Summary: Bucky must face the consequences of his actions. Word Count: 560 Warnings: Shenanigans by Bucky, language, pissed off reader, Marvel!Crack I guess. Author’s Note: Based off a conversation [this gif] that @captain-rogers-beard and I had this morning. Even though this is a Steve x reader drabble, I’m tagging my Bucky peeps for this. I hope that’s okay. GIF found on Google Images. I tried tracing it back to the original blog that created it, but the URL no longer exists.
My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.
Someone was sitting on the edge of your bed, saying your name in a way that made your brain pulse painfully inside your head. You wanted to beg them to stop, to say that they didn’t need to scream at you, that all you needed was a hot shower and sleep, but your tongue was thick and uncooperative. Whoever it was had their hand on your shoulder and giving it, I’m sure what they thought was a gentle squeeze. You winced, hissing at the pain that zapped through your muscle.
“Lemme be,” you ground out, rubbing a hand over your face, barely suppressing a yawn.
They chuckled as the hair was moved from your face. “Babe, are… are you okay?”
You hummed when he called you babe. “Steve,” you smiled, pushing up to your elbow, looking at him with squinted eyes because, goddamn, it was bright. “I’m doin’ good, baby. How you doin’?”
Steve snorted this time, his finger tracing over your chin and above your lips. “Much better than earlier, now that I’ve seen your… what happened to you?”
“What?” you mumbled as your brain struggled to comprehend what your boyfriend was referring to.
“Your face,” he chuckled, not taking his hand away. “Someone’s drawn on it.”
“Fuckin’ Bucky,” you snarled, pushing off the bed, tripping over your own two feet, and stumbling across the room. You could hear him laughing down the hall as you ripped open the door.
“I’m gonna fuckin’ KILL YOU, BARNES!” you screamed as you tore off after the super soldier.
Bucky gave a high-pitched shriek as he barrelled into the large common room. There were some loud protests, mainly by Wanda and Sam, but when you entered the room, all eyes were on you. Natasha was ripped off the stool, set on her feet, and behind her was Bucky, hands on her shoulders, bent at the waist, wide eyes peering over her shoulder.
“What the hell is going on, Buck?” the assassin asked, her tone flat and unamused.
You were seething as you pointed to your face. “Asshole drew on my face while I was asleep.”
Nat rolled her eyes. “You’re a super soldier, Buck. She can’t hurt you, not really.”
“I don’t fucking care, she’s gonna kill me,” Bucky scoffed.
“You shouldn’t have drawn on my face,” you said darkly, hands balled into fists, approaching the duo.
Steve slid into the room and wrapped an arm around your waist. “Easy, baby,” he murmured in an effort to calm you down.
Bucky smiled triumphantly when his best friend joined the conversation. “It was fuckin’ funny.”
“Oh yeah?” you smirked, expertly sliding out of your boyfriend’s grip, making him gasp in surprise. “Who’s laughing now?”
The super soldier gave a shriek and pushed away from Natasha as you raced across the room, murder in your eyes as you chased him around the room, out the door, and down the hall. Natasha and Steve stood there and huffed in unison.
“She’s your girlfriend,” Nat said.
With a scoff, Steve rebutted with, “He’s your husband.”
She rolled her eyes and craned her neck to look at him. “He’s your best friend.”
“She’s your sister,” he shot back, eyebrow arched.
“Goddamn it,” Natasha sighed in resignation. She shoved her hair into a low knot before taking off at a dead run, following the trail of Bucky’s shouts.
Summary: You’re ready to tell Bucky how you feel, if he manages to live long enough. Word Count: 1,061 Warnings: Angst, fluff, language Author’s Note: For @green-spotlight Can you do a Bucky Barnes x reader? With the quote “You wanna know what I’m scared of? I’m scared of everything! I’m scared to move, I’m scared to breathe, I’m scared to touch you. I can’t lose you, I won’t survive.” GIF found on Google Images
My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.
You were pacing, chewing on your nails, your mind a flurry of activity, of the worst-case-scenarios, the what ifs, and could-have-beens. Ever since finding out that the man you’d been exchanging emails with and talking on the phone for endless hours over the past eighteen months wasn’t James Buchanan, he was James Buchanan – everybody calls me Bucky – Barnes, the Winter Soldier, Captain America’s best friend, newest member to the Avengers, you hadn’t been able to sit still, to turn off your anxiety, the voices that rampaged in your mind.
Your thoughts varied from how could he lie to me like that to is he going to die on a mission, and everything in between. Part of you wanted to slam your fists into his chest and ask him how the hell he could lie to you. Part of you wanted to hide away and cry, to scream at him to leave you alone, that you never wanted to see him again. But the part that you were scared of, was that you were falling in love with him, and if anything were to ever happen to him… you wouldn’t survive.
It was the scheduled night and time for him to call, but when your phone lit up, you didn’t answer, it wasn’t James’ number. After sending it to voicemail, you resumed your pacing, only to have your phone ring a second time. Something in the back of your mind told you to accept the call, that you wouldn’t forgive yourself if you didn’t.
“He- hello?” you stuttered, anxiety twisting your stomach painfully.
“Hey, doll,” James murmured through his teeth.
Tears clouded your vision when you realized something was wrong. “What is it, James?”
He coughed, thick and wet, a pained grunt following. “Nothing,” he lied thickly. “I ju- just wanted to… to hear your voice.”
“Don’t you fuckin’ lie to me, James,” you scolded him sternly.
“I ain’t,” he insisted, a gasp leaving him the next moment. “Doc says I’ll be fine.”
You rubbed your forehead and let out a shuddering breath. “Tell me what happened.”
“I don’t… shit,” he snarled loudly. “I don’t want to talk about that now.”
When you shook your head angrily, the tears fell, streaking your makeup from the day. “Too damn bad, Barnes.”
“Would you stop it?” James hissed to someone. “Y/N, I meant… we’re close by. Are you okay with uh, me coming over? I don’t want to talk about this over the phone.”
“I guess,” was your sigh of an answer. You didn’t give him time to say anything, you disconnected the call and threw your phone onto the couch. “Unbelievable.”
Over an hour later, there were a series of loud knocks on your door. After looking through the peephole, you quickly unlocked the door and stood to the side as an injured James… Bucky Barnes stumbled in. The front of his shirt was torn and bloodied, several long rows of stitches in his chest, dark thread, puckered skin. You swallowed at the knot in your throat at the sight of him, willing yourself not to cry.
“Do you need anything?” you asked, closing the door.
He gave a shake of his head and grimaced. “I’m good.”
“You’re good? You don’t fuckin’ look it!” With your chin quivering, you reached out and smacked him across the face.
His crystal eyes were drilling into yours. “The fuck was that for?”
“You scared me,” you admitted, your voice thick and raw.
He brushed his fingers over the darkening print of your hand on his face. “What do you have to be scared of?”
“You really wanna know what I’m scared of?” you scoffed, both hands curled into fists at your sides. “Since finding out who you are, I’m scared of everything! I’m scared to move, I’m scared to breathe, I’m scared,” you had to clear the emotion from your throat before continuing, “I’m scared to touch you.”
The super soldier stood in front of you and gently wiped away the tears from your face with his thumbs. “You don’t need to be scared.”
Sighing heavily, your eyes fell to the wound on his chest, to the dried blood that was on his cheek and neck, to the stains on his tactical gear. “I can’t lose you, James. I.. I won’t survive,” you admitted, tears filling your eyes once again.
“I’m right here, doll. I ain’t going anywhere,” he whispered before pressing his lips to yours.
Even as your eyes fell closed and you melted into him, your chin was quivering. You could have lost him for forever, and you never would have been able to forgive yourself for not admitting your feelings before tonight. When he ran his tongue along the seam of your lips, you slanted your mouth over his, deepening the kiss. He moaned in the back of his throat when you pushed up to your toes and wrapped your arms around his neck, tangling your fingers in his messy hair. He had you backed against the wall, his hips pinning you to it, his flesh hand squeezing your hip, his metal one pressing into the back of your neck, angling your head, controlling the kiss.
With your hands against his chest, you managed to push him back just enough to suck in some air. “Bucky, stop,” you panted, your heart hammering in your chest.
“Sorry, doll,” he murmured, his forehead against yours. “That… was long overdue.”
Chuckling low in your throat, you agreed by cupping his face in your hands and pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Something I’ve wanted to do for a while.”
“Me, too,” was his breathy reply.
There was a long moment of silence between the two of you before Bucky cringed and put his finger to his ear. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
You couldn’t keep the disappointment from your voice when you asked, “Do you have to leave?”
“Unfortunately,” James sighed. “You could uh, you could come with.”
“I can?” you inquired, confusion roaring through you. “Won’t I… won’t you get into trouble? I’m nobody important.”
He was kissing you again, fiercely, stealing all cognitive thought from your brain and air from your lungs. “You’re someone important to me,” he insisted, his eyes dark.
With one corner of your mouth pulled up, you nodded. “Let me get my shoes on.”
Summary: James “Bucky” Barnes comes from a highly esteemed lineage of vampire hunters. Being the newest generation’s hunter, he’s responsible for keeping the supernatural world a secret and ensuring the survival of humanity. After losing his arm in a hunt gone wrong, Bucky wants nothing to do with his preordained destiny. Fighting alongside Bucky is his best friend and confidant, Steven Rogers, a priest with a direct line to the Vatican, and Bucky’s only saving grace. Can Steve talk some sense into his friend, convince him that the world needs him? You’re damned, destined to spend the rest of your life sulking in the shadows, wallowing in your own self pity. Everything changes one night when you come face-to-face with Bucky Barnes. Will he save you or put you out of your misery? Word Count: 1,756 Warnings for the series: Alternate universe, blood, gore, violence, language, possible smut, PTSD, nightmares, more to come as series continues Author’s Note: The idea stemmed from this post by @itsstillnotwhatyouthink I hope I do it justice. Want a tag? Let me know. A huge shoutout to @captain-rogers-beard & @climbthatmooselikeatree for all of your invaluable help. I love you. GIF credit
This chapter contains slightly graphic descriptions of the deaths of children.
My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.
Bucky couldn’t sleep, and it wasn’t solely because of the jet lag, the time difference between Brooklyn and Rome. He couldn’t get the image of slaughtered children out of his mind long enough for his brain to shut down. That was the reason Bucky said he’d help find this Ronan character, the only reason. Because, if it were up to Bucky, he’d be on the private jet in a heartbeat. He hated being in Rome, immersed in a religion he no longer believed in, in a God he doubted existed.
After kicking off the sheets, Bucky stood and stretched his sore muscles. The massage from Wanda had helped tremendously, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before the knots reformed, making it damn near impossible for Bucky to move freely.
With a wide yawn, Bucky attached the shining black arm, and slipped on a pair of socks and shoes before heading out of his room, and down the hall. It was almost like a maze, and anyone that hadn’t been trained there would have gotten lost several times, but not Bucky. He knew the building like the back of his hand and could navigate it with his eyes closed.
Several minutes later, he was back in the briefing room. The files were still on the table, as was the controller for the projector in the back of the room. As luck might have it, there was a small kitchen nook off to the side. Bucky brewed up a pot of coffee and poured himself a cup before finally sitting at the table, pulling the stack of files towards him.
He went over every inch of those files, read each and every word, backwards and forwards, until he had it memorized. Then he looked at the pictures, one by one, staring at them until he could close his eyes and recite exactly what was happening, how many bodies, their injuries, et cetera. And then, with one last click on the remote, Bucky forced himself to stand and look at the picture that made his stomach churn.
Fifteen children, ranging in ages from six months to six years, lined up on the floor, on their bellies, their heads ripped off, their spines glistening sickly in the sunlight. Bile rose in the back of Bucky’s throat, but he didn’t turn away, no matter how badly he wanted to. Bucky had done his fair share of awful deeds, but never to children. That was his cardinal rule; never harm a child. So, to see someone do it for no reason, it made Bucky see red.
Finally, Bucky turned off the projector, closed his eyes, and hurled the controller against the room, smashing it to pieces. He let loose a scream of rage and mourning, and dropped to his knees. He didn’t… couldn’t stop until Steve’s hand was on his shoulder.
“Bucky?” the priest called out, shaking his best friend.
“They were just kids, Stevie,” Bucky sobbed, his hand scraping over his face.
Steve dropped down to sit next to Bucky and squeezed his shoulder. “I know, Buck. They had a full life ahead of them.”
“They didn’t deserve what happened to them,” Bucky continued. “What that monster did to them, it’s… it’s inhumane.”
“No, they didn’t,” Steve agreed softly.
Bucky clenched his jaw and looked at his friend. “I’m going to kill the son of a bitch,” he vowed darkly.
Archbishop Strange had just settled in his chair and was reaching for a file when the door flew open. In strode Bucky, Steve trailing behind, apologizing – once again – for his friend’s behavior.
“Why me?” the slayer demanded to know. “Why did he write my name in his blood?”
Stephen picked up the picture that Bucky chucked across his desk. “Have you changed your mind, Mr. Barnes?” he asked, dark eyes on Bucky. “Will you not help catch the killer?”
“I haven’t changed my mind,” he assured the Archbishop. “I just want to know why.”
“Mr. Barnes,” Stephen started, clasping his hands together, “Pope Francis held you in high esteem. Your faith, or lack thereof, made no difference to him. You’re not just a great slayer, you’re The Slayer of this generation. There is no one else but you.”
Bucky sighed heavily, dragging a hand through his hair. “I just… I feel as if I’m not getting all the information.”
“You’re tired, man,” Steve insisted. “You haven’t gotten a good night sleep since… the accident.”
“That’s not the reason,” Bucky huffed.
Stephen stood from his chair, swiping a hand down the front of his garment. “I can assure you that every bit of information we have in our possession has been shared with you.”
Bucky looked at the Archbishop with narrowed eyes and hands on his hips. Finally, after several long moments, the slayer nodded his head. “Alright, but if I find out any different -”
“You won’t,” Stephen insisted.
After excusing themselves and closing the door behind them, Steve rolled his eyes. “Are you kidding me?”
“What?”
“You can’t just march in there and accuse the Archbishop of lying,” Steve whisper-yelled.
Bucky shook his head in disagreement. “I sure as hell can.”
“Language, Buck. You can’t talk like that in here,” Steve sighed, easily catching up to his friend who had quickened his pace.
“Look, Steve, I get it. This is an important place for you.”
Grabbing Bucky’s elbow, Steve whirled him around. “It is, you’re right. And you need to show some respect,” he ordered, his eyes flashing dark and menacing.
All Bucky did was chuckle ruefully. “Oh, Stevie,” he murmured, turning away and walking down the hall.
Natasha was leaning against the door frame, watching her ex-fiance as he punched the heavy bag that hung from the ceiling. He was using only his flesh hand, no doubt because his metal one would rip the bag from its hook.
“You gonna stand there all fuckin’ day?” Bucky snapped.
“I hadn’t planned on it,” she answered, pushing away from the wall and making her way across the room. “You want someone to spar with?”
Glaring at her from the corner of his eye, Bucky snorted. “I’m good, thanks.”
It was Natasha’s turn to snort. “You afraid I’ll kick your ass?”
“Fuck it,” he snarled, swiping a hand over his face and up into his hair. “Let’s go.”
“That’s what I thought,” she smiled, bouncing on the balls of her feet and shaking her taped-up hands.
The ex-lovers circled each other, Bucky’s one hand held up in front of him in a loose fist, Nat’s hands mirroring his. They each took turns lunging for the other, only to come up empty-handed, their grunts of irritation filling the room. Natasha kept winking at Bucky everytime she bounced inside his personal space, but Bucky was just a split second too slow, narrowly missing the red headed beauty.
“Come on, James,” she taunted, taking a risk and turning her back to him. “You’re gettin’ slow in your old age.”
“I’m not old,” he huffed heavily. “I’m just -”
“Just what, James?” Natasha giggled. “Out of shape?”
Bucky gave a shout of frustration and lunged at her. She took advantage of his outburst and slid between his legs, coming up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. He whirled around just as she threw a punch, nailing him square in the jaw.
“Come on,” she shouted. “I know you want to hit me.”
With a loud huff, Bucky shook his head, and threw a too-wide punch. Natasha arched her back and vaulted into a backflip, her foot connecting with his chin. He was shouting in frustration and stomping over to her.
“Hit me,” Natasha commanded, flames dancing in her eyes. “I left you at your lowest point. You’re pissed off. Hit me!” Bucky threw another punch, one that Natasha easily avoided. She slapped his fist out of the way before diving into a somersault.
“I ain’t pissed about that,” he snarled, turning to face her.
“Then what is it, huh?” She was in front of him again, easily dodging his punches, and throwing more of her own, splitting his lip, drawing blood.
With a barbarous scream, Bucky launched himself at her, grunting when his legs were kicked out and he landed heavily on his knees. She was on his back, legs around his waist, arm locked around his neck, cutting off his air supply.
“It’s gotta be something, James,” she rasped, her chest heaving against his back. “The man I loved, the man I knew, wasn’t like this, rushing headlong into a fight he knew he couldn’t win.”
Bucky’s eyes felt as if they were going to bug out of his head as he struggled to get free from Natasha’s grip. Only when black started to eat at his vision, did he slap her arm, conceding, giving up. She fell to her ass after releasing him, watching with wide eyes as he stayed there, his head hanging, his metal hand on his heaving chest.
“The man you knew died that night,” he finally said.
“He didn’t have to,” she argued weakly.
Bucky looked at her over his shoulder. “You wanted to know why I’m pissed. This is why I’m pissed,” he snapped, pulling off the prosthetic, then his shirt to show her his array of scars. “I’m not the man you fell in love with, Nat. I haven’t been since that night. I was literally ripped apart. There ain’t no coming back from that.”
She pushed off the floor and risked taking a step closer. “But there is, James.”
“Stop calling me that,” he begged through his teeth, his eyes squeezed shut.
“Okay,” Natasha sighed, stepping even closer to her ex. “I’ll stop.”
He shook his head, his sweat-soaked hair falling into his face. “Don’t, Nat. Please.”
Her throat was thick when she agreed. “Sure thing, Bucky.”
Bucky waited until the door latched before he let loose a primal scream, his head thrown back, tears streaming down his face. He still loved Natasha, had loved her every damn day. Even the days that he hated her, he loved her. But, over the course of the last year, he had fallen out of love with her. He continued to miss her greatly, but their time had come to an end when his arm had been ripped from his body.
In the darkness of his depression, he hadn’t mourned the loss of both his arm and his relationship with Nat. It was at that very moment that the weight of both losses barreled into him like a freight train.
Summary: After overhearing a conversation between you and Natasha, Steve wants to talk to you about it. He walks into your room and finds you in a compromising situation. Word Count: 1,531 Warnings: Masturbation, slightly embarrassed reader, emboldened Steve, explicit sexual content Author’s Note: I got two requests that involved masturbating, so I worked them into one fic. I hope it’s okay. If you’re up for it could I request a Steve/reader where reader confesses to Nat she has a crush on Steve? Steve overhears and decides to talk to her about it, but walk in on her touching herself to the thought of them. Steve/Reader where reader is touching herself, and has a vibrator named after Steve, of course screaming out his name when he has super hearing might not be the best idea, or is it 😉 GIF found on Google Images.
My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.
“Alright, spill it,” Nat rasped after checking over her shoulder, making sure that no one was around.
You felt like you were back in school, blushing and playing with the hem of your shirt, the shirt you had ‘borrowed’ from Steve a few months back. You shook your head and shrugged.
“It’s stupid,” you murmured, eyes flicking around the common area. Why you agreed to talk to your friend in the middle of one of the largest rooms in the compound, you had no earthly idea, but there you were. “You’re going to laugh.”
She was shaking her head and crossing her heart with two fingers. “Not happening, girl.”
You sighed before giving in and telling her exactly what had been going on with you. “I mean, I like Steve, a lot.”
“That’s not news,” she chuckled, her hand on your knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“Yeah, well… I mean, there’s more. But I mean it when I say you can’t tell anyone,” you warned her, a finger thrust at her.
She held her hand out for you to shake. “HYDRA couldn’t break me,” was her way of promising that whatever was said would remain between the two of you.
“Okay,” you huffed, wringing your hands together in your lap. “I can’t… orgasm without… ugh, without thinking of Steve.”
There, the cat was out of the bag, and you felt… super fucking embarrassed. Your cheeks burned and you covered your face with your hands, groaning loudly into the palms. You expected to hear peals of laughter from the woman sitting next to you, but there were none. Instead, she squeezed your knee again and waited until you peeked out.
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed out, Y/N,” she assured you, her voice gentle and kind.
“I have a sex toy I call Captain. It’s red and white, with a set of blue balls,” you blurted out, your eyes wide once the admission was out there.
Nat laughed at that point, but not because of what you said. All the color drained from your face and you fell back onto the couch. “They make those?”
“Natasha,” you groaned. “I have a real life problem here, and you’re wondering about a line of Avengers sex toys?”
“There’s a whole line?” she gasped loudly.
You laughed and rolled your eyes. “Yes, Nat. There’s one for you, too.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Her attention was no longer on what was happening with you, rather the slim laptop that was now on her legs, her fingers typing rapidly in the search bar, pulling up all the information she could find about the newly released line.
“Goddamn,” she huffed. “You weren’t lying.”
It was a lost cause, trying to get Natasha back on track once her mind was completely occupied. You huffed as you got off the couch, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, and trudged up to your room. You were never one for wearing clothes once inside the safety of your own living space, so once the door was latched, you stripped out of your clothes and dropped to the bed.
Admitting that you masturbated to Steve Rogers, Captain frigging America, was not exactly on the agenda, and talking about it, seeing the vibrator on the computer, got your blood racing. You hadn’t expected your body to react so… carnally at just the sight of it, but it sure as hell did.
The ache between your legs hadn’t diminished, not that you were surprised. You had always had a highly active libido, but ever since joining the Avengers – even in an unofficial way – and being around Steve eighty-five percent of the time, it had increased exponentially. One of the many side effects you had suffered.
Speaking of side effects… Steve’s bright eyes flashed in your mind and sent a spark dancing down your spine. You tried to fight it, the urge to put your hand between your legs, to fondle your breasts, tweaking the nipples into hard peaks, to slip your fingers between your rapidly dampening folds. You tried to ignore the heat that flooded through you when you pushed two fingers in, inching them in and out, when a moan of his name fell from your lips, when you curled your fingers just right.
You were writhing on your bed, using the edge for leverage, your hips rising off the bed. “Steve, yes,” you cried out, working your thumb against your clit.
“Y/N, are you alright?” Steve hollered as he tore into your room.
“What the fuck?” you screamed, standing on shaking legs, your sweat-slicked nakedness on full display, raw need surging through you like lava.
His chest was heaving under one of his ever-present shirts that were a size too small as his eyes roved over you. “Are you uh, I mean, you’re okay?”
“Am I okay?” you scoffed. “I was masturbating, Steve. I was just about to cum, too. What do you fucking think?” You glared at him, hands on your hips, your arousal dripping down your thighs, waiting for him to say something, anything. Instead, Steve reached behind him and closed the door, backed up when it latched, and turned the lock with a jerk of his wrist.
“I think,” he started, his voice dark, his hand reaching behind his head to pull off his shirt, “that you should,” his thumb flicked open the button on his jeans as he walked, “let me help you.”
You didn’t hesitate, you surged forward and kissed the super soldier, your hands shoving the denim down his hips, fisting his cock as soon as it was free. Steve groaned into your mouth and shoved his hand between your legs, stroking you roughly, pushing two thick fingers inside of you. Your back was against the wall, ass rolling off of it with every frenzied stroke, your hand twisting on the upstroke, smearing fat beads of pre-cum over the wide head of his cock.
Steve had you cumming in no time, his gritty praises throwing fuel on the inferno, sending you spiraling. You choked on his name as you fell apart, squeezing his cock, pulling noises from him that you’d only heard in your wildest fantasies. Your body was still thrumming when Steve grabbed your ass, picked you up from the floor, and entered you swiftly.
“Shit,” you cried out, your back curving off the wall, your hands in Steve’s hair, your ankles locking behind his back.
His mouth was on your neck, licking and biting as he purred, “So tight, doll. Tightest pussy I’ve had.”
His teeth scraped your pulsepoint before he sucked on it, his hips already thrusting tightly, your overstimulated walls shuddering around his cock, pulling a gasp from the pair of you. You hadn’t expected anything romantic or slow, but the rate that Steve pounded into you, snarling as he watched your body take him, damp forehead on your shoulder, your nails digging into his neck and shoulder, it was almost too much to handle. You were seeing stars, grunting at the impact of your ass against the wall, not surprised when you heard the plaster crack.
“Ste- Steve, I… I’m gonna,” you gasped, unable to complete your sentence because he had slid his hand along your stomach, found your throbbing clit, and worked his middle finger against it in tight, frenzied circles.
“I got’chu, doll,” Steve ground out, his cock twitching heavily as the coil in your gut snapped, sending you reeling.
Your head slammed into the wall and Steve was biting your shoulder, sucking hard, no doubt marking you as he continued pistoning in and out of you, the rhythm faltering slightly. And then, with a low-in-his-throat growl, Steve grabbed your hips and snapped his up one final time, his cock pulsing as he came, your name a shattered cry.
“Well… that was… I can’t,” you stammered as you struggled to breathe.
“Better than Captain, I hope,” Steve teased, pulling back to watch your face go white.
You swallowed heavily several times before asking, “You heard that?”
He chuckled low in his throat as he kissed you. “Super soldier hearing,” he explained, pulling back from the wall, and taking you with him as he strolled into the bathroom.
You cringed and hid your face behind your hands. “Oh, God,” you groaned.
Steve stepped into the shower and turned the water on. “Don’t be embarrassed, doll,” he cooed, one hand tugging at your wrists. “Would it help if I said I envision you whenever I touch myself?”
“You do?” You asked in surprise, your eyes wide at his admission.
“Every night,” was what he admitted next. “And I shout your name when I cum, too.”
A wave of arousal rushed through you as Steve’s soft cock – still buried inside of you – started to get hard. Your eyes rolled back and you gnawed on your bottom lip, moaning at the unfamiliar sensation.
“Another perk of being a super soldier,” Steve murmured, his lips against the column of your neck, his hand in your hair. “I’m gonna fuck you ‘til you can’t walk.”
“Promise?”
Despite the warm water hitting your skin, Steve’s dark chuckle pulled goosebumps to the surface. “Promise.”
Summary: James “Bucky” Barnes comes from a highly esteemed lineage of vampire hunters. Being the newest generation’s hunter, he’s responsible for keeping the supernatural world a secret and ensuring the survival of humanity. After losing his arm in a hunt gone wrong, Bucky wants nothing to do with his preordained destiny. Fighting alongside Bucky is his best friend and confidant, Steven Rogers, a priest with a direct line to the Vatican, and Bucky’s only saving grace. Can Steve talk some sense into his friend, convince him that the world needs him? You’re damned, destined to spend the rest of your life sulking in the shadows, wallowing in your own self pity. Everything changes one night when you come face-to-face with Bucky Barnes. Will he save you or put you out of your misery? Word Count: 1,753 Warnings for the series: Alternate universe, blood, gore, violence, language, possible smut, PTSD, nightmares, more to come as series continues Author’s Note: The idea stemmed from this post by @itsstillnotwhatyouthink I hope I do it justice.Want a tag? Let me know. A huge shoutout to @captain-rogers-beard & @climbthatmooselikeatree for all of your invaluable help. I love you. GIF credit
My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.
They were on a private jet, the priest and the slayer, landing in Rome, less than twenty-four hours after the assassination of the Pope. It didn’t matter that Bucky didn’t want to go, he had to go, it was his duty. It was what his father would have done, and his father before him, and his before him. Their own personal feelings about religion aside, it was what the Barnes men did.
Steve had been somewhat of an emotional wreck after receiving the call from the Vatican, understandably so. The Catholic church was the foundation of who Steve was. So, to say that the Pope – not just the person, but the title in and of itself – was a hero to the young priest wouldn’t be very far from the truth. Steve strived to be like him in every way possible. Sure, he struggled at times, his humanity getting the better of him, but who didn’t?
A sleek car was waiting for them as the descended the stairs of the private jet, and leaning against the hood of the car, their arms crossed, one ankle crossed over the other was Natasha Romanov, her curled, shoulder-length crimson hair shifting in the breeze.
Bucky pulled in a ragged breath at the sight of his ex-fiance. “I didn’t expect her to be here,” he muttered loud enough for Steve to hear him.
“How long has it been?” Steve asked, looking over his shoulder.
“Eighteen months,” was Bucky’s thick answer.
“I can’t do this anymore, Buck,” Nat said through her tears, her chin quivering, a hand carding through her hair.
“Do what, huh?” Bucky snapped.
“This,” she shouted, her hand motioning at the space between them. “All we do is fight.”
Bucky rolled his eyes as he drained the whiskey from his glass. “Not always.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Nat scoffed. “I forgot about the times where you were too busy wallowing in your own self-deprecation to even talk to me.”
“Don’t,” he warned, the glass in his hand close to shattering. “What happened to me -”
“Was tragic,” she finished sadly, her eyes falling to the prototype prosthetic. “But you gotta take the hits and keep going, Buck.”
A bark of a laugh escaped the slayer. “Who fuckin’ said, that, huh? Because I don’t think that they meant getting your fuckin’ arm ripped off by a goddamn vampire!”
Fat tears rolled down Nat’s cheeks, which she swiped away angrily, her head shaking. “You’re right, you are. No one should have to go through that, but you knew what you were signing up for when you chose not to turn your back -”
“There was no choice,” Bucky roared, the glass rocketing across the room and into the wall. “I wasn’t asked if I wanted to be a slayer, Nat. They didn’t take my thoughts on the matter into consideration when crafting the prophecy thousands of years ago.”
“My point is -”
“I get your fuckin’ point,” Bucky chuckled sadly, his eyes stinging as tears formed.
She crossed the room and pressed her hand to his heart, sucking in a ragged breath at the hammering of it against her palm. “I love you, James.”
With his jaw clenched, his eyes fluttered closed and he dipped his head once. He didn’t open his eyes until the she had left the room, a cloud of gentle perfume trailing behind, closing the door behind her.
“I love you, too.”
“Seriously?” Steve wondered aloud. “I thought she stopped by earlier this year.”
Bucky huffed out a breath through his nose. “Why would she do that?”
Steve stopped walking across the tarmac and faced his friend. “Natasha was in the states, Buck, on official business. I… I thought you knew, man.”
“It doesn’t matter, Steve,” Bucky quasi-lied. “I’ve moved on.”
“You’re still a shitty liar,” Steve teased, giving his friend a playful wink.
Bucky laughed and rolled his eyes. “Language, Padre.”
“That’s not going away anytime soon,” Steve huffed in irritation.
Natasha straightened as the her old friends grew closer, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Steve, Bucky, it’s good to see you.”
“I wish it weren’t under these circumstances,” Steve sighed as he bent down to hug the ex-slayer.
“Same here,” Nat murmured, pressing a friendly kiss to his cheek.
Bucky’s lips were pulled into a tight line when Nat looked at him. “Sorry we didn’t get together when you visited last.”
Natasha sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, I really am. I wanted to stop by, see how you were doing, but… I don’t know, it just didn’t feel right.”
“I get it,” he said. “Still would have been nice to catch up.” Bucky gave her a quick hug, hoping to avoid remembering how amazing she smelled.
She sighed happily and returned the hug, but when she pulled back, she was all business. “The Archbishop is waiting.”
It’s smaller than I remember,” Bucky mused, his head tipped back, looking at the painted ceiling.
Steve couldn’t help but chuckle. “That’s because the last time you were here, you weren’t even a teenager. You’ve grown a lot since then.”
“It’s still fuckin’ beautiful.”
“Please refrain from using such vulgarity while here, Mr. Barnes,” Archbishop Strange said sternly.
Bucky whirled around and bent at the waist slightly. “My apologies, Your Excellency.” Steve followed suit and bowed before one of his mentors.
“Enough with the formalities, gentlemen,” he said as he closed the door behind him. “There are urgent matters we need to discuss.”
After following Archbishop Strange across the room, Bucky and Steve took a seat across from a dark red desk. There were files and papers spread across it, looking like chaos to the untrained eye, but to Bucky, he knew exactly what was going on.
“You’re putting together a task force,” Bucky announced, not wanting to waste any time.
Steve cut a glare at his friend. “Your Grace, I must apologize for Bucky, he’s never been one for manners.”
“Mr. Barnes is correct, that is exactly what we are doing. And please,” he gave a wave of his hand, “call me Stephen.”
“Stephen,” Bucky huffed, sitting on the edge of his seat, forearms on his knees, “I don’t know what your latest intel has, but I’m retired.”
Stephen took in the sight of Bucky before addressing him. “The Pope is dead,” he deadpanned, his hands clasping behind his back as he stood on the other side of the desk. “Assassinated in this very building, doing the very thing he loved, and all you can say is that you’re retired?”
“My condolences on your loss, but it is just that, your loss,” he glanced from the Archbishop to his friend, “not mine.”
“You must understand the importance in finding who… what is responsible for this atrocity,” Stephen insisted.
Bucky raised his left hand and looked at it, unable to help but admire the reflection of the sun on the black metal. “If anyone understands, it’s me, Your Grace. You’re going to have to find yourself another slayer.”
Stephen’s dark eyes flicked over to the young priest. “Is he always this stubborn?”
“You have no idea,” Steve snorted.
“If there’s nothing else,” Bucky groaned as he pushed out of the chair.
“You’re not here because I asked you to come,” Stephen’s words cut Bucky’s actions short. “You’re here because the Pope did.”
Bucky and Steve glanced at one another. “I don’t understand,” Steve murmured.
“If the Pope is dead, how could he ask me to come here?”
Stephen pulled out a picture from one of the files, and held it up for the men to see. “Like this.”
It was a high definition picture of the crime scene. Pope Francis’ broken body was lying in a large pool of his own blood, dark red and sticky to the touch. His fingertips were ruddy from writing a name on the wall, smearing it onto the paint with his own blood; Barnes.
“Shit,” Bucky murmured, scraping a hand over his face.
“Here’s what we have,” Nat started, handing the two men a file. “The Pope wasn’t this guy’s first kill, he’s much too organized for that.”
That got Bucky’s attention. “You said he,” he noticed.
“I did,” Natasha agreed solemnly, clicking a button on the small remote she had just picked up. “His name is Ronan.” A picture appeared on the wall of a man who had pale skin, murderous eyes, and black paint covering most of his face.
“The hell is his deal?” Bucky asked, his brows furrowed as he studied the picture.
Natasha pressed the button again, showcasing a slide show of one grisly murder scene after another. “He’s a radical, ferocious, a genocidal militarist that wasn’t too happy with the peace treaty Rome signed with Carthage. He viewed their people, and anyone who signed the treaty, as weak.”
“What’s his background?” was Steve’s question.
“Ronan was a sadistic, dogmatic member of the Romanian Army who held a strong authoritative position,” Natasha went on, clicking the button, showing pictures of Ronan through the years. “During the first Desert War, Ronan was part of Operation Kaman 99. It was at that time that he developed a deep-rooted hate and repulsion against Iran and its culture. It appeared that their citizens had killed his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather during previous conflicts.”
Bucky scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Shit happens, get on with your life, man.”
Natasha continued as if Bucky hadn’t uttered a word. “When the two empires signed a peace treaty to end the war, Ronan was disgusted and ashamed to the point that he fled the Roman Army. In order to pursue his personal conflict against Rome, Ronan went on a killing spree.”
“Would it be too much to hope that he’s human?” Bucky sighed, exhaustion washing over him. It was a pointless question, he wouldn’t be there, in Rome, at the request of the Pope himself, if Ronan was human.
“That’s where things get a little… fuzzy,” she admitted grimly. “Ronan went off the grid a handful of years back, emerging just recently, and going by the moniker, Ronan, the Accuser.”
Steve groaned low in his throat. “Well, that doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s the opposite of good, Padre,” Natasha sighed, clicking the button once again. It was the first time in a long time that Bucky had to look away. The scene was… well, it turned his stomach, made bile rise in the back of his throat, made his hands curl into fists.
“Okay,” he conceded, shaking his head. “I’m in. Just… take that shit down.”
Summary: Steve Rogers is the CEO of his own company, and he’s a man that has never heard the word no from anyone. He goes after what he wants and he gets it, no matter the cost. You’re doing your best; sharing an apartment with your best friend, struggling through college, trying to make your own imprint on this world. The two of you cross paths when, as a favor to your friend, you interview him for a magazine. Without meaning to, you catch the attention of the insanely wealthy and intense bachelor. Word Count: 2,030 Warnings for Series: Angst, fluff, explicit rough & consensual sexual content, dub-con, dom!Steve, sub!reader, talk of past abusive dom / dub relationship, mentions of cheating, animal cruelty [no details], rape, possibly more to come. Author’s Note: Yes. There are going to be similarities to 50 Shades of Grey. This isn’t exactly a rewrite, this is my take on how it should have been. This fic wouldn’t be possible without @captain-rogers-beard and @climbthatmooselikeatree, their support and assistance has been invaluable.
My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.
Going back into the publishing house, you hadn’t known what to expect. The last thing you had heard was that Baron Zemo was forced out of the company and the numerous complaints were being handed over to the proper authorities. You had no idea who was going to take his place, and you had no idea what your future with the company looked like.
Peter was at your desk, wearing a smile as he waited for you. “Y/N,” he all but shouted as he jumped from the chair. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show up.”
You ruffled the teenager’s hair with a wink. “What’s going on?” you asked as you shrugged out of your jacket. Bucky was close behind and sat on the edge of your desk since Baron was no longer there to demand the bodyguard leave.
“There are two guys in Baron’s, uh, the office,” Peter answered with a jerk of his head. “Haven’t come out since they got here.”
“Is that… no, it can’t be,” you mumbled as you took in the men’s appearance. You couldn’t see much, nothing definitive anyway. “Buck?”
“I know nothing,” he answered a little too fast for your liking.
You whirled around to stare at him, your eyes narrowed, your lips pursed. “You’re a shitty liar, Barnes.” His only response was a cocky smirk and a wink.
“Miss Y/L/N,” a voice called from the end of the office, making you jump. “Could you please join us?”
Swallowing thickly, you gave Peter a small smile before heading toward a man you didn’t recognize. There were butterflies in your stomach and hummingbirds in your chest, multiplying with each step you took until, finally, you were in the office. Standing next to Baron’s old desk was Steve, and he was smirking.
“The hell are you doing here?” you gasped, your shoulders sagging as relief washed away the fear that some sort of reprimand was headed your way.
He crossed the room quickly and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “We’ll get to that,” was his answer.
The man who had called your name closed the door and crossed the room. “Good morning,” he said, extending his hand. “I am Edwin Jarvis, attorney for the Rogers family.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” you nodded and shook his hand. “What is this all about?”
“What would you say if I said that Secret Acres Books is now in my name?” Steve asked, an edge of excitement to his voice.
You stared at him for a long moment as you absorbed his not-so-very-hypothetical hypothetical question. “You did what, now?”
Steve’s wide smile slipped slightly. “I bought the company, thought you would like a jumpstart to your career. Why don’t you look happy about it?”
Jarvis cleared his throat. “I can see that my services are no longer needed. Steven, congratulations on the acquisition. Y/N, it was lovely to meet you.”
“Thank you, Jarvis,” Steve replied with a tight smile.
You barely waited until the door latched before launching into a tirade. “You seriously thought that I would be okay with… with this,” you sputtered, your arm waving through the air.
“Why wouldn’t you be?” Steve shot back. “I thought this was what you wanted, to run your own publishing house.”
“My publishing house, Steve,” you shouted. “Key word there, my. I don’t need you to step in and just buy it for me!”
He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “So, I skipped a few steps. I don’t think it’s that big of a deal.”
“Not that big of a deal?” you scoffed, crossing your arms. “It’s not a big deal to you because you’re the one with the piles of money, living large like Scrooge McDuck. You’ve had money you’re whole life, Steve. You don’t get it.”
“You don’t have to worry about the money,” he tried to explain. “It’s a gift. Look, if you’re worried about wages and the upkeep, I’ll take care of all the costs, everything.”
“Steve,” you heaved out a sigh and screwed your eyes closed. “It’s not that I don’t… appreciate the sentiment behind the action, I do. I just… God, there is so much going on right now with Brock and Baron, this is something that can be put on the back burner. Don’t you think?”
With his jaw clenched, Steve nodded curtly. “You’re right,” he murmured, coming to stand in front of you. “I should have talked to you about it first. I’m sorry.”
You pushed up to your toes and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I forgive you.”
His control slipped, and before he could do anything to stop it, Steve growled low in his throat before dipping his head and kissing you breathless. Your heart was climbing up your throat as you pushed back.
“Steve,” you murmured. “I can’t… we can’t. Not here, not now.”
He hummed against your neck, but did very little to pull away. “Why not? I own the company,” he chuckled.
With a snorting giggle, you pushed out of his grip and slapped him in the arm. “Which makes this,” you motioned between the pair of you, “an abuse of power.”
“You know how much I like power,” he teased, his voice dark and dangerous.
“Yes, sir,” you answered with a wink. Before it was too late, you spun around and ripped open the door to find that just about everyone was staring at you. With a blush coloring your cheeks, you hung your head and darted to your desk, where you slapped Bucky in the shoulder.
“Ow,” he rasped, glaring at you. “What was that for?”
“Like you don’t know,” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes.
Peter bounded into the conversation. “I don’t know, but I would very much like to.”
“Can I have everyone’s attention please?” Steve’s tone of authority gave you goosebumps as a shiver of familiarity rippled down your spine.
Once all eyes were on him, Steve gave a nod of appreciation. “Now, I’m sure the rumor mill has been working overtime for the last couple of days.” There were some chuckles and muttered agreements scattered throughout the room.
“I’m here to put any and all rumors to rest,” he continued, an air of confidence oozing off of him, getting the attention of every woman in the room, and a couple of the guys.
You had to force down the jealousy that was bubbling in your chest. Steve was yours, and there was no way he’d step out of line. He had sworn it, and if anything, Steve was a man of his word.
“My name is Steve Rogers, CEO of Rogers Tech., and I am the new owner of Secret Acres Books,” he said with a warm smile. “As you probably noticed, Baron Zemo hasn’t been in the office since the other day. Let me assure you that he has been… relieved of his duties, and he is no longer a threat to anyone.”
There was a hand that shot up to your left. “Are there going to be layoffs?” the small brunette asked.
“Good question,” Steve acknowledged. “However, it’s not really a question I can answer right now, and that’s only because the internal audit hasn’t been completed, let alone started. Easy, easy, everyone,” he urged when people started hurling questions at him.
“I am aware of the complaints filed against Baron, and they are the reason why there will be an internal audit. Everyone will be subjected to it, so if there’s anything I need to know, it would be better if you came clean before the audit begins. That being said,” Steve clapped his hands together. “In full disclosure, Miss Y/L/N and I are together.”
Someone to your right gave a groan of disapproval, a comment about you being a ladder climber, and Steve heard it. “Yes, we are both fully aware that it creates a conflict of interest, that there’s a chance for an abuse of power,” his dark eyes found yours at that point, and it made you blush. “Which is why I will not be deciding anything to do with raises, promotions, demotions, or salary.”
Your head shot up at that, but Steve turned his gaze to someone else who had raised their hand. “Who will that be, then?”
“An independent party,” Steve answered quickly. “While Baron has been removed from the company, the original panel of investors and the president of the company remained. They will be taking care of everything within that vein.”
“Who will be the head editor?” Peter asked nervously.
“That has yet to be decided,” Steve admitted with a smile. “I do realize that someone is needed to fill the role immediately, and there are several names that have been brought to my attention. In the meantime, my brother has offered his services.”
Clint stepped out of an office that you hadn’t seen before. “Hi everyone,” he waved, smiling warmly. “My name is Clint. Now, I can imagine that some of you don’t think I’m qualified to be an editor of this publishing house, but let me assure you, I have the credentials. I majored in English Literature while I attended Yale, and during that time, I was editor of the campus paper.”
“Of course he did,” you murmured, earning a chuckle from Peter.
The dog-and-pony show continued for another fifteen minutes. Clint was assuring everyone that things were going to be different, that there was a line that a good editor and human being never crossed, and he wasn’t to use his position the way Baron did. By the time he was done, the atmosphere in the room had completely shifted. Whereas the employees kept to themselves and looked grim before, they were now smiling.
“Everything they touch turns to gold, I swear,” you chuckled.
Even Peter seemed happier, which was saying something. “They’re amazing,” he beamed. “This place is going to be amazing to work for now.”
After everyone had quieted down, Steve came over and dropped a kiss to your crown. “I have back-to-back meetings at work,” he murmured. “I’ll see you tonight.”
When he strolled out, several of the women flocked to your desk like birds, wanting to know everything about you and Steve. God, it was going to be a long day.
The red heels were off your feet as soon as you stepped into the elevator. You leaned back and closed your eyes, fighting off the waves of exhaustion that had been crashing into you for the last three hours. After Steve left, you had fielded questions left and right about your relationship, what he was like. They wanted to know how someone like you landed someone like Steve, and so many more. Questions like that really pissed you off, but it was something you needed to learn to deal with.
Bucky was next to you, shoulder brushing against yours. “Steve’s not going to be back until after midnight.”
You groaned sadly. “Did he say why?”
“Just that something urgent came across his desk,” he answered with a shrug.
The elevator doors slid open, and you took your place behind Bucky as he unholstered the gun at his hip. “Something’s not right,” he murmured before he searched every nook and cranny of that hallway.
You stayed close to Bucky, fear choking you, your heart pounding in your head. You held your breath as he shoved you against the wall next to the door, signaling for you to stay quiet. Bucky opened the door carefully, slowly, taking in every single detail, but there was one thing he missed.
Gasping, you grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Bucky glared at you, his mouth open to hurl dark words at you, but you were shaking your head as you pointed toward the floor. There, from one edge of the frame to the other, was a barely-visible string, about three inches off the floor; a tripwire.
The phone was out of Bucky’s pocket as he gripped your arm and hauled you down the stairs. “I’m taking her to the backup location,” he ground out. “The place is rigged to blow.”
Summary: Steve Rogers is the CEO of his own company, and he’s a man that has never heard the word no from anyone. He goes after what he wants and he gets it, no matter the cost. You’re doing your best; sharing an apartment with your best friend, struggling through college, trying to make your own imprint on this world. The two of you cross paths when, as a favor to your friend, you interview him for a magazine. Without meaning to, you catch the attention of the insanely wealthy and intense bachelor. Word Count: 2,335 Warnings for Series: Angst, fluff, explicit rough & consensual sexual content, dub-con, dom!Steve, sub!reader, talk of past abusive dom / dub relationship, mentions of cheating, animal cruelty [no details], possibly more to come. Author’s Note: Yes. There are going to be similarities to 50 Shades of Grey. This isn’t exactly a rewrite, this is my take on how it should have been. This fic wouldn’t be possible without @captain-rogers-beard and @climbthatmooselikeatree, their support and assistance has been invaluable. GIF found on Google.
If rape, the subject of it, the aftermath of it, is a trigger for you, please read no further.
My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.
Pietro was hugging you before your eyes adjusted to the dark studio where he was preparing for a show. “I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me after last time,” he murmured.
You pulled back and squeezed his hand. “You’re my friend, Pietro,” you said, to which he winced at.
“Gonna take some time getting used to hearing that.”
“I’m sorry,” you apologized softly.
He was shaking his head. “No, Y/N, don’t apologize. You deserve to be with someone that makes you happy.”
You looked over your shoulder at Steve, smiling warmly when he gave you a wink. “I am happy, Pietro.”
“Then we will discuss it no further,” he chuckled. “So, you said you needed to ask me something when you called.”
“I don’t know how to, uh, bring this up,” you murmured, rubbing at the back of your neck, a group of butterflies in your stomach.
His brows were knitted together in confusion and worry. “What is it, Y/N? Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” you chuckled nervously, waving your hand at the weight of his words. “It’s about Wanda.”
You told Pietro about working for the publishing house, more importantly, that Baron Zemo was your boss, but in order to really explain what was happening with Baron, you told him about Brock, about the stalking and the dead cat and the flowers.
“What does any of that have to do with my Wanda?” Pietro asked, arms crossed over his chest.
Steve had come over a few moments ago. “We found a file, a complaint lodged against Baron by your sister, Pietro,” he explained, pulling the folded sheet of paper from his pocket, handing it to the eldest Maximoff.
“We haven’t seen her since last year,” you added.
“That’s easy,” Pietro scoffed, refusing to look at the file. “She’s back home.”
Steve was confused at Pietro’s refusal. “Is there any chance we could talk to her?”
“No, it’s not happening,” he snapped, his hands balled into fists at his side.
“Pietro, please,” you begged, reaching out to him. “We just need to know what happened.”
Rage boiled in his eyes when he spat out, “Baron raped my sister.”
You gasped in horror and surprise. “I didn’t… we didn’t know. Oh, God, is she okay?”
“Is she okay?” he repeated, his voice dripping with venom. “The bastard beat her so bad she was unrecognizable. He broke three ribs, her cheekbone, and her nose. In her attempt to escape, she lost four of her fingernails. She was completely broken when I found her.”
You could feel Steve’s anger radiating off of him in waves. “And the police did nothing?” he demanded to know.
Pietro swallowed around the knot in his throat as he shook his head. “We didn’t… she wouldn’t let me go to the police, said it wouldn’t do any good.”
“There are sixteen other women that have been assaulted by this man,” you insisted, tears streaming down your face.
“I tried to tell her, Y/N,” Pietro said, the emotion in his throat making his voice thick and raw. “She’s just so goddamn stubborn.”
“You said she went back home,” Steve interjected. “Would she talk to us, more specifically, would she talk to Y/N?”
Pietro shrugged as he pulled the cell phone from his back pocket. “It’s worth a try.”
Between your glass and hers, Natasha emptied the bottle of wine. “Jesus Christ,” she murmured. “And they did nothing.”
“Pietro said that Wanda refused to go to the police. As far as anyone knows, Wanda fell,” you scoffed.
Before you and Steve left the art studio, Pietro had said that he ended up taking his sister to the emergency room, but even then, with the nurses and doctors pressing her for information, she mentioned nothing of the rape or the beating. All she would say was that she was such a klutz, that she tripped over her own feet while carrying something large and heavy down the stairs. They must have believed the fabrication, because they treated her wounds and sent them on their way.
“I’m going to kill that weasel of a man,” your friend threatened, her nose wrinkling.
You couldn’t help but laugh. “Get in line. Steve’s ready to kick his ass already, and that was before we knew what happened to Wanda.”
“Did Pietro say anything else?” she wondered before taking a long drink.
“Not really,” was your soft answer. “But he did give us her phone number. I’m just… I don’t know what I’m going to say. I don’t want to trigger her or anything like that.”
Natasha covered your hand in hers. “We can make the call together.”
“That would be great, thank you,” you sighed as you grabbed your phone, fingers hovering over the contact you had created earlier for Wanda.
Three hours later, you trudged into Steve’s drawing room to find him standing in front of an easel, charcoal in hand, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows, hair askew, and his head cocked as he swept his fingers over the line he had just drawn, smearing it, blending it. You stood there for a few minutes, arms crossed, shoulder against the door frame, watching the way his muscles flexed as he moved, how the shirt stretched over his shoulders, the seams almost tearing apart with each movement.
Your curiosity got the better of you several minutes later, so you wandered into the room, trying to keep as quiet as possible. Just as you were about to see what was on the canvas, Steve shook his head.
“It was supposed to be a surprise,” he rasped, though he didn’t move to cover the canvas.
You stopped dead in your tracks as a shiver raced down your spine. “I’m sorry, sir,” you breathed.
“It’s alright, doll,” was all he said as he continued to work.
When you weren’t sure if you should stay or go, or even ask what you should do, Steve’s voice washed over you once more. “Take off your clothes and stand over there,” he instructed, pointing to an area just inside of his peripheral vision.
Knowing better than to keep Steve waiting, you shut the door and threw the lock before quickly removing your clothes. You kept your head down as you walked past, your freshly-freed hair obscuring your view should you feel tempted to peek.
“How would you like me, sir?” you asked, eyes downcast, hands pressed to your thighs.
You could feel the weight of his gaze as he told you, “Arms over your head, wrists crossed.”
“Like this?” you questioned, not wanting to get it wrong.
“Such a good girl,” Steve praised, sending a rush of heat through you. “Now, tilt your head, let me see your neck.”
In doing as instructed, your back curved, putting even more emphasis on your already bare breasts.
“That’s perfect, doll,” he purred, charcoal scratching against the paper. “Absolutely perfect.”
You blushed under his praises, and your body reacted on muscle memory. Your nipples hardened painfully, your pussy clenched in anticipation, and the longer you stood there, the more difficult it became to keep your breathing steady. Every inch of you craved Steve’s touch, from the bottom of your feet, to the roots of hair on your head, all of it yearned for him, for his gentle, yet domineering touch.
“Y/N, what are you doing to me?” The sound of Steve’s rugged voice pulled you from the intense daydream you were having. He was standing in front of you, his chest heaving as his lust-blown pupils roamed over your body, lingering on your breasts.
Swallowing thickly, you slowly lowered your arms, waiting for him to chastise you for moving when not instructed to do so. “I don’t know, sir,” was all you were able to say.
Steve moaned low and heavy at that. Unable to stop himself, he reached out, brushing his knuckles under the swell of your breast, smearing charcoal on your skin. His bottom lip was trapped between his teeth as he watched your breathing pick up, as goosebumps dotted your skin, as your arousal dripped down your thighs.
“Is that for me?” he asked rhetorically.
“Yes, sir, it is.” Your breathing hitched in your throat as Steve pinched your nipples, rolling and tugging them, sending a jolt down your spine, settling warmly between your legs.
You wanted to tell him that you needed him to fuck you, but that wasn’t how things worked. Well, sometimes they did, but Steve wanted to be in charge tonight, and you were not going to complain one bit.
There was a hum of approval as more charcoal discolored your skin. “Look at my dirty girl,” Steve said almost proudly.
Your eyes remained downcast, locked on the way his cock was twitching behind the zipper of his linen pants. “Do I need punishing, sir?”
“Not this time,” was his gritty answer. Steve bent down and gave you a searing kiss, his hands on your ass, lifting you from the floor.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, groaning against his tongue as he tasted you, as the bulge in his pants moved against your pussy with each step Steve took. He was walking down the hall and into the large bathroom. Once there, your feet were on the tiled floor, he reached into the shower and turned on the water. Some had said that shower sex was complicated, but if you knew what you were doing, like Steve did, shower sex was anything but complicated.
Steve all but ripped off his clothing, plucking a condom from a drawer, and ushered you inside. He was on you before the door even closed, rolling the condom onto his impressive length as he kissed you breathless. Once again, you were lifted up with ease, your legs notching onto his hips.
Your back met the cool wall, sending waves of goosebumps over your skin. With his teeth gnashing, Steve sank into you, squeezing bruises into your hips. Not that you minded one little bit. You loved it when he marked you.
“I can take it,” you had said on more than one occasion.
Your ass slapped against the tile as Steve surged forward, as he set a pace that was sure enough to make one of you black out from the intensity. It didn’t take long for your orgasm to build, you were wound too tight, ready to snap at a moment’s notice.
Even though Steve was in charge, you decided to try something you had only talked about. You grabbed his hand and placed it on your neck so that his thumb and two middle fingers were on either side of your windpipe.
“Do it,” you grunted. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. God, he loved it when you choked on his cock, the way your skin would flush and how your eyes would tear up, but he’d been hesitant to actually choke you. Sensing his hesitation, you pressed on his fingers, relishing in the way they dug into your skin.
“I trust you.”
He squeezed. Squeezed until your eyes rolled back. Adrenaline roared through him and your ass slapped into the wall. You wouldn’t be surprised if you ended up cracking the tile. Everything you felt became stronger, more intense. Steve’s chest hair felt like strands of silk against your breasts, the calluses on his hands dug into your skin like sandpaper, the vein on the underside of his cock pulsed harder with every thrust. It was almost too much to handle, and tears welled in your eyes.
While your air intake was cut off, Steve fucked you like a mad man, until your face flushed dark and your lips moved, whispering the one word that meant stop. “Red.”
The dam inside of you cracked, though it didn’t break. You were so close you could almost taste it. You dropped a hand between your bodies and squeezed your clit.
Clearing your throat, you licked your lips and nodded. “Again, baby.”
Steve’s balls went tight as he choked you again. He watched your mouth fall open, as your eyes rolled back, as you pushed yourself toward oblivion. Fuck, it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen.
“Baby girl,” he snarled, his eyes dark and predatory. “You better fuckin’ cum.”
One, two, three more squeezes to your clit and you burst apart at the seams. White light pulsed behind your eyes and static burst in your ears. It was when black started to eat at your vision that Steve dropped his hand to your hip and pounded mercilessly into you until he came, grinding out a crude curse.
The water was cold by the time the pair of you emerged, Steve half-carrying you because your legs were quaking uncontrollably. He dried you off with a gigantic towel, dropping kisses and murmuring praises. After he was dried off, he carried you to bed, where you fell asleep with your face in his neck and his hand in your hair.
Brock’s man on the inside had come through; he had installed a patch into the upgraded surveillance Steve Rogers insisted upon. With that patch, it allowed Brock to see what was happening at all times. Well, not entirely. With as much of a control freak as Steve was, the man sure did enjoy his privacy, so nothing inside the spacious living area.
The insanely expensive and high definition cameras were on the outside of the building, in the hallways, the stairwells, the alleys on either side of the building, and the basement. But there was one spot that had been left out, and it was exactly what Brock needed.
He spent several days getting down the schedule of security personnel shift changes and their routines. By the time Brock’s plan would be in motion, he’d know everything about each individual, including when they took a shit or took a smoke break.
It wouldn’t be too much longer and Y/N would finally be his.
Summary: James “Bucky” Barnes comes from a highly esteemed lineage of vampire hunters. Being the newest generation’s hunter, he’s responsible for keeping the supernatural world a secret and ensuring the survival of humanity. After losing his arm in a hunt gone wrong, Bucky wants nothing to do with his preordained destiny. Fighting alongside Bucky is his best friend and confidant, Steven Rogers, a priest with a direct line to the Vatican, and Bucky’s only saving grace. Can Steve talk some sense into his friend, convince him that the world needs him? You’re damned, destined to spend the rest of your life sulking in the shadows, wallowing in your own self pity. Everything changes one night when you come face-to-face with Bucky Barnes. Will he save you or put you out of your misery? Word Count: 1,456 Warnings for the series: Alternate universe, blood, gore, violence, language, possible smut, PTSD, nightmares, more to come as series continues Author’s Note: The idea stemmed from this post by @itsstillnotwhatyouthink I hope I do it justice. Want a tag? Let me know. A huge shoutout to @captain-rogers-beard & @climbthatmooselikeatree for all of your invaluable help. I love you.
My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.
If it weren’t for the nightmares, Bucky would be getting a solid eight hours of sleep, waking up refreshed and ready to take on the day.
They were always the same, never diverting from what had transpired that night, and just like every other night before, Bucky’s own screams woke him. He sat up, drenched in sweat, his legs tangled in the blankets, and a heavy dose of phantom limb pain. He pushed himself to the edge of his bed, head hanging, teeth grinding as he held onto his shoulder – well, what remained of his shoulder – and sobbed angrily.
Once his legs were disentangled, he stood and almost fell to his knees as pain roared through him. “Fuck,” he ground out, stumbling into the bedside table, knocking over the bottle of painkillers Dr. Banner had prescribed.
He dropped to his knees and snatched up the bottle, popping off the top with his thumb before dumping the contents onto the floor. Two white pills were plucked up and tossed into his mouth, swallowed without a drop of water, making Bucky grimace and cough. Using the bed for leverage, he hauled himself off of the floor and trudged into the bathroom. The shower was turned on as hot as it would go, and after stripping out of his boxer briefs, Bucky stood under the stream of water, wincing at the needle-like feeling on his scars.
God, his scars. They were thick, puffy, and red, taking up the entirety of what remained of his shoulder, even going so far as to invade his left pec. He hated them with every fiber of his being, wanted nothing more than to have them gone, but he hated the metal prosthetic even more.
Stark had a design within the first month, and a working prototype less than six months later, but Bucky wanted nothing to do with either Tony, nor the prosthesis. It was Steve that was finally able to convince Bucky to give it a try. Six months of intense physical therapy later, Bucky could do almost everything he could before. He still preferred to go about his days without it, but he found that people looked at him with entirely too much pity when he was in public.
Thirty minutes after emerging from the shower, Bucky was dressed, the arm was attached, and he was doing some physical therapy exercises. Three silver balls were being rotated in his hand, using nothing but his fingers and the pad of his thumb. It was one of the harder exercises, but if there was one thing he didn’t do, was give up.
Oh, wait. That was exactly what he had done the second he realized the severity of his injury. He had screamed and cried, throwing things across the room, almost hitting the people that cared about him the most, people like Jarvis and Steve. But that was just the beginning. He was not proud of the way he lashed out, of the way he allowed himself to slip into the depths of depression. There were still days that he loathed getting out of bed and going about day-to-day activities, putting on that mask. It was exhausting, but those days were growing further apart.
Bucky sighed as his head fell forward, the muscles in his neck stretching, the knots protesting. The balls in his palm were set down so that he could work at the knots just below the surface of his skin. Having not been an active hunter in the past year, Bucky was out of shape, not badly, but it was probably time to start a routine, no matter how much he didn’t want to.
There was a knock on his door that made Bucky gasp. “Are you awake, sir?” Jarvis asked, poking his head into the dimly-lit room.
Bucky answered with a low groan.
“Would you like me to call in Miss Maximoff?” he asked at the sight of his employer, concern etched onto his face.
“You can call her Wanda, Jarvis,” Bucky chuckled, standing to face the man that had been there since he was a teenager, a watcher, of sorts. Though, Bucky’s real watcher, companion, and confidant, was Steve.
Jarvis tipped his head. “I could do, sir.” It was no use ‘arguing’ with Jarvis, he was old school, calling people ma’am, sir, and miss, it was just the way he was raised.
Bucky pushed out of the seat and gave a weary smile. “I would appreciate it if you gave her a call.”
“I’ll get right on that, sir,” Jarvis said, effectively excusing himself from the room.
The cell phone on the table started ringing, an out-of-country number, which could only mean it was from the Vatican. Bucky declined the call, sending it to voicemail knowing that he’d never receive a message notification. Who knew the Pope hated to talk to a recording?
With a scoff, Bucky tucked the phone into his pocket and made his way into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. For once, Steve wasn’t already there, holding a full cup out to his friend, a sly smirk on his face. It was their normal routine. Steve would come in, make coffee, and try to talk some ‘sense’ into his dear friend. He wasn’t sure what to do to fill the silence. Turned out, he wasn’t alone for very long.
Wanda strolled in, her long hair pulled out of her face, various rings on her long fingers, and a smile on her face. “Morning, James,” she greeted when he saw her.
“Wanda,” he hummed, hugging her and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “You got here fast.”
“Vis said it was important. Are you alright?” Wanda inquired, looking up at her lifelong friend.
Bucky gave a half-hearted shrug. “Just some knots I can’t work out.”
“Let’s see if I can work my magic,” she said with a wink, her fingers wiggling back and forth in front of her face.
Fifteen minutes later, Bucky was lying on his stomach, wearing a sheet over the bottom part of his body, and Wanda was working a scented oil into his skin. Wanda might have been petite, but she knew how to really get in there and work out those deep-rooted knots, the ones that gave Bucky migraines.
He was hissing as she worked on the one in the crook of his neck. “Easy there, Wan.”
“Have you tried meditating like I’ve suggested?” she wondered, pushing up to her toes for more leverage. “Or yoga?”
“Kind of hard to do when my brain’s going a million miles a minute.”
Wanda huffed in irritation. “You need to do something.” She worked her fingers along his shoulder, her touch immediately turning gentle as her fingers grazed his scars.
Bucky had to work to keep from flinching, from pulling away under her gentle and prodding touch. It wasn’t that it hurt, not a lot, not really. It was because he felt ugly with them, because of them. He shouldn’t have had them. He wouldn’t have had them if he had just done his job.
He must have let his guard down, because the next thing he knew, Wanda’s hands were gone, and she was asking him, “Are you okay?” her voice gentle, as if he were a scared animal.
“Fine,” he ground out through his teeth, pushing up from the table, not caring that the blanket had fallen away. He had moved to grab his clothes, to cover his naked form, when the door was opened and closed quickly.
After getting dressed, he scraped a hand over his face, smearing away the tears with an angry groan. Besides the first week after losing his arm, Bucky had held it together for a year, he had kept his tears, his outbursts, to himself. Not even Stevie knew about them.
Pulling open the door, he found Wanda and Jarvis, his forehead pressed to hers, her hands on his wrists, and Jarvis was murmuring something to his wife. When Bucky cleared his throat, they turned toward him.
“I’m sorry, Wanda,” Bucky muttered, rubbing the back of his neck with his flesh hand. “I didn’t mean -”
Wanda was smiling and shaking her head. “It’s okay, James.”
“It’s not,” he insisted, taking a step closer. “I scared you.”
“Which is something you’ve done your entire life,” she admitted breathlessly. “As a hunter, a slayer, it’s part of who you are.”
Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. He really hated having this conversation “That’s not who I am anymore. I gave it all up.”
“Something you seriously need to reconsider,” interjected Steve.
“I’ve told you, Stevie -”
“There’s been an attack in Rome,” Steve announced, his voice thick, his eyes wet. “The Pope… he… he’s dead.”
Summary: James “Bucky” Barnes comes from a highly esteemed lineage of vampire hunters. Being the newest generation’s hunter, he’s responsible for keeping the supernatural world a secret and ensuring the survival of humanity. After losing his arm in a hunt gone wrong, Bucky wants nothing to do with his preordained destiny. Fighting alongside Bucky is his best friend and confidant, Steven Rogers, a priest with a direct line to the Vatican, and Bucky’s only saving grace. Can Steve talk some sense into his friend, convince him that the world needs him? You’re damned, destined to spend the rest of your life sulking in the shadows, wallowing in your own self pity. Everything changes one night when you come face-to-face with Bucky Barnes. Will he save you or put you out of your misery? Word Count: 1,307 Warnings for the series: Alternate universe, blood, gore, violence, language, possible smut, more to come as series continues Author’s Note: The idea stemmed from this post by @itsstillnotwhatyouthink I hope I do it justice. Want a tag? Let me know. A huge shoutout to @captain-rogers-beard & @climbthatmooselikeatree for all of your invaluable help. I love you. GIF credit
My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.
Bucky hit the ground running, arms pumping, chest heaving, nostrils flaring. Whatever he was chasing wasn’t the run-of-the-mill vampire, it was faster than any he’d ever killed. With a growl low in his throat, Bucky pushed himself harder than before, and sure enough, he started to catch up to the blood sucker. Looking over its shoulder the creature snarled angrily, baring its bloody teeth in what was meant to be a threatening manner, but it just made Bucky laugh.
Using his knowledge of the layout of the terrain, Bucky cut to his left, taking a little known shortcut. He could hear the laughter of the vampire as he ran up a steep incline for several hundred yards before he launched himself from the edge. The vampire didn’t know what was happening until Bucky collided with it.
They grappled on the ground, each one struggling to gain the upper hand, to secure the stake that Bucky held in his hand. Even with Bucky’s passed-down-through-the-generations-super-strength, the vampire was just a little stronger, but that didn’t mean Bucky was down for the count.
With a shout of frustration, the hunter sent his fist into the vampire’s throat, catching him off guard, causing the creature’s grip to falter just the slightest. Bucky secured his left hand on the butt of the stake and hunched himself over, using his own body as leverage. He was so focused on the writhing creature beneath him, that he didn’t hear its mate approaching.
Bucky screamed in surprise as he went flying through the air. He landed on the hard ground, rolling for several yards before finally coming to a stop. He moved to do a kip up, but found that he couldn’t.
“What the fu-”
“Looking for this?” snarled the female vampire, blood spilling from her mouth, and an arm in her grip, an arm that used to be attached to Bucky.
Bile clogged Bucky’s throat as he looked to his left. Blood flowed freely from his shoulder, but it didn’t hurt, not yet. Even with the ability to heal faster than everyone else, Bucky knew that there would be no coming back from this, it wasn’t like he could grow another arm.
“What are you waiting for,” he ground out, murder in his eyes. “Kill me.”
She cocked her head to the side and ran her tongue over her bloody lips. “Sorry Barnes,” she sighed. “That will have to happen another night. Hey, you don’t mind if I keep a hold of this, do you?” She gave Bucky’s detached arm a hard shake, and the sight of it turned his stomach.
“If you won’t kill me, I’ll kill you,” he vowed, using his other arm to push off the ground, but he never made it.
“Good luck with that.” The vampire Bucky had been chasing punched him in the temple, sending the hunter spiraling into darkness.
ONE YEAR LATER
Tony Stark was going over some last-minute diagnostics, making sure that the prosthesis would function properly. He had a lot riding on it, what with The Pope himself having called the philanthropist and genius, saying how appreciative he would be, “If Mr. Barnes were to be back in His service.”
“Would you hold still,” Tony hissed at the man before him. “You’re worse than a goddamn child.”
Bucky rolled his eyes and huffed. “What’s taking you so long?”
“You got somewhere else to be?” Tony snapped, knowing damn well the hunter… ex-hunter’s schedule was completely clear.
“I might,” he deadpanned. “You don’t know.”
“Actually, I happen to know more than you think,” Tony corrected, slapping Bucky on the back of his head.
Bucky groaned as his head lolled forward. “Jarvis?”
“The one and only,” the man whose name had just been mentioned said. “Steven Rogers is here, sir. Shall I show him to the study?”
Bucky nodded as he peered over his shoulder. “Thank you, Jarvis.”
Tony kept his eyes on the screen as the diagnostics started to wrap up. “How is the padre?”
“Stevie’s been bustin’ my ass to get back to work,” Bucky snorted. “Won’t work.”
“Why is that?” He tried sounding uninterested, but he should have known better, Bucky had an extremely intuitive sixth sense about these kinds of things.
“He called you, didn’t he? Jesus Christ,” Bucky groaned, yanking his arm out of the machine that had just finished its scan. “Fuckin’ meddlin’ old man. Can’t keep his nose outta my business!”
Without waiting for a dismissal of any kind, Bucky stormed out of the room, heading straight to the study where Jarvis was just turning around.
“Thought you’d be used to it by now,” Bucky muttered.
Jarvis chuckled as he straightened his jacket. “Will you be needing anything else tonight, sir?”
For the first time all day, Bucky smiled. “I’m good, Jarvis. Give Wanda a hug for me.”
“Goodnight,” Jarvis said with a tip of his head.
Once inside the study, Bucky found Steve flipping through a book. “You gotta get your boss to stop meddling.”
Steve turned around and looked at his friend with an arched brow. “My boss?”
“Yeah, Pope what’s-his-face,” Bucky huffed as he poured a healthy serving of whiskey into a cup.
With a laugh, Steve closed the book and held it to his chest. “He’s not my boss, Buck. You know that.”
“He’s throwing his weight around like he is, calling Stark, telling him to get me back in the saddle.” Bucky took a drink, wincing at the burn at the back of his throat.
“Tell me again why that’s not going to happen,” Steve implored.
Bucky rolled his eyes as he held up his metal hand. “You fuckin’ blind, or just stupid?” he snapped. His temper had been getting the better of him ever since last year, since the vamp tore his arm off like it was nothing more than a sheet of paper.
Steve sighed as he crossed the room. “You’re pissed, I get it -”
“You did not just fuckin’ say that you get it,” Bucky snarled as he faced his best friend. “Because until you get your arm ripped off, you won’t get it.” The dark metal arm whirred almost silently as his hand balled into a fist.
Despite the fact that Steve may as well have been staring down the barrel of a cocked, locked, and loaded .45, he didn’t flinch.
“You know damn well what I mean, James.” The moment Steve uttered the first name of his friend, Bucky ground his teeth and gave himself a shake. He wasn’t angry at Steve. He was angry at himself.
“I should have been able to stop them,” he lamented, metal hand unfurling.
“Don’t do that, Buck,” Steve sighed, resting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “You couldn’t have known it was an ambush.”
“But I should have. That’s sort of the point of this whole thing, isn’t it?” he asked, arm sweeping in a grand gesture at the room they were standing in.
The study housed every book ever printed on the creatures of the supernatural; including the ones that the Vatican had forbidden centuries ago. There used to be paintings on the walls of each generation’s hunter, but they put a sour taste in Bucky’s mouth, so he and Jarvis had them donated, sent to the Vatican with a note that read, “Hopefully you can find someplace for these.” The room was also very crowded, if they weren’t careful, they’d have to expand, again.
With a heaving sigh, Bucky looked hard at his friend. “Did you come here to give me another reason why I shouldn’t hang it up, or was there something else you needed?”
Steve gave his head a shake. “I’ll see you at church,” he said, smiling tightly, heading out the door.
“No you won’t,” Bucky called out, knowing Steve heard him.
Summary: Bucky and Steve help fulfill one of your fantasies. Word Count: 1,414 Warnings: Established polyamorous relationship, explicit sexual content, m/m, threesome, male receiving anal sex, dom!Bucky, sub!Steve, dom / sub tones, all around filth Author’s Note: We only have @captain-rogers-beard to blame for this.
My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.
Being with Steve and Bucky meant always trying new things; new positions, different locations, various role playing scenarios, nothing was off limits, which was why you were standing between your boys, your back against Bucky’s chest, your hands hooked into Steve’s belt.
“I think our girl wants something, Buck,” Steve noted, a smirk on his lips.
Bucky’s hand was buried in your hair, his lips roving the column of your neck as he hummed. “She does, huh?”
“She keeps chewing on her bottom lip, lookin’ like she’s got a secret or somethin’.” Steve’s hips were pinned to yours, his hand tangling in Bucky’s hair, watching as his friend sucked dark marks onto your neck.
Your eyes rolled back at the way Bucky’s moan shot down your spine, straight to your pussy. “Come on, doll,” he urged, his cock pulsing in the small of your back. “Tell us what you want.”
You were already unbuckling the belt on Steve’s waist. “I want Bucky to fuck you, Steve,” you admitted, your voice tight and nervous.
Steve groaned at that, his grip in Bucky’s hair tightening. “What about you, sweetheart?” he asked, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.
“I’ve got you to take care of me,” you smirked at him, reaching into his boxers and gripping his cock.
Both men moaned low and heavy, their cocks pulsing in sync. “Are you sure, love?” Bucky wanted to know, his teeth nipping at your skin once more.
“Fuck yes,” was your gritty answer as you surged forward and kissed Steve. Behind you, Bucky snarled as Steve yanked on his hair, pulling him around so that when Steve’s mouth left yours, he was kissing Bucky fiercely.
Three sets of clothes basically disappeared, and in the blink of an eye, you were on your back, Steve’s head between your legs, two fingers deep in your pussy, and Bucky, well, you couldn’t see him, but you could hear him, he was greedily sucking Steve’s cock as he fisted his own. White-hot lust surged through you as Steve fucked you with his fingers and mouth. You were already a whimpering mess and you hadn’t even cum yet. That was until Steve’s mouth sealed around your clit, sucking on it at the same time that he crooked his fingers, sending you spiraling. Your thighs shook and your feet arched on Steve’s shoulders as you came, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.
Steve was hissing, telling Bucky that he wasn’t ready to cum yet, that he wanted, “To be buried inside Y/N.” You heard the wet pop of Bucky’s mouth releasing it’s hold on Steve’s cock, and it sent another wave of arousal through you.
Bucky stood from his spot on the floor and swiped a hand over his chin. “You ready, doll?”
“Yes, sir,” you purred, your legs spread wide, your slick seeping out.
The two super soldier’s eyes went dark at the sight. Bucky was about to instruct Steve to take his place between your legs, but you were shaking your head. “I… I want to wa- watch for a minute.”
“Dirty girl,” Steve growled, thick cock in his hands.
Bucky removed a bottle of lube from the desk and had Steve bend over the bed, chest against the mattress, legs spread. “It’s been a minute, Stevie,” he admitted, squirting lube onto Steve’s asshole. “I’ll go slow.”
Steve whimpered when Bucky pushed his metallic middle finger into his tight hole. You’d watched porn before and loved the blissed out look on the bottom’s face as their top got them ready, prepared them for what was to come, but seeing it in person, seeing Steve wearing that look, made your knees shake.
“Fuck, Stevie,” Bucky growled, slowly working another digit beside the first. “Forgot how tight you were.”
“Need you, Buck,” Steve hissed as his hips rolled.
Bucky’s eyes flicked up to yours, smirking when he found you fingering yourself. “Look at her,” he demanded, reveling in the way Steve’s muscles flexed around his fingers. “Ain’t she a fuckin’ sight?”
“She is,” Steve agreed before licking his lips. “I can still taste her.”
“Lemme taste,” Bucky snarled, grabbing Steve by the back of his neck and hauling him up. Their mouths met in a frenzy as Bucky sucked your taste from Steve’s lips and tongue, his eyes never leaving yours. When they parted, Steve fell to the bed, his eyes rolling back in his head, Bucky’s cock pressing into him.
“Easy, Stevie,” Bucky hissed, his back arching as he inched into Steve’s tight hole.
It was all you thought it would be and more. Steve gripped the blanket, his knuckles going white as he took Bucky’s cock. His mouth was agape, small gasps and moans leaving him with every inch he took. You about came at the sight of Bucky bottoming out, the way his head fell forward, the gritty curse that fell from his lips, the shudder that rolled down his spine.
He gripped Steve’s hips and started thrusting shallowly. “Fuckfuckfuck,” he swore crudely, his fingers digging bruises into Steve’s skin.
Steve’s grip moved from the blanket to your ankle, and he started tugging you closer. Your fingers left your fluttering pussy and your mouth opened wide to ask him what the hell he was doing, but his wrecked voice answered your unanswered question.
“Not… nnnngggg… not gonna last long, Y/N,” he ground out, pushing up so that you could slide under his frame.
Bucky was snarling at the way Steve was shifting, changing the angle of his cock. “Get in there, baby,” he said to you, his dark eyes flashing with carnal need as he continued to casually fuck Steve.
Steve’s rock-hard cock found your pussy on its own, sliding in easily when Bucky pushed on Steve’s ass with his pelvis. Your eyes rolled back and you about came right then and there. Steve caught your mouth in his, kissing you fervently, holding your legs open with his hands, his nails digging into you, your fingers scrambling for purchase on his wide shoulders.
You’d been fucked by two men before, the very same men that were between your legs, but never like this. You were living your very own fantasy, and you could honestly say that right then, it was the best sexual experience you’d ever had.
With each snap of Bucky’s hips, Steve’s cock drove into you, both men grunting and moaning at the impact, at the way you keened, begging them for more. You wanted it hard and fast, and Bucky was only willing to comply.
Bucky’s gritty voice was murmuring praises to Steve. “Taking my cock so good, Stevie.”
“So tight and wet, Y/N,” Steve would gasp. “Perfect little pussy.” His mouth would find the pulse point in your neck and l latch onto it, his teeth scraping over it, just shy of breaking the skin.
Every nerve ending felt as if it were a live wire, white hot, dangerous, looking for an outlet. You found it when Bucky began fucking Steve to the point that both men were grinding their teeth. Steve’s pelvis bit painfully into yours, and the coil deep in your gut snapped. Your back came off the bed completely and your eyes rolled back as Steve’s cock swelled, twitching heavily inside you.
Bucky was close behind, his hips falling out of rhythm, a wordless cry falling from his lips, and then there was nothing, just two super soldiers smothering you. Your lungs burned and your hips were starting to cramp up, but you just laid there, hands smoothing over the sweat-slicked skin of your boys. Your eyes fell shut as first Bucky, then Steve pushed off of you, leaving you whimpering in sheer bliss.
Steve cleaned between your legs and Bucky was lifting you up to your pillow, covering you with a sheet after climbing in beside you. You turned to kiss him sweetly, a happy sigh in the back of your throat.
“Didn’t she do great, Buck?” Steve murmured, his wide chest to your back, his lips in your hair.
Bucky kissed your nose, then your forehead. “Our doll did amazing,” he confirmed.
You gave a loud yawn, one that arched your back and made the muscles in your legs ache. You wanted to tell them how much you appreciated what they had done, fulfilling one of your fantasies, but you were exhausted, and before you knew it, you were fast asleep, trapped between your boys.
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