only want to sift your fingers through it, to pull it hard and make those blue eyes darken with lust. 

 

It's weird to see this side of the man, unused to the fact that he can be something other than dark, broody and angry. He's been so … soft with you that you've forgotten how many hard edges this man has been made up of. You can’t believe that the man pressing you into his body now is the same man that you were fighting with only a few hours ago — that you had loathed so deeply in your core only a few weeks ago.

 

You gently peel yourself out of his arms, trying not to wake him up as you slip out from beside him. It’s a little difficult and you cringe when he stirs slightly but Bucky doesn’t open his eyes. You wince slightly, your cunt aching a little from last night’s activities but you’re lying to yourself if you say you don’t kind of love the pain of it — the physical reminder of what you guys did. Thank God you had state of the art birth control. You shiver as the cold air hits your bare skin and dash to the shower, washing the remnants of sweat and cum from your body.

 

Just before you’re about to step out, you dip your head under the running water, relishing in the feel of the hot stream hitting your skin. It’s because of the water rushing in your ears that you don’t hear him enter the bathroom, don’t hear him climb in behind you and you let out a yelp in fright when you feel his hand on your hip.

 

Out of instinct from numerous hours of training, you almost spin around to lay a punch on your attacker but Bucky intercepts you before you can; his reflexes are faster than yours, after all. He pins your hips to the wall, captures both of your wrists in his metal hand and grins into your hair.

 

“It’s just me,” he tells you gently, releasing you only after you’ve relaxed and slumped into his touch.

 

He laughs at you, stepping closer so that his chest presses into your back and places a comforting, soft kiss to your shoulder. You find yourself leaning into his touch, seeking out his warmth and the feel of him.

 

“Sorry doll,” he says and you bite your lip at the fact that his voice is gruff, still coated with a layer of sleep that may or may not be sending a shock down to your legs. “Didn’t mean ta frighten ya.”

 

You turn in his arms, back now pressed against the cold wall of the shower. “Hitting me with that accent so early in the morning, Barnes?”



He offers you a smile, guiding your arms so that they wrap around his neck. “Know ya like it.”

 

His fingers card into your wet hair, holding your head in place as he kisses you under the running water. You’re pulling him closer, hands slipping on his wet skin and unable to find a proper grasp on him. You’re not even embarrassed that he’s sporting a hickey on his neck, since your hips are imprinted with bruises from his hands. You love all of this so much, almost want to turn him around so you can admire the indents of your nails that have surely scratched over his back. 

 

His body is flush against yours now and you’re acutely aware that he’s naked and that you’re naked, so you can’t stop the soft sigh that slips its way out of your throat when his tongue enters into your mouth.

 

But he pulls away when your hands trace over the lines of his abs, shakes his head and brings your knuckles to his mouth so he can place tender kisses over them. 

 

It’s an intimate gesture — has your stomach twisting with affection. 

 

“Should stop before we can’t,” he rumbles to you, definitely more awake than he was before.

 

But you’re greedy and you want too much. “Why do we have to stop?” you murmur.

 

He holds your face in his large hands, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. “Did you forget why we’re really here? We have a mission to complete. As much as I’d love to bend you over and fuck you till you can’t walk… I am a patient man and I can wait till we’re back home to do so.”

 

So you smirk, let your eyes blink a little in that slow, submissive way that you know will drive him wild. It does; his smile disappearing as it's replaced with a darker expression... the face of a man who will devour you if you let him.

 

God, you’re so going to let him.

 

But not right now — you have other plans for right now.

 

“I can be quick,” you promise. “I’m not half as patient as you.” 

 

“Oh honey,” he groans, and you know he’s giving in to what you want. And so you grin as you say — 

 

“Just don’t think it’s fair that I’ve gotten to cum on your tongue.”

 

And his fist tightens in your hair as the words leave you, a groan leaving his parted lips as he stares at you in disbelief almost. You don’t wait for his answer, just drop to your knees before him and take his quickly stiffening cock into your mouth. You blink up at him through your eyelashes and he's audible with his reaction, the sound reverberating around the bathroom and back down your ear canal. You want to grin at that but obviously can’t, not with your mouth so full of him. 

 

"Fucking hell," he whispers. "Such a little slut."


You hum around him, so much of him not fitting in your mouth and you feel your cunt throb at the fact that he's just so big. In the light of the new day, you can see every inch of him, can feel it when you wrap your hands around what can't fit. 

 

You want to be good for him, want to keen off the praise that he'll offer you if you are. Think if you can just take him a little more, get him a tad closer to that edge -

 

"God, look at you, you perfect little thing," he grunts and you're flushing with heat. "Made for me, my perfect girl."

 

And surely it can’t just be physical, right? Not when he can speak about you like that, call you his and perfect and how you’re made just for him. No, there’s definitely more to this thing between you both. 

 

His hand curled in your hair guides your movements and you ignore the ache of your jaw, free hand drifting to relieve the more incessant ache that's formed between your legs. 

 

You moan around him when your fingers brush over your clit and Bucky returns the sound; the vibrations from your throat probably doing him in. You can feel how desperate you are, how your body is clenching around air and sending blood straight to your core. Bucky's nails are gentle as they scratch against your scalp, encouraging you to take him a bit further. You ignore the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes, instead just focusing on getting him to moan more. 

 

He's a little breathless as he commands, "enough. That's mine."

 

And you're whining but you obey him and remove your hand from yourself, just in time for him to groan and thrust a little into your mouth as he spills down your throat. You swallow it all, the tears forming at the corners of your eyes almost fall but you blink them away quickly and ignore the fact that your knees are sore from the dig of the tiles.

 

You watch him watch you as you wipe the corners of your lips and bring your finger back into your mouth to lick it clean. If you didn't know better, from just the expression that crosses over his face you would suspect that he's actually almost angry as he stares down at you.

 

He reaches down and puts his hands under your arms in order to tug you up onto your feet. 

 

"Such a good girl when you want to be," he murmurs darkly before his mouth crashes on yours, has you so weak on your feet that you're afraid you're going to slip on the wet tiles. His metal hand circles around your waist and you hear the panels click as he locks it into place, using it to support you. He doesn't make you wait, he knows you're humming with want and that you'll beg soon if he doesn't give you what you need so badly from him. 

 

He palms over your tits with his large hands, uses his thumb to coax your nipples into peaks and it sends vibrations down your spine. His hands eventually find your hips and he turns you around, pressing your back into his chest as he runs a hand down the length of your body. He teases over your stomach and your thighs before you're squirming in his grasp and he's chuckling into your neck. 

 

"Ah, fuck Bucky," you gasp into his mouth when you feel his fingers start to play with your cunt. You're so desperate for his touch that you're already bucking your hips into his hand, encouraging him to move faster - to slip those long fingers inside you. 

 

"So fucking wet," he whispers to you, in between placing kisses along your jaw, down your neck. "Did you really get this turned on just from sucking my cock, doll?"

 

And you know he expects you to answer him, know that he already knows the answer but wants to hear you admit it anyway - but you can't speak, can't think as your head falls back to lean on his shoulder. It's so so good, he's quelling that ache that only forms for him - an ache inside of you that only he can cure. His fingers are moving in deft, quick circles around your clit now and it's making your head practically swim. 

 

His fingers leave you now and you hear yourself whine but he only pinches your jaw and angles it up so that you have to gaze into his eyes. 

 

"I’m not going to ask you twice."

 

And you know he won't touch you again until you say -

 

"Yes."

 

"Yes what?" 

 

And you swallow as you reply,

 

”Yes, Sergeant.” 

 

The heel of his hand presses along the length of you, has you gasping as he thumbs over your clit.

 

“Hmm, perfect girl,” he praises, presses a kiss to the pulse point in your neck. You’re moaning, trying to cant your hips to encourage him for more. 

 

He raises his eyebrows at you in amusement. “Aren’t you still a little sore?” he asks. “I saw that cute ass of yours limping to the bathroom.” 

 

“Want it though,” you tell him breathlessly. “Want your fingers.” 

 

He hums in acknowledgement, watches the expression change on your face as his middle finger teases at your entrance and slips in with almost no pull or resistance. He can slide it so easily in and out of you that you just know you’re a wet mess between your legs. It stings your sore cunt only a little: his finger is nothing like his cock. But it subsides into something that has your toes curling, pressure building in your core and you hold onto the shower wall in front of you, like it's the only thing keeping you tethered to the ground, that you’ll float away if you brace yourself against it. 

 

“You gonna cum for me little thing?” he asks you but surely he knows… knows that you’re starting to clench around his finger, knows you well enough now that he can recognise the expression on your face. 

 

“Uh huh, Sergeant,” you groan back. “Oh my God, don’t stop please.” 

 

He curls his finger into you quicker until you cum all over it. He has to tighten the grip his left hand has on you to make sure you don't fall, doesn't stop circling your clit with his thumb until your legs start shaking and you're pulling away from his touch, so sensitive now that you might just collapse. He turns you around in his grip so that you're facing him now, breathless and chest heaving as you stare up into his eyes.

 

He kisses you so hard that you almost feel like he's claiming you as his, making sure that you understand that it's only him who's ever going to have you like this again. Don’t know how to tell him that you never want anyone else other than him ever again. So, instead you just cling to him tightly and kiss him harder. 

 

Neither of you notice how cold the water has turned. 

 

-

 

"So, if the mission was a success," Peter asks you quizzically, "why are you moping?"

 

"I am not moping," you correct him, unpacking one of the duffel bags a little more forcefully. "I'm just... tired."

 

Okay, you aren't moping. That much is true. But you are... worried? Anxious? You're not really sure. 

 

The mission went as well as it could've. Both you and Bucky worked so well together, shut down the entire operation before it even began. Neither of you had sustained any injuries, almost everyone on the Harkness pay roll had been arrested and... and well...

 

And Bucky had promised to fuck the shit out of you when you both got home in celebration. 

 

But instead what ended up happening is that you and Bucky haven't really spoken since you've arrived at the tower again. He immediately got whisked away by Steve to debrief about the mission and well... well you're pretty sure that pang in your gut is because of how much you miss him. You'd gotten used to his comments and banter over the course of these two days. 

 

Which is embarrassing right? It's been like three hours, you just did a whole mission with this man... how can you miss him already?

 

"I'm just saying that I know you really well," Pete continues, tossing his phone high in the air and catching it, one of his arms under his head as he lies across your bed. "And you can lie but I know something's going on. How bad was the fighting with him this time?"

 

You swallow at that. You're practically dying to tell someone - anyone - about what's been happening with you and Bucky. You trust Peter, he's your best friend and you know you could tell him but... but God, where do you even start? You can feel your ears heating up as you contemplate the thought. 

 

"We... we didn't exactly fight much," you start to say slowly, folding your clothes quicker than before so as to give your hands something to do other than start shaking. 

 

"Oh, I find that hard to believe. You two can't even cross paths in the corridor without finding something to bicker about."

 

"No, Pete listen to me," you try again. "We... we really didn't fight much. Um... um... well we did in the beginning but then... like... it led to... led to something else."


Peter sits up on the bed, eyes widening as he looks at you in surprise. You can practically see the cogs whirring in his head as he tries to process what you're struggling to say to him. 

 

"What's something else?" he asks you. "What the hell happened?"

 

"We... we managed to work it out."

 

"At the risk of sounding completely stupid," he says softly, "maybe you can clarify to me what you're talking about. Because what I'm thinking right now is... insane."


"Well, what are you thinking about?" 

 

Peter is slow to talk now, so confused by what you’re struggling to tell him that his eyebrows have scrunched tightly. 

 

“I noticed this when you were changing out of your mission gear,” he starts, the words thick on his tongue. “I didn’t think anything of it at the time because… because well I thought it was just from a scuffle that must’ve happened during the mission.” 

 

You avoid his gaze, meticulously arranging your weapons in a neat line on your bed instead. 

 

“But… but the bruises on your hips…” he coughs a little awkwardly. “Oh my God, tell me that those bruises are from the Harknesses fighting with you.” 

 

You say nothing, just glancing up to gauge his reaction before redirecting your gaze back to your things. 

 

“I’m insane aren’t I?” Peter continues. “There’s no way what I’m thinking is—“

 

”Whatever you're thinking?" you cough out. "Not wrong."

 

Peter practically lets out a scream of shock. “No… oh my God… NO FUCKING WAY!”

 

”He is…” you smirk to yourself, “he’s wow. Like wow. I… yeah, just wow.” 

 

As if a weight has lifted from your shoulders, you find yourself able to talk about this all so much easier now. 

 

“I can't believe this. I literally can't even wrap my head around it,” Peter whistles. “How the fuck did this even start? I thought you hated the ground he walked on!” 

 

You shrug. “Kind of at the gala? He did point out that he was interested in me. And then remember when I… when I couldn’t come out with you and your friends that night?”

 

Peter’s face dawns with realisation. “You blew me off for him? You asshole!” 

 

“I’ll make it up to you,” you laugh. “But I don’t know. It’s complicated between us… I don’t really know where we stand right now or like… what this is to him or anything.” 

 

"Well what is it to you?"

 

"Still figuring that part out," you manage to say instead. "But right now I like where we're at. We're... we're weirdly good together. You should've seen the way we worked this mission... I've never worked a job that ever went that smoothly before."

 

"Who would have thought that all this time you both spent fighting was just because you guys were horny for each other," Peter laughs out. 

 

"I mean I do think it's more than that. He is a pain in my ass."

 

"Oh, I'm sure he is."

 

"Ew, Peter."

 

"I just want to know what he's like in bed," Peter pries. "I mean has the man really had any action since the 40s? He probably was so boring-"

 

Your eyebrows raise, "oh you have no idea. He has a mouth on him."

 

“I rate we could find out how deep his feelings for you are,” Peter’s devilish as he smiles at you. "If I know anything about Barnes, I know he can be super jealous. So there’s got to be a way to—“

 

He doesn't get to finish that sentence because a knock at your door interrupts you both. Your heart practically jumps out of your throat from how on edge you are but you recover quickly, telling the person on the other side to enter.

 

"Hey you two," Nat beams as she leans on the doorframe. "I was just coming to tell you that dinner's in ten."

 

"Be right there," Peter tells her, standing up and stretching his long legs. He lowers his voice as he passes you, "perfect opportunity to test out my new theory."

 

You rub the back of your neck awkwardly. "Please don’t do anything embarrassing."

 

”Did you or did you not blow off your best friend to bone your sworn enemy? Exactly. That’s what I thought. I’m going to do whatever I want now.” 

 

His laugh echoes down the corridor as he makes his way downstairs. 

 

-

 

By some poor twist in fate, you're coincidentally seated right next to Bucky at the dinner table. You pretend that it doesn't make your stomach twist with butterflies, that he doesn't have such a massive impact on you. He barely looks at you, back to his reserved and steely personality that he always exhibits in front of the others.

 

This steely side of him is a different change from how he’s been with you lately: carefully, attentive, even downright gentle. You relish in the fact that you're the only one who gets to see him like that. 

 

Peter sits across from you and you want to kick him under the table just because of the way he's been staring at you both. You can feel his eyes analysing every movement, every gesture, every slight change in your body language and it's so obvious that he's trying to wrap his head around the whole situation. 

 

"I just think a small congratulations is in order," Steve announces, tipping his wine glass at you and Bucky. "You guys brought down the entire Harkness crime family in one evening."

 

"And more impressively," Nat laughs, "you guys somehow managed not to kill each other."

 

"It wasn't easy," you joke, "I was tempted to shoot myself many times."

 

”Oh you poor thing,” Bucky taunts from next to you and you’re the only one who knows that there’s no usual malice behind the words this time. Just pure teasing. “I’m sure that jaw of yours is about to fall off with how much whining it did this weekend.”  

 

And the others laugh, thinking it’s your usual bickering that he’s referring to. You have to will yourself not to turn bright red, knowing that his real meaning refers to the misdeeds that the two of you committed together. When nobody's paying you both any attention, Bucky playfully bumps your shoulder with his and winks devilishly at you. 

 

You struggle to concentrate when you feel the brush of his metallic fingers at your knee, fleeting for just a second before he pulls away entirely. You consider that it might have been a mistake, that he hadn't meant to touch you and try to redirect your attention to other things. 

 

Steve says something about the mission again, a bout of praise perhaps, but you’re not really listening anymore. As everyone erupts into comfortable conversation, you find yourself zoning out again — content in your presence and having to constantly remind yourself not to lean into Bucky’s shoulder, no matter how badly you find yourself wanting to. 

 

As you make your way through your third glass of wine, you're warm and tipsy and more than relaxed. You even feel your eyelids starting to droop slightly as the weight of the day catches up with you. 

 

"You're telling me there's nobody?" Nat tries to pry from Peter, who's looking quite tipsy himself right now. 

 

"Well, I mean I have kind of started seeing someone else," he begins, leaning back in his chair. "But I don't know. I think I'm still a little broken up about MJ."

 

"I’m sure she’ll come around eventually,” you offer up to him in a gentle tone. 

 

"Yeah, well..." You can tell he wants to avoid this topic now. "Well, next time you have to come out with us. Harry's been dying to get you to visit the new club that's opened."

 

Your hand tightens around the stem of your glass. 

 

"I didn't know that Harry Osbourne had a thing for you," Steve teases and suddenly all the attention is redirected to you, just as Peter planned. 

 

You glare at Peter. You know the real reason why he's brought this up right now and you can’t believe he’s actually going through with testing his stupid jealousy theory. 

 

"Yeah, Harry's cool..." you state. "I'm just not interested in him."

 

"Really? That's not what you told me before." 

 

You could punch Peter here and now. Sure, you had thought Harry to be charming in the past and you hadn't minded when he had flirted with you a little at Peter's apartment - but nobody held a candle to the man sitting next to you.

 

"Yeah, well things change. He's not really my type."

 

"And what type is that?" Nat questions, throughly enjoying the little interrogation she has going right now. "Because I have yet to see you bring anyone home."

 

"Oh you know... short, ginger, mullet. Kind of dad bod," you tease and Bucky downright laughs right next to you. 

 

"Why are you laughing, Barnes? Do you know something we don't?" Peter grins cheekily and you want to reach over the table and punch him. "You live just down the corridor from her so you of all people should know about her secrets."

 

Bucky turns his head and looks at you with a wicked glint in his eyes. "What she does is her business. But I doubt that she's having any secret hookups. From what I learned over this weekend, she's not exactly a quiet person."

 

You jolt when you feel his hand squeeze your thigh suddenly. You pretend to sneeze in order to cover it up. 

 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Peter pushes, unable to leave well enough alone. 

 

"It means that Bucky's annoying and I just shouted at him," you try to explain quickly before anyone starts to become overly suspicious. 

 

You feel yourself turning the same colour as the last remnants of wine that are swirling around in your glass. You just hope that Bucky's comment isn't thought about too much by your present company - other than Peter of course, whose head is no doubt swirling with a thousand different analyses right now. 

 

But then Clint gets a text from someone and it launches an argument between him and Sam, averting all attention away from you. 

 

"I hate you, Bucky," you grumble quietly to him. 

 

But your blood turns to crackling electricity when you feel a cold set of metallic fingers start to stroke gently up your thigh under the table. 

 

"Yeah," he sighs quietly next to you. "I'm well aware." 

 

You feel his thumb trace soft circles into your inner thigh and you clamp your legs shut on instinct, unfortunately trapping his hand there even more. He pretends that nothing is happening, offers casual chit-chat to the rest of the group and doesn’t even look at you as he forces your thighs apart slightly. 

 

You’re not letting him do this to you, not here and not now in front of everyone. You try to subtly reach down and wrap your fingers around his thick wrist and pull it away from yourself but it doesn’t even budge an inch. Instead, he splays his fingers across the expanse of your thigh and squeezes tightly. 

 

He’s back to stroking lines up your inner thighs, pries your legs open so he can slot his hand in between your legs comfortably. You draw your lip between your teeth when there’s just the barest graze of friction against your heat, just the slightest drag of his knuckle along your slit. You cough, shift in your seat and try to force yourself not to buck your hips into his hand. 

 

Steve says something that makes everyone laugh and then bursts into a story that he tells with much vigour, giving Bucky the perfect opportunity to take advantage of everyone’s distracted states to lean in close to you. His breath is hot on your neck as he whispers,

 

”If I touch you right now, are you going to be wet for me?” 

 

He’s gotta be careful, a room full of superiorly enhanced people with excellent hearing means that he has to speak to you in just above a whisper and that forces your ears to crane to hear his words.

 

You shake your head slowly, trying to pretend that you’re listening to whatever it is Steve is saying. You can feel how hot your cheeks are, how you know you must be burning the colour of the sun right now and Bucky is the only one who knows why. 

 

“No?” and you don’t have to look at him to know he’s concealing a smirk in his voice. “‘No’, doll? Should I test that? What is your punishment going to be when I find out you’re lying to me?” 

 

You’re terrified that the rest of the group is going to hear what he’s saying somehow, that they’re going to know how he’s touching you under the table, making you a mess in his hands from barely doing anything. Just a few words, just a few strokes and you’re melting for him like ice in summer. 

 

His knuckle drags along your clothed slit again, harder now — enough pressure that you keen into his touch involuntarily. 

 

"Stop it Bucky," you utter, leaning back in your chair and gripping the edge of the table in order to ground yourself somehow. Peter's eyes glance to yours for a second, his eyebrows raising quizzically as he takes in what is no doubt distress painted across your features. You suck in a deep breath, let it drop your shoulders as you try to regain some control over the situation. Only when Peter looks away, oblivious to what's occurring is when Bucky leans back into your space. 

 

"I thought nothing was happening to you, doll," he practically purrs. You could punch him but your knuckles turn white from the tight grip on the edge of the table as he strokes you through your pants with more conviction now. "But this cunt is aching isn't it?"

 

You swallow the gasp that forms in your throat, choke it down with the last sips of your wine and hastily scramble up from the table. 

 

“Just gonna go to the bathroom,” you excuse yourself, pretending that nobody notices that you’re a little breathless with the words and hope they chalk it up to you just being a little tipsy. You stumble a little as you rise and it only cements your case that the wine has just gotten to you. 

 

Your skin feels impossibly hot under all of your clothes, your body having been lit up like a bulb from his touches and you can't even award yourself the luxury of embarrassment - that you caved for him so quickly, so hopelessly. You hate how undone he makes you - how you've never ever met anyone who's had the same impact on you like this before him - but maybe you also secretly love that he makes you this undone, that he's the only one who can put you back together afterwards. How you would spend days letting him take you apart piece by piece if only those skilful, broad hands be the ones to mould you whole again. 

 

The bathroom is illuminated by the porch lights from outside in a soft, yellow glow so you don't bother with flicking on the lightswitch. Instead you slip in and take refuge in the room, running cold water over your hands and splashing it onto your face in a vain attempt to calm down. Even in this dim lighting, you can see how flushed your skin is and you know no amount of cold water is going to salvage the weak state you're in. 

 

You hear the doorknob twisting and your heart pangs with brief panic. "I'm in here!"

 

Bucky's large frame suddenly encompasses the doorway and you swallow the nerves as they creep their way up your throat. "I know you are, doll."

 

He closes the door behind him, the unmistakable click of the lock sliding into place as he comes closer to you. He walks you backwards until the base of your spine makes contact with the bathroom sink and you can't help but compare the moment to him stalking his prey. He's walking toward you and looking at you in the exact same way he does when he's on a mission, right before he's about to kill someone. 

 

It makes you gulp.

 

But more importantly; it makes heat pool between your legs. 

 

He eventually presses into your chest, expelling any distance between your bodies as he bends his head to ensure that your faces are level with each other. You reach out on habit, cupping his cheeks between your trembling hands and enjoying the feel of the stubble that scratches along your palms. 

 

"You gonna be a good girl for me?" he asks you softly, his voice rumbling in that delicious way that makes your spine tingle with jolts of electricity. "Gonna be quiet for me? Otherwise they're all going to know how well I fuck my girl, gonna hear all those pretty noises she makes when she cums around my cock."

 

"Bucky," you gasp out, his words really making your knees go weak. His hands splay over your hips, their large size effortlessly holding you in place and making sure you don't slump to the ground. 

 

"Imagine if they know," he continues talking, bending his head to leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses along your neck. You half worry that he'll be cheeky enough to leave a hickey there and really expose the two of you. "Imagine if they know what I've been doing to you - what I'm going to do to you." 

 

You don't have any fight left in you, don't have any willpower to even tell him no. You want this so badly that you're not even sure if you'll care if the whole tower knows at this point. Let them know, if it means he's going to touch you right now. 

 

"Please," you finally find the words and your eyes flutter shut as his stubble scratches along the sensitive skin of your collarbone. "Please, Buck. Want you so bad."

 

He pulls your shirt down a little, exposes more of your flesh to his mouth and your fingers instinctively card into his hair, eliciting a squeeze of your hips as you tug at the strands. 

 

"Oh I do love when you beg for it," he tells you, teeth nipping at the crest of your boob from where it peaks out from your bra. He's stretching the collar of your shirt by doing this, pulling it almost all the way down to expose your bra underneath. You hear the material strain from his actions but don't even have the strength to stop him. You can buy a new shirt. 

 

"It's not like we have a lot of time," you respond, your hand cupping the back of his neck to keep him close to you. "If both of us disappear for too long, they're going to be suspicious of where we are."

 

"Trust me, sweetheart," he grins against your skin, "they are never going to suspect this."

 

His hands slide around to cup your ass, lifts you easily off of the ground and onto the cold surface of the sink instead. You waste no time wrapping your legs around his waist, using your thighs to trap him here. You allow yourself the luxury of running your hands over his strong biceps, one of course harder and more solid than the other. 

 

His deft fingers begin to fiddle with the button on your pants, slides the zipper down and finally slips a large hand underneath the waistband. You can't help the sigh that leaves your lips, the way your back arches into the cool glass of the mirror behind you as his middle finger traces over the soaking wet spot through your panties. 

 

"Knew it," he smirks at you and he shushes your formulating moan as he pushes your panties to the side, rubs you directly with a calloused finger that has you squirming in his grasp. "Always so desperate, my little doll. Taste for me." 

 

He lifts his hand to your mouth and you open obediently, licking your slick from his finger before taking it as far as you can into your mouth. His breath comes out harder as you do that, his eyes darkening as you blink at him as innocently as you can through your eyelashes. 

 

He removes his finger from your mouth, redirects his hand to hold your throat in a firm but not tight grasp. You know he can feel the pulse point in your neck and can no doubt feel how hard your heart is beating for him right now. Your eyes flutter shut again when his fingers brush the inside of your thighs, brace your skull against the mirror and spread your legs further for him. You lift your hips, help him pull your pants to your ankles, and gasp loudly when he strokes at your clit all of a sudden. 

 

"Told you to be quiet," he chides you. You chew your lip as he sinks a finger all the way into you without warning, trying to prepare your body for him. Your breath is so heavy right now that you're worried that he’ll chide you for it. "Not a sound, alright?"

You can only nod, only sink your teeth into your bottom lip so hard that you're certain that that metallic taste filling your mouth is blood as his thumb finds your clit. He grins wickedly at you as he moves his thumb in quicker circles, making you jerk. 

 

“Ugh, I hate you Barnes,” you murmur breathlessly. You can’t believe he’s doing this to you right now in the middle of dinner. You just pray everyone is too distracted by something else to not mind your absence. 

 

His grin only grows and he shoots you a wink. “Sorry, doll. Can’t help myself when it comes to ya.” 

 

You hear him drop to his knees in front of you, involuntarily spreading your legs further before you feel his tongue lapping at your centre and it's like all the air is completely knocked out of your lungs. You dig your fingers into his hair, trying desperately to find something to purchase on as his assault on you only escalates. 

 

Your spare hand balls into a fist, eyes scrunched so tightly that you're seeing stars. He sucks at your clit in such a way that it's impossible not to expect you to moan and you feel his fingers pinch your thigh in warning. 

 

"Bucky," you gasp out, trying (and failing) to steady your breathing. "I'm- Buck-"

 

You can't speak because you're so frightened that you'll downright scream instead. It's too much, he knows just where to apply pressure and where to touch you to have you squirming on the counter. His metal hand finds your hip, the fingers clicking into place as he holds you still. He lifts your thigh and lets it rest on his shoulder, jabbing his fingers into the meat of it as he continues to lick harsh stripes against your clit which inevitably forces whines out of your throat. 

 

You’re panting now and practically let out a squeak when you feel his finger teasing your entrance before he sinks it into you abruptly. You keen into his touch, hips lifting off the counter as you meet the strokes of his tongue. As you feel yourself starting to clench around his strokes, you try to push his head away from you in an attempt to warn him. 

 

"I'm-I'm gonna..." you breathe out, toes curling as you feel that familiar warmth start to rise in your core. You try to pull away from him, try to warn him somehow that if he doesn't stop right now... But he only digs his fingers into your thigh harder, forcing your body still under him. The plates in his metal hand shift and the grip he has on your hip could be enough to shatter it — he’s made sure that you can’t move an inch away from him. 

 

"Fucking cum then," he growls, humming around your clit so vibrations shoot through your body. You clap your hand against your mouth as you feel yourself start crashing, Bucky not stopping for a second until your legs shake uncontrollably around his head. 

 

He licks one last stripe against your sensitive clit before he looks up at you, grinning at how undone he's made you. He stands up, attaches his mouth to yours and swipes his tongue against yours so that you have to taste yourself off of him. 

 

You hold onto him tightly as you hear his belt buckle clinking, your body tensing at the fact that he's going to reign true on his promise now. You swallow the noise that’s forming in your throat and you feel Bucky smirk against your lips. He teases your entrance with two fingers and your teeth are digging their way through your bottom lip again. He wastes no time sinking them to the knuckle into you, making you moan into his mouth as he stretches you out. He echoes your moans as you clench around his fingers. He pulls away for a second just to ask - 

 

“Ready?” as his fingers keep hitting all the right spots inside of you. 

 

You're just nodding your head, too scared to trust your voice to speak. You bury your head in his shoulder when you feel him rub the tip of his cock at your entrance. He teases you like that for a bit, makes you squirm on the sink as the head of his cock strokes against your clit. He knows how past desperate you are right now but he also knows that you can’t vocalise it at all.

 

You bite down on his shoulder as he thrusts his way into you and God it feels so good that you moan his name. 

 

But then he completely stops, pulls your head back by your hair and shoots you a stare that has shivers run down your spine.

 

”Every time you make a noise, I’m going to stop,” he snarls at you. “If I wanted them to hear you then I’d fuck you with the door open.” 

 

You somehow find enough strength to mutter out, “yes, Sergeant.” 

 

You place your hand back over your mouth and barely breathe as he starts to move against you again. 

 

He thrusts back into you without wasting any time, falling into such a quick rhythm that you can feel your body starting to tense up. You know that he knows how your body is reacting to him and he has to muffle his own sounds in your neck. 

 

“Buck,” the word is strained as the sound escapes through your fingers. “Buck.” 

 

“I know,” he groans, “I know. You feel so fucking good.” 

 

He wants you both to cum at the same time and his fingers find their way back to your cunt, stroking over your sensitive clit. His thrusts have become sloppier and more desperate into you now and you want to both laugh and scream at the feel of it. 

 

He speeds his fingers up as they play with your cunt and you can’t stop the tears that drop down your cheeks as your second orgasm washes over you. He can’t help himself when your cunt clenches around him and it’s your hand over his mouth, stifling his moan this time. 

 

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” he mumbles into your hand and he kisses your palm before he removes it. 

 

You watch him get redressed in post-orgasm bliss and grin as he drops to his knees again, kissing a line up your leg before pulling your panties up. It’s intimate as he helps you dress and you can’t imagine that this gentle man could be the same man that can speak so dirtily to you.

 

“I still hate you, y’know,” you tell him.

 

He smirks, presses a kiss to your forehead and says,

 

“Oh, I know doll.” 

 

 

Notes:

uhhhhhhh i’m back lol and idk what this is

Chapter 6

Summary:

The jig is up. Somebody catches you both together.

Notes:

andddd we're back!!!!

i hope you guys enjoy this ;)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

When you wake up the next morning, it’s in a bed with black sheets tangled around your form and in a room that is quite definitely not yours. But you’re warm, cozy — a little sore in all the right places — and  most noticeably: alone.

 

You let out a little puff of annoyance as you reach over and run your hand over the other half of the bed, feeling for his warmth and pouting when you stroke over cold sheets and a cold pillow. By this indication, he’s been gone a while. 

 

What’s the point of sleeping in his bed if he’s not going to be there when you wake up?

 

But then you let out a loud laugh at such a ridiculous thought. Oh, there’s definitely other benefits to sleeping in his bed. Last night after dinner and after you had cleaned up, you had snuck yourself into his room and climbed right into bed with him. He had grinned, dragging you closer and kissing you fervently — which had then of course escalated into him rolling you over and having you twice before you both settled into a deep, sated, sleep. 

 

Still, even though you both had cuddled the entire night, you want morning kisses and the warmth of his body next to you. Plus, you figured that you could wriggle your body under the pretence of getting comfortable and get the man all worked up instead — leading to some pretty lascivious activities. When had you become so greedy? 

 

You stretch yourself out lazily in his bed, preparing to wake up and start your day. You’re still naked under the sheets since he had practically ripped your pyjamas  off of you last night and flung them somewhere in the room. You’re lucky that the two of you are the only ones on this floor and the fact that you had snuck over in those thin, short and all too enticing scraps of clothing wasn’t a scandal that anyone else could be accidentally privy to. 


Your phone chirps quietly on his nightstand which brings you out of your contented haze and into reality again. And then it chirps multiple times afterward which makes you scowl and roll over to grab it. 

 

 

[PETEY-PIE]: good morning gorgeous. i almost want to bet money that you’re waking up with some… company today 

 

[PETEY-PIE]: btw that dick that you don’t like is coming round the tower later this afternoon. heard sam talk about it when i left an hour ago 

 

[PETEY-PIE]: so if you want to escape, my apartment is yours. you know where the spare key is. i’ll be back around 2ish to entertain you :) 

 

[PETEY-PIE]: and yes, before you ask, i was too drunk to swing myself home last night. and also yes, we WILL be speaking about whatever the fuck happened at dinner 

 

You want to cringe over the idea that John Walker is coming back over to the tower today. Not only could you not stand to be around him, you seriously feared for his safety too… because a prolonged interaction with you was definitely going to end with your fist in his face. 

 

[YOU]: fucking hell. thanks for telling me

 

[YOU]: also, noooo idea what you’re talking about :) i have woken up alone (true) and i had a perfectly normal dinner experience last night 

 

 

 

[PETEY-PIE]: PLEASE. i may have been drunk but i swear the tension was radiating off of you both in hot steamy waves 

 

You giggle to yourself, rolling over to lie on your tummy as you type back a response to Peter. The sheets have dropped to your waist, leaving your bare breasts exposed to the cold air as you tap away on your phone. Your half-covered body in his bed is how he finds you when he comes back. 

 

You look up as the door opens and you’re not sure if your nipples harden from the chill in the air or from the way he’s looking at you. He stands in the doorway for a couple moments longer, feasting on the sight of you in his bed like this, before he kicks it shut and removes the earphones from his ears. 

 

He’s clearly come back from his usual morning run; he’s shirtless and the sweat is gleaming off of the many rows of hard muscle that make up his entire body. The thought of licking your way across that set of abs crosses your mind. 

 

“Hmm, I could get used to the sight of this,” he says darkly, his voice deeper and gruffer than usual as his eyes flick downwards to take you in. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly it sends a bolt of lightning through your body, settling in your lower half. Your legs involuntarily clamp together underneath the sheets. 

 

“Could you now?” You had wanted the words to come out in a sultry tone, but they leave your mouth as more of a choke. The attentive way he is looking at you has your whole body responding accordingly. 

 

“Mmm doll,” he replies, emptying his pockets and settling everything down in a slow and calculated manner, “I don’t think there’s any better way for me to start my day.” 

 

He doesn’t break eye-contact for a second as he sets the things down. Watching you in the same intense way a leopard would watch an antelope.

 

You’re still laying on your tummy with your phone in your hands, an unsent jab of response to Peter flashing in the text box. You click your phone off, reaching forward to put it back safely on the nightstand before things get out of hand. He follows your actions with his gaze the whole time but doesn’t budge from where he’s standing.

 

Your hard nipples graze against the sheets from your movements, making you stifle a whine and positively sending him hurtling over the edge of any composure that he was feigning to have. He crosses the room over to you in just a few long strides, perching himself on the edge of the bed and pushing at your shoulder so that you fall onto your back, your head resting comfortably on a pillow.

 

The sheets have gathered up around your midsection, keeping just a morsel of yourself covered as his eyes lap over the sight of you. 

 

"Hello Sergeant," you grin at him, enjoying the way his eyes seem to darken as the title leaves your mouth. 

 

You reach out with your arms, tugging him toward you and angling for his lips to meet yours. He comes as you pull at him — but ignores your lips and instead latches himself straight onto your left nipple. You gasp at the unexpected shock of it, your hand fisting into his hair as your back arches off the bed in response. 

 

He sucks harshly at your left breast and squeezes the neglected one in his right hand, the metal hand clutching your hip in a bruising grip. He rolls your nipple between his fingers whilst tugging at the other with his teeth and you’re practically squirming from all this attention. 

 

You can’t stop the moan that shudders its way out of your body when he rips the sheets from the rest of your body, slotting his knee in between your thighs and rocking you gently onto it. 

 

You bring your lip between your teeth as he kisses his way up the side of your body — tracing the marks he left last night with his tongue. You on the other hand, are shamelessly grinding against his thigh, your nails digging into the skin of his back. You look down to watch as he leaves an indentation of his teeth along your hipbone, your fingers sifting through his soft brown hair. He groans quietly when you tug at it, his palm settling against your inner thigh and coaxing your legs open for him. 

 

”You want to cum against my thigh, sweetheart? Or are you okay to go again so soon?” he asks in a hushed tone by your ear, his breath on your neck sending shivers down your spine. "Don't want to break ya. Not completely anyways."

 

As much as you don’t want to stop grinding against his leg, you know it’ll be so much better with him inside you.

 

You reach out, running your hand against the massive bulge that’s quite prominent in his running shorts. 

 

“I’m okay to go again,” you reassure him, your hand venturing past his waistband and gripping him. He groans as you do, his head falling to rest against your shoulder as he bucks into your hand and tries to find some relief. You can't help but love that he can pretend as much as he wants but you know that he is coming completely undone by you. 

 

“You will be the death of me, doll,” he utters as you stroke him slowly. “But I can’t think of a better way to go other than buried in that sweet cunt of yours.”

 

You whine as the words leave him, your hips pressing harder against his thigh as arousal floods you. He pulls away slightly — not far enough that your grip on his cock loosens — but far enough that he can reach between your thighs and rub circles directly onto your clit. 

 

Your body involuntarily jerks as you react to his touch, your teeth sinking into your lip as you breathe heavier. He removes his knee from your centre and you whine at the loss of friction for about two seconds before he replaces it with his fingers. He teases at your entrance, driving you even more wild with the sheer desperation of needing more

 

Bucky is as turned on as you are: he’s rock-hard in your grip. You squeeze him gently at the base of his shaft before you pull him free from his running shorts completely. This allows you to stroke at him better, to rub your thumb against his tip and have him utter swears in a foreign language. He jerks forward in your hand, his own fingers sinking their way into you as he tries to reciprocate. 

 

“Always so wet,” he groans, “fuck and so tight.” 

 

You know that if he keeps talking in that husky, deep voice of his that you won't be able to stop yourself from cumming. 

 

A third finger sinks its way into you and you arch off the bed, canting your hips for more even though the stretch is heavenly. 

 

“Feels so good Sergeant,” you choke out, eyes scrunching closed as he curls them inside of you. He finds that spot in you that has you squeaking, his palm flattening against your clit and providing an overwhelmingly good amount of stimulation. 

 

"Eyes open," he commands and fuck, you're so close

 

You're about to tell him that but there's no need. He knows your body well now, knows from the litany of sounds you're making and from the way that you're shamelessly bucking yourself onto his fingers. 

 

“Are you going to cum, doll?” he asks you, his voice strained as your hand picks up its pace and you start stroking him faster. “Cum all over my fingers like the good little slut that you are? Make a mess all over my sheets, hmm?”

 

”Yes," you breathe out, arching off the bed as you feel yourself getting closer.

 

You let out a yelp of shock as he smacks your breast. "Yes, what?" 

 

You have to admit, you really do like defying him. 

 

"Yes," you repeat, a ghost of a smirk starting to form at your lips, "Bucky."

 

He lets out a deep sigh as if he is just horribly disappointed in you.

 

"Oh, doll. Didn't realise you wanted to be such a brat this morning." 

 

But he doesn't punish you. You expected him to stop, to chide you - maybe roll you over and make your ass bright red from his hand (and you would be lying if you said that you didn't want exactly that). But he doesn't do any of this. Instead he speeds up his fingers, curling them inside you in just the right spot that has you going absolutely hysterical. 

 

You're so close to cumming, you just need a little bit more and he knows. His thumb at your clit as your hand wrapping around his wrist in some desperate attempt at grounding yourself. You're almost there, just about to teeter over the edge when he slips his fingers out of you. 

 

No,” you gasp, upset about the ruined orgasm. You can feel your cunt fluttering slightly in discontent at the loss of stimulation. 

 

But the bastard only grins and replies: “only good girls get to cum."

 

"I'm sorry," you whimper out instead, so desperate that you can't even pretend to be embarrassed about it. "I'm sorry, Sergeant please."

 

"Tsk tsk tsk, doll," he tuts at you. "If you want it, I want you to beg properly."

 

You squeeze his large cock in your hands. "Please. Fuck, I want to cum on your cock Sergeant. You always feel so good inside me. Please fuck me."

 

He pinches your chin between his thumb and index finger. You know it's his way of telling you that he wants more. "I promise I'll be good. Please I just want to cum."

 

“Good girls always do,” he praises, moving his way down the bed and positioning himself between your legs. “And you were so good last night, taking me so well. Cumming exactly when I told you to.”

 

Your breath catches as he speaks, the deep octave of his voice doing positively wicked things to your aching core. 

 

He’s about to lower himself down, tongue about to lap at your centre when FRIDAY’s voice shatters the moment. If you ever wanted to let out a howl of sheer frustration — it would’ve been now. 

 

”Sergeant Barnes,” she speaks into the room. “I’m sorry to interrupt but I thought you would like to be informed that Captain Rogers is looking for you.”

 

Bucky lets out a deep, irritable sigh at her interruption, his cock twitching against your inner thigh. “Where is he?”

 

“He’s exiting the elevator on this floor,” FRIDAY says, “he will be arriving any moment.”

 

”Oh fuck!” you yelp and jerk to sit upright whilst Bucky slips himself back into his own shorts. Bucky barely has enough time to reach for his sheets, yanking them over your body to preserve your dignity as Steve pounds on the door.

 

”Buck!” he shouts and your heart twists the same way that the door handle does. “I saw that you came home from your run—“

 

Steve stops dead in his tracks as he catches sight of the scene laid before him: you clutching Bucky’s sheets up to your neck and a shirtless Bucky kneeling over you. His eyes widen and his mouth drops so fast that you swear you hear his jaw clang against the floor.

 

Bucky slowly repositions himself so that he’s sitting in front of you, blocking your body from Steve’s view with his own.  

 

“Um…” he starts, I— she— wait— this—wait—… uh… um… wait...”

 

Bucky trails off and Steve continues to stand shellshocked in the doorway, one hand still on the door handle.

 

“I think we might owe you an explanation,” you offer up instead, clutching the sheets to your chin and feeling way too vulnerable in your naked state.

 

Steve finally finds his voice, inhaling sharply through his nose. “Oh, you THINK?”

 

Steve steps into the room and slams the door shut, making you involuntarily jerk in alarm. He crosses his arms, eyebrows furrowing as he regards you both. From the way that Bucky tenses, you pick up on the devolving nature of this situation. 

 

“What. Is. Going. On.” He addresses you both with a voice that’s heavily laden with authority. “I thought you hated each other! What happened to that?”

 

You look at Bucky nervously before answering. “I mean… we did. Something just… changed. Turns out we can get on quite well when he’s not behaving like a total raving dic—”

 

”Doll,” Bucky cuts your sentence off.

 

”Sorry.” You can’t stop the grin that tugs at your cheeks. “But it’s true though.” 

 

“How long has this been going on?” Steve demands, not finding the situation amusing at all. 

 

Steve,” Bucky chides his friend’s behaviour. “Maybe it can wait until after she’s dressed.”

 

The protectiveness of this hulking man makes your heart flutter. You would reach out and tenderly kiss the space between his shoulder blades if Steve wasn’t imploding in the doorway.

 

“You’re actually NAKED?” Steve shouts in disbelief at you. You feel yourself blushing furiously at how scandalised he is by you. 

 

Steve! Out!” Bucky barks the commands, his Sergeant voice filtering through. You’re embarrassed again at the effect it has on you. 

 

When Steve doesn’t budge, Bucky stands and practically throws him out of the room. “Just wait here!”

 

He sighs in irritation, leaning against the door and settling himself. His eyes open and find you, still rooted in your spot on the bed. He softens, pushing off the door and yanking a large shirt from his wardrobe for you. 

 

“Arms up,” he commands and you don’t dare to disobey his authority right now. You sit up as he approaches you, obediently lifting your arms and letting the sheet drop down to your waist again. If seeing your still-hard nipples and soaking cunt has an effect on him, he doesn’t let it show. He pulls the shirt over your head and retrieves your panties from the floor, handing them over to you along with your pyjama shorts.

 

Even as you pull both items over yourself, he makes no attempt to pull on a shirt himself — instead waiting patiently in his running shorts for you to be settled before opening the door and allowing Steve back into the room. 

 

Steve seems visibly less shaken himself upon his re-entry, having managed to conjure up a degree of composure. He eyes Bucky before his gaze lands on you, a lot more modestly dressed and receptive of visitors now.

 

“Explain. Right now,” he grits, folding his arms again as he stares you down.

 

”Do not speak to her like that,” Bucky snaps at him. “You’re mad at me, fine, I get it. I should have told you that something was going on. But don’t take it out on her.”

 

Steve scoffs. “I’m mad at both of you for being unprofessional. How long has this been going on?” 

 

You say: “the stakeout,” at the same time that Bucky says: “the gala.” Both of you look at each other before correcting yourselves: “the gala.”

 

“So you both could have compromised this entire operation?” Steve concludes, his tone harsher than you’d like. You’ve never been at the receiving end of Steve’s anger before and it was definitely something you were unsure how to navigate. "Is that the reason there was so much bickering? The blatant insubordination-"

 

”That’s not fair,” you state, feeling that all-too familiar annoyance when your ability is questioned. “We ran the operation incredibly successfully! It couldn’t have gone better.”

 

”Whatever’s been happening between us is completely separate to our jobs,” Bucky adds. "It did not affect our mission in the slightest."

 

“Also,” you mutter, “I’m pretty sure I did say multiple times that I didn’t want to work with him. So I’m hardly at fault here.” 

 

Bucky snorts, turning to look at you with an amused glint in his eyes. Steve doesn’t share the same amusement. 

 

“I thought you both hated each other,” he repeats himself. “Everyone thinks you both can’t stand to be around the other! Meanwhile… this?” 

 

“In all fairness, this is pretty new,” Bucky explains. “It really hasn’t been going on for long.”

 

"I just can't believe this."

 

Steve’s shoulders drop when he lets out a long sigh, the steam seems to have run out of him. He turns to Bucky, his tone gentler as he says, “please can we talk? In private.”

 

Why do you feel like you're in so much trouble?

 

Bucky nods solemnly but makes a point to cross back over to where you’re sitting on the bed. 

 

He places a very reassuring but brief kiss to your lips and murmurs, “see ya later, doll.” Then he turns and leaves with Steve, clicking the door into place behind him.

 

You collapse back against the bed, your arm thrown over your eyes. Your phone chirps again from its position on the nightstand.

 

 

[PETEY-PIE]: i’m so hungover i just threw up in a bush on the way to my lecture. so i’m obviously not going. pls come over and nurse me back to health thanks


 

Notes:

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