Fanfiction Is So Awesome. Some Of The Most Brilliant Writers Youve Ever Met Are Writing The Most Crazy

this had me kickin my feet n shi

Same Lonely Night

summary: Your roommate Bucky Barnes hears you pleasure yourself and moan something he never thought he would be into. That forces him to face his feelings for you.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

word count: 2.6K

warnings: 18+, masturbation, fantasies, daddy kink, no mention of y/n

A/N: This is the second part of A Lonely Night. This time we are seeing Bucky's POV and what comes next. You don't have to read that part to understand what's going on but if you want to, you can find it on my blog/masterlist. I planned this as a 3-part story and I hope I'll maintain my inspiration and motivation to write the last part. Wish me luck!

Thank you so much @notafunkiller for beta-reading and editing. You are the best!

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

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

Bucky’s head is resting on the shower wall while the water is running down. His flesh hand is still wrapped around his cock, but he doesn’t move it. Taking a couple of deep breaths, he’s trying to calm himself down. 

He really had no intention to listen to you. He was just watching the news mindlessly, but his enhanced hearing turned into a curse the moment he heard you taking a sharp breath. He couldn’t help but focus on the noises you made. That’s when he started to hear the way you were touching yourself. Every stroke, every rub, every muffled moan… 

He knew what you were doing was private and he had no right listening to it, but he couldn’t stop. He just couldn’t. How could he? You were so needy and subby. Even in your fantasy, you were begging. He wondered what you were imagining. Who were you begging? Your crush? Maybe you have been seeing someone.

That thought had never occurred to him before. You were always in your element, working, chilling at home, doing whatever you enjoyed in your spare time, and occasionally going out with your friends. You never brought someone home. Not yet at least. So he never questioned if you were seeing someone or not. Even if there was someone, he wouldn’t know, and that thought suddenly hurts him.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck.” Your moans bring him back to reality. If you are seeing someone why are you so needy? Are you just that greedy or has it been that long? He’s certainly hoping for the latter. That’s something he can relate to, and it's probably been much longer for him. That’s why he can’t stop listening. That’s why his cock is painfully hard. Normally he would just remove himself from the house, and give you some space instead of creeping like this.

“Oh please, fuck me.” He would do anything to be able to do that. Anything. Just to be in that room with you, taking his time exploring your body and satisfying your needs. Even just the thought of it drives him crazy. “Fuck me, daddy, please.” 

That surprises him on so many levels. He never thought you would be into that. You look pretty innocent. He wouldn’t assume you would have such dirty fantasies. Fucking an old man… Are you into older men or is it just a little fantasy you are playing? Maybe you are seeing someone old. Maybe that’s why your mind goes there. He doesn’t know. He has no idea what’s going on in your private life, and every word that comes out of your mouth confuses him even more. It creates more problems, but the biggest one is, when he heard daddy, his dick twitched with excitement. So it makes him question himself, too. Is he into younger women or is it because you were the one saying it? The latter somehow seems more likely. Yet all of that doesn’t change the fact that he’s listening to you and getting hard just because of it. 

“Yes, yes, yes. Right there.” He hears how your head falls onto the pillow while your whole body is shaking, and how much you are enjoying it. He knows this is his cue. He should just remove himself from the living room so he won’t get caught with a hard-on. He doesn’t miss a beat. Quickly, he turns the TV off and runs to the bathroom. 

That’s how he ended up here, head pressed against the cold shower tiles, thinking about the way you said daddy over and over again. He is trying really hard not to give in, but his cock is aching with need. A part of him thinks he should just give in. It’s not such a big deal. Everyone masturbates. You just did. Three fucking times! That thought makes him groan. If you can come three times just by masturbating,how many times could he make you come? 

So it’s not even a conscious decision when he starts to stroke himself when he starts thinking about making you come. He can’t stop himself from imagining how you would look under him or on top of him. It doesn’t matter which position. He just wants to feel you. Your moans are echoing in his head while he caresses the top of cock. Just one stroke and it makes him tremble. He can’t remember the last time he felt this turned on. He can’t remember the last time his whole body heated up like this, just at the thought of someone. But you aren’t just anybody. You are you.

Maybe it’s because it has been ages since he had sex. Perhaps it’s because of his growing crush on you. He tried to control those feelings, thinking he was too old for you. He thought you would never look in his direction. Why would you? You are intelligent, beautiful and so cute. Like all these qualities aren’t enough, you are always so thoughtful. You always ask if he wants your leftovers, or if he needs help with anything. He knows he wakes you up at night sometimes. His nightmares are loud, but you never complained. Not once. You always let him watch the news even though you would rather watch something else. You even lent some books to him. They were in such good condition he couldn't believe his eyes. It was like reading a brand-new book. So yeah, he really tried to act like it was nothing but a silly crush, but after hearing the way you moan daddy he can’t stop himself anymore. It was as if you awakened something inside him.

He doesn’t know what to do. Should he take his time or just get over with it? He keeps his fingers loose, stroking himself up and down slowly while his head still rests on the tiles. Even with minimal effort, it feels so good. He gently cups his balls, massaging them and imagining you are the one doing it. You are the one touching the most intimate parts of his body. You are the one ready to satisfy his growing need.

“Oh fuck.” A moan escapes his lips. The shower is running and you don’t have a super hearing like him, so he knows he’s safe. Still, it feels like it’s something he shouldn’t be doing. He shouldn’t be touching himself. He shouldn’t be moaning like this, yet you are so beautiful and needy… He already wanted you before hearing how you sound in bed, but now he wants you even more. He wants to be the one to bring you pleasure. He wants to be the one that satisfies all your needs so much that you would never need to touch yourself. Unless it’s to tease him.

He’s feeling guilty. So fucking guilty, but there’s no way he could stop now. Imagining you does something to him. There’s this primal need in his abdomen, building up.

His fingers tighten around his cock, moving faster than before, and he presses his lips together, trying not to make a sound. He keeps rubbing on that one sensitive part of his cock and finally, he starts coming with a choke. He keeps stroking himself, thinking it will be over soon, but it doesn’t end. There’s so much come that it surprises him. His hands continue pumping and his come paints the bathroom tiles immediately. He takes a deep breath when he’s done, trying to collect himself.

It feels like his head is spinning. He had been masturbating for quite some time, but he doesn’t remember the last time it felt this good. He opens his eyes, trying to ground himself, and all that shame he feels comes rushing in while looking at the mess he made. He groans loudly and then reaches for the showerhead. It doesn’t take long for him to clean the shower and then himself with the thought of you is still on the back of his mind. He is soaping himself, scrubbing, and then rinsing while trying to convince himself that it isn’t a big deal. It’s just masturbation. It’s normal.

Of course, he knows how normal it is. It’s like breathing, eating, or drinking water. His body needs it so he gave in, but listening to you and touching himself while thinking about you… That’s where he crossed the line. He knows it, yet he can’t bring himself to wish he never heard you. He might be a creep or a pervert, it doesn’t matter. Your voice, the way you sound while coming, and the way you touch yourself are stacked in his memory forever. It’s something no one can take away from him.

Sighing, he steps out of the shower. Drying himself doesn’t take too long. When he steps into the living room, all that welcomes him is silence. You are still in your bedroom, God knows doing what. The TV is off, and nothing seems to have moved since he ran to the bathroom. So he’s safe. You haven’t heard or suspected anything.

Quietly, he goes back to his room, finds something to put on and just looks in the mirror. Is he really too old for you or is that all in his mind? He doesn’t look older than 35, but that doesn’t change when he was born.

What if you are into that, though? What if you really like older guys? That would change everything, wouldn’t it? You would like that he’s older than you. Maybe you would even call him daddy, just like you did in your fantasy. That thought makes the blood rush back to his cock, making him feel the arousal running through his veins once again. Like he didn’t masturbate in the shower a couple of minutes ago. 

He knows his anatomy by now. He knows he’s able to get hard again pretty quickly thanks to the super soldier serum, but he hasn’t been this horny for a long time. Especially not because of the thought of someone, but the thought of you calling him daddy… 

Jesus… It makes him so hard!

Sighing, he drops his whole weight on the bed and closes his eyes, fighting the urge to touch himself again. It’s for the best if he stops thinking about you and focuses on something else, isn’t it? He tries to think of something, anything that could take his mind off of you, but nothing, absolutely nothing is more interesting. Nothing he tries to focus on lasts. His mind goes running back to you, imagining how you would look the moment he would push himself inside you. How your mouth would open, how you would throw your head back, and how wonderful it would feel.

That thought does it. It breaks his resistance. All the effort he put into not touching himself again goes out of the window, especially once he imagines you saying “Harder, please, daddy, I need it harder.” His hand goes under his boxers, slowly toying with his cock. It feels like he didn’t touch himself today, and the need is even stronger now. After a couple of strokes, he realizes he can’t move his hand properly like this, so he pushes down his shorts and boxers at the same, creating some space for movement. 

He looks down at his cock, already oozing with precum. His flesh hand moves on top of the head and smears it all the way down, making it easier for him to play with himself. He sets a steady rhythm, testing what feels right, but his precum isn’t enough to make it enjoyable. That’s when he reaches for his nightstand and takes out the bottle of lube. His metal hand works fast, opening the bottle and putting a generous amount on hisnhand, before he puts it back and starts to touch himself. 

Now it feels much better. His hand works seamlessly from the top to the bottom, repeating the same movement a couple of times. He tries to get lost in his fantasies but something feels off. He isn’t sure what it is because what he’s doing is enjoyable. Something is not enough. Maybe he should work faster. So that’s what he tries. His hand starts to move faster on his cock, but that’s not helping. 

He’s pretty sure this is what his body wants especially because he’s still rock hard. Should he be more gentle and take his sweet time? That doesn’t seem to work, either. Does he need a tighter grip? Maybe, but he can’t do more with his flesh hand. He glances at his metal hand for the first time since he started. He never used it to pleasure himself before. The flesh looked and seemed more appealing than metal, yet right now it’s not enough.

There’s a first time for everything.

He reaches for the lube once again. This time he uses his flesh hand and pours some on his metal one as he tries to convince himself that this is not a bad idea.

He goes right back into touching himself, just with his metal hand this time. It feels different, really different, and surprisingly okay. It doesn’t feel as warm. The texture is completely different yet it somehow works. His fingers start to work faster, his thumb brushing over the head and, thanks to the lube, it starts to feel much better than he ever expected. His reluctance slowly fades away and he decides to test how fast he can move his metal hand and how much his cock can actually take it. As he paces up, pleasure starts to build so unexpectedly. He takes a deep breath but keeps moving his hand. His head is now thrown back while with the flesh hand, he cups his balls, gently massaging them.

“Oh god…”

He doesn’t realize that he's just said that out loud. He just keeps working on himself, letting his whole body relax under that pleasure. He really didn’t intend to focus on you this time, but here you are again, in his mind. The image of you on top of him… You with all your charm and cuteness, touching him, making him feel this good while he takes your nipples into his mouth and sucks them until you can’t take it anymore. It drives you crazy, so you beg him to fuck you. Just like you begged while touching yourself.

“Please, please, please… I really need it, please…”

He can hear it so clearly like you are here and really begging him. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do to make that really happen.

“Anything you want, doll.”

His fingers move like they have a mind of their own. He knows he should slow down a little, make this one last a bit longer because it feels amazing, but his metal hand isn’t listening to him.

“Oh fuck, fuck.” 

He knows he’s about to come. He can feel it. It’s right there, just a few strokes away. He loses his damn mind imagining you under him, split open, and getting railed by him. God, that would feel so fucking good! You looking at him with those big beautiful eyes and begging him for more… Then your name slips out of his lips like it’s the most natural thing to say at that moment. 

Right when he’s about to come, a loud noise comes from the living room. Like something has just got shattered into pieces. His eyes fly open. He grabs his shorts and puts them on quickly, tucking his freaking erection away, and opens his door to see you standing there with an oversized T-shirt on. The glass you were probably holding is on the ground, but you don’t seem to care about that. You are looking at him with wide eyes and an open mouth.

Shit! She heard me.

I’m With the Band Pt 4

Pairing: RockstarBucky x Rockstar!Steve x Reader

Word Count: 2,000 something..

Summary: You've been Bucky's plaything on his US tour but when he brings drummer Steve home, things heat up.

Warnings: 18+ - Minors, DO NOT INTERACT please! cursing, drinking, unprotected vaginal and anal sex, fingering, light choking, male piercings, dubcon, double penetration, stripping, verbal degredation and humiliation, mild cuckholding, mention of drugs, threesome. There is just lots going on here 😩

--------------------

You had been touring with Buck for nearly two weeks now and your status as a glorified groupie had been solidified after TMZ ran a story the night prior. A paparazzi snafu outside of a haute celebrity steakhouse had made the website’s front page; Bucky’s arm was draped around you, cig hanging out of his mouth. The headline blasted, “Bucky Barnes Steps Out With Barely Legal Floozy - Will it Last?”

All of the negative press and faux glamour was well worth it though because Bucky would perform to sold-out crowds clamouring with screaming co-eds, and then return to you in the earliest hours of the morning to fuck you mercilessly.

You knew the band’s set inside out by now and while you had grown partial to their heavy metal ballads and electric riffs, some nights you just preferred to curl up into your plush hotel robe, watch a cheesy pay-per-view rom-com, and indulge in overpriced room service. But on this particular night, you had no idea what Bucky had up his sleeve.

Like clockwork, Bucky would always stumble in around 3 or 4am, his breath reeking of 80 proof and his fingertips lingering with tobacco resin. Most women wouldn’t tolerate the behaviour and though you had identified his recklessness and boy-like stupor as fatal flaws, you were falling for him. Hard.

He would fuck you with heedless passion - never once inquiring about your feelings or concerns. He couldn’t even throw a rag your way to clean up his salty messes - his sole objective was to get off and if you happened to also find pleasure in the process, he wouldn’t protest. Self-care just wasn’t a part of his repertoire. Bucky was nauseatingly self-serving but you just never questioned it because you were still embarrassingly enamoured with this achingly beautiful rockstar bestowing attention on you.

You laid atop the pillowy soft California King bed, nothing on but a satin La Perla robe that Bucky's black Amex had doled out. You thumbed through your US History textbook, unable to focus on the task at hand - Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello. Bucky should have been back by now. You frantically tapped your acrylic nails on the edge of your phone, anxiously awaiting his return. You thought about texting him but you didn’t need to want to seem needy. He had warned you that it wasn’t cute when you seemed needy.

You heard the muffled laughter of two male voices outside of the room door - two voices? Yeah, definitely two. But this made zero sense because The Winter Soldiers were always under contract to stay on separate floors - hotel policy to discourage the stereotypical rocker raucousness.

As you darted off the bed, Bucky traipsed through the doorway. You made out the second man who followed closely behind - it was Steve Rogers, the drummer. Oh FUCK.

Steve wasn’t a partier like Buck, he was the private, pensive type that ran a militant ten miles each morning and filled his spare time with Seinfeld re-runs or FaceTiming his mom. You had never once witnessed him doing lines or shooting back Jack Daniels at the bar - he just seemed like the foil to Bucky’s rebel without a cause attitude. It was a shock to see him here, honestly. He was usually the first to leave the venue and would never join the boys in their depraved debauchery.

The two men were giddy and as Bucky tripped over the edge of the dresser, he put his ebony-polished finger up to his mouth in a shushing motion, as if you were the one creating racket. Was he too stoned to realize he was the one sneaking into the room like a teenage boy missing curfew? Probably.

“Hiiiiiiiii baby!” Bucky purred as he threw his flimsy hotel keycard haphazardly onto the table and stumbled towards the couch. “We just played a fuckin’ amazing show and I told Stevie he should come back and party with us.”

You glared, eyes narrowing scornfully. Really, Bucky?Post-show sex was something you had grown accustomed to and you weren’t really sure how Steve would fit into that equation. You were instantly cranky, knowing that your nightly dick appointment had been ruined by the tall, blonde super soldier.

Steve slunk into the sofa, a domestic beer in hand. "Did you have a good night, hun?" Hun, huh?

You tightened the the silken robe around your waist curtly, crossed your arms, bottom lip pouty and possessive, on the verge of a tantrum. “Bucky.. what the hell? I wasn't planning to entertain guests.”

Bucky completely ignored your clear disdain for the situation. “Why don’t you give us a lil’ striptease, eh?” He grabbed the silky tassels of your robe and pulled you toward him harshly, almost falling into his lap as you teetered uneasily. You considered protesting but after ogling Steve and realizing how effortlessly gorgeous he looked just non-chalantly vibing on the couch, you decided to let the night play out.

Steve had been so attentive throughout the entire tour, bringing you London Fogs from local cafes or making sure you had the best spot to watch the show at every venue. You sometimes felt homesick and Steve empathetically clued in, trying his best to provide creature comforts or lend an ear when you tried working through your college assignments. You were sure he was just being polite, part of his traditional upbringing, but it went a long way because Bucky never seemed to give a shit about you unless he was blowing your back out.

You swayed from side to side, hooking a strand of hair behind your ear as you plopped onto Steve’s lap. “Go on, dance up on him baby,” Bucky commanded as he threw back a swig of whatever alcoholic concoction he was sipping on, stretching his legs out eagerly.

Steve was so much bigger than Bucky - bigger shoulders, bigger quads - his bigger hands gently squeezing the top of your thighs. You could assume that he was bigger everywhere as the outline of his length tented in his navy velour trousers.

You could have sworn he whispered, “you’re beautiful.”

Your brow creased with confusion as he thumbed his way up your supple thighs and towards the vulnerable gap between your legs. You just knew your pupils were blown out, dumbstruck, clit throbbing. You recoiled at his touch, it felt wrong for Bucky’s best friend to be pawing at you and for you to be enjoying it.

Bucky sat across from you, legs splayed out, elbows resting on his knees and gazing at you two intently. He wasn't a cuck but he clearly had an hidden kink for watching.

This came as a shock because Bucky was territorial and would seethe with envy when other men leered at you. Whenever you were hit on in public, Bucky took out his jealous frustration on you - whether that meant shoving his hands up your dress and curling a few fingers up into you, or fucking you up against the bathroom wall mere moments after a harmless gentleman caller called you cute. He may have been a rockstar but insecurity still permeated from him.

“You gonna let us take turns, babe?” Bucky yanked the side table drawer open and grabbed a bottle of sticky, well-used lube. “Or you gonna smarten up and let us take a hole each?” He glanced at Steve, hoping for an air high five or a “yeah, man!” in return. But Steve was laser-focused on groping your smooth, tanned thighs.

“She’s so tight, Steve.. tightest chick I’ve ever split open,” he bragged, undoing his pants to expose his bare, inflating cock. You hated when he talked about you like you weren’t even in the room. You hated it.

It was clear to you that Bucky was going to offer you up as some sort of sacrificial lamb tonight but you were oddly fine with the arrangement. You fixated on Steve, the sexual tension mounting for weeks. He grazed the back of his palm against your cheek, “you smell like peaches, angel.”

Bucky grabbed you by the forearm, mounting you over the edge of the couch. Firm hands gripped your waist, “bend over.. gonna fuck this sweet ass,” he hissed, pushing the small of your back forward and hiking your robe up. You had never taken anything, not even so much as a single finger, in that hole. Bucky knew you wanted to keep anal off limits but tonight, he craved popping your cherry and his violent decisiveness made your pussy throb. Or maybe it was Steve's sweet sweeping motions as his hand inched towards your clit. Or maybe it was both.

“C’mon Stevie, come fuck this skank,” Bucky beckoned. Steve dropped his trousers and revealed his length. Yep, definitely bigger.

“You got a box of rubbers, Buck?” He looked around curiously, scanning for a box of Magnums. Bucky huffed, you both knew he didn’t do condoms.

And while Steve was trying his best to be respectful, in this moment he could still be reduced to a typical hormonal thirty-something. The sight of his best friend bending you over had him pumping his meaty cock hungrily.

This entire interaction had made your brain go all fuzzy. Bucky splattered a long string of lube into his hand, dragged it along his length, and rammed his cock into the tight ring of virgin muscle. "Jesus, fuckin' hell, this ass is so damn tight, baby doll," he moaned, pushing himself into you deeper, no regard for you. The silver metal ring first, then the tip, then his entire engorged cock. Your eyes rolled back, tears welled in your eyes, and you knew instinctively to fight through the punch of pain and pressure.

“Steve…” you struggled to get the words out, sharp breaths escaping your lips as Bucky rhythmically smashed inside your tight ass, desperation dripping from you. You needed him inside you, too. You looked up at him, long eyelashes fluttering. He couldn’t resist.

Steve approached correctly, peeling his tight onyx wifebeater to reveal a chest inked with tats. His thick cock in hand, he used your slick to slide in underneath Bucky, gently pushing into your pretty pink entrance. You expected him to rut into you furiously, just like Bucky always did. But Steve fucked into you with slow, gentle strokes. Bucky shot him a dirty look, “Man.. she’s not gonn’ break, fuck her!”

Though you couldn’t see his face, you heard Steve hum lowly into your ear, “every piece of you is perfect .. sooo tight.” You lapped up every scrap of praise he threw at you.

Steve picked up the pace, stretching you out with his girth. You could feel both buff men inside you, could feel radiating friction - feel their lengths touching - just a sheath of thin skin between them. Measured cadence as they both pumped back and forth inside you made you realize why these two were some of the most revered musicians - they were so in sync. Bucky’s cock dragged in and out of your virgin hole while Steve’s swollen length pierced your velvety walls. It was ecstasy.

Bucky jammed his index finger into your mouth, tugging violently - his signature move. You knew he wasn’t going to last much longer because his thrusts got shorter and faster, his cock entirely engorged with blood, his breaths shallow. He pulled out with wanton disregard, ropes of his white pleasure marking your back.

"Good girl..” he huffed, “I need a smoke.” He wiped the sweat off his forehead and slicked his jet black hair back, sliding the glass balcony door open.

It was just you and Steve now and you were glad one of the super soldiers had vacated your body. You loved being filled up to the brink but it was a relief to not be air-locked any longer. Steve bent down as he was balls-deep inside you, dusting your ear with his knuckles and whispering, “are you gonna cum for me, pretty thing?”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, ruminating over your response, butterflies swelling in your stomach. Bucky never asked what you wanted, he just took what he needed and left you with the fallout. You nodded weakly, “I..I wanna cum for you.”

He dipped his left hand down between your thighs, rubbing your clit in small, quick motions. “Do you like that, angel?” You were absolutely cockdrunk on this man and nodded sloppily, your walls pulsing. Steve kissed the side of your neck, “I’m going to cum inside you, peaches - uhhnn - you’re such a perfect girl for Steve.” Bucky would be back any moment and he wouldn’t like this - Steve was here to give you a nasty fuck, not romance you.

Steve fucked you beautifully, every languid motion deliberate and well-timed. It made sense that he was a drummer - his rhythm was immaculate. It was the closest thing to making love a rockstar could offer up. It didn’t make sense but it didn’t matter.

You became entirely untethered as a wash of pleasure swept over you. He peppered your shoulders with kisses as he shot his creamy load deep inside.

As you heard the glass door slide shut, you jolted up and snapped out of the fucking tizzy Steve had put you in. “How was it bud? Wasn’t she a good fuck?” Bucky asked rhetorically.

“Yeah bro, she’s a good gal,” he replied as he tugged his trousers back on. “I better go, we got Tokyo 101.2 in the morning.”

Steve left without a word to you, likely because he didn’t want to piss off Bucky and get you into any trouble. He knew Bucky had a viciously jealous temper and Steve was just grateful his buddy was willing to share you. No need to rock the boat, especially if he wanted this sexual relationship to continue.

Relishing in the obscenely depraved romp you had just been gifted, you fetched a cold bottle of Perrier from the mini-bar and plunked down on the bed. You were a puddle of emotions, eyes glazed over, dumbfounded at what happened. What was his motive? Bucky was his best friend, his bandmate, hell - he was pretty much his platonic life partner. It just didn't make sense.

You flicked off the bedside lamp and crawled into bed with Bucky, the sun just beginning to peek over the Santa Ana mountains.

-------------------- Bucky had slunk out of the suite at an ungodly hour to meet up with Steve for the Japanese press junket. He probably hadn’t slept more than an hour or two at best. Selfishly, you were just relieved that you could sprawl out in the bed and get a few more hours of beauty sleep before the jaunt to San Diego.

You were startled awake with a rap at the door, still groggy. Your lower body swelled with a dull ache - you really pushed your limits the night prior and would just be smitten with any kind of pain reliever. You rubbed your eyes and slinked out of bed, kicking on your pink shearling slippers.

You shuffled to the door, yawning widely as you unlatched and swung it open. It was concierge with a bouquet of big, beautiful Stargazer lilies. The note affixed to the flowers read, “Good morning, peaches." Two extra-strength Advil were taped to the note.

You gulped anxiously, acutely aware of the triangle that had unintentionally formed. Thirty-four dates were still remaining on the tour and things just got really interesting.

--------------------------

Thank you sooo much for reading, my angels !

All other parts can be found here

This might sound weird, but if anyone ever wants to discuss Fran and Maxwell from “ The Nanny,” I’m around. The fandom unfortunately isn’t super active these days.They have great chemistry, and I think there’s a lot to unpack there.

and suddenly i wouldn’t mind being a stripper if bucky was there.

acquainted

bucky barnes x reader (undercover stripper!reader x undercover bodyguard!bucky)

word count: 3.3k

warnings/tags: SMUT, oral (male and female receiving), vaginal penetration, language, strip club setting, creepy dude being a piece of shit, violence and a brief mention of blood, protective/possessive bucky, reader is afab, no use of y/n, touch her and die trope, Bucky might have a slight lingerie kink... 18+ only!

The pulsating fuschia and lime green strobe lights illuminating the club had been making your eyes throb for the last three hours. EDM plays so loudly that you're surprised blood doesn't trickle down from your ears. Not to mention the suffocating combination of cheap perfume, body odor, cigars, and booze that permeates the air makes your empty stomach churn.

If you never step foot into another nightclub when this is all over, you'll consider yourself lucky. Not just any nightclub - one of New Orleans’ scummiest strip clubs.

Five goddamn nights of this operation and not a lick of progress.

Your objective was simple - obtain proof that the owner was operating a sex trafficking ring out of the club, and then call for the back-up squad parked a block away. So far, you had not been able to acquire any kind of definitive proof. No hints of anything shady going on behind the scenes, and you had yet to even see the owner make an appearance at any point since the mission began.

Everything seems as above board as a strip club can be.

One last night, you compromised with Fury. One last night and if it went as the last few have, you were done, and he owes you a few days of paid leave for putting you through this.

“If you don't stop picking at your garter belt, it's not going to have any sequins left.” Bucky's low voice murmurs through the communication device placed discreetly in your left ear.

“If you don't stop watching my every movement, you’re not going to have any unbroken toes left,” you threaten lightly, taking a sip of your drink - just a Shirley Temple, to keep up appearances. “Shoes like this could do a lot of damage.” You glance down at the pointy heels of the black velvet stilettos.

“Is that not my job?” he counters. You don't have to look over at where he's standing in the corner of the room to know he's smirking. “To not take my eyes off of you?”

“Then do your job. Watch me. You don't have to make comments on my sequins to do that.”

“Alright, alright,” he concedes. “I'll be over here, admiring your sequins from afar. You won't even know I'm here.” The com line clicks off before you can retort.

Except you absolutely would know that he's here. Just as you have the previous four nights of this mission - painfully aware that he's here, tracking your every movement in the skimpiest outfits you've worn in your life, doing the most provocative dances imaginable, and flirting with men that you wouldn't touch with ten foot long poles in real life, all while he keeps to the sidelines in case something were to go wrong.

Keeps to the sidelines and just watches you. Even when one of the dancers approached him to ask if he'd be interested in a private dance once he's off the clock on the first night on the job.

Even when there's gorgeous, topless women crawling on the stage and all but humping the pole in his direct line of sight.

He isn't here to look out for them, of course. He is here solely to keep you safe if things were to go sideways. But you had assumed you would have caught him sneaking glances at the dozen other women at least once by now.

It's almost your turn to go up on stage. You've performed a solo set every night so far, and you still feel every bit as nervous as you did the first time.

You enjoy dancing, actually. In the comfort of your own room, when listening to music alone. When you go out with friends, occasionally. When you took ballet lessons as a child. This, however, was leagues out of your comfort zone.

“The creep from a couple nights ago is back,” Bucky's voice is a strained whisper in your ear.

“Gonna have to narrow it down a bit for me, Barnes. You could be referring to at least half of the men in here right now.”

“Sitting in front of the stage, to the left,” he mumbles back. “He's wearing a red wife-beater–”

“See him,” you interrupt, your eyes zeroing in on the short, stout, beady-eyed fuck who had been thrown out of the club night before last. One of the other security guards on duty chucked him out when he repeatedly got too handsy with one of the girls who had been giving him a lap dance.

“Fantastic,” you huff under your breath, as you finish touching up your lipgloss and reapplying the iridescent baby pink body glitter across your chest. “Just in time for my dance.”

You get up from your seat at the bar and adjust your lace bustier and thong as the announcer calls your stage name.

“He won't lay a finger on you,” Bucky assures you as you're walking up the steps of the platform.

There's a weak round of applause and a few whistles as you take your place on the center of the small stage. You give a vague nod in the direction of the DJ’s booth to indicate you're ready for your song to begin.

An upbeat but sensuous synth-pop song pours out of the speakers throughout the room and you begin to sway your hips.

You're hyper-aware of the fact that you can see Bucky making his way closer to you, away from his position in the back of the room. He settles when he's just a few tables behind the man in the red wife-beater.

There's an eruption of butterflies in the pit of your belly at how close he is. Each night prior to this, he has kept to lingering around the exits and the far wall towards the back of the club. Now, he's close enough that you can actually see his eyes following every languid movement that your body makes around the pole.

“Take your fucking top off!” a grating voice bellows from the audience. “We want to see your tits.”

You don't have to look to know who the voice belongs to. You decide to ignore him, hoping he would stop if you didn't give him any attention. You go to wrap your thighs around the pole again, preparing to spin–

“Did you not fucking hear me?” he shouts even louder this time, audible to everyone over the roaring music. “I said take your fucking–”

A flash of movement in your peripheral vision causes you to freeze around the pole. You turn your full attention to the ruckus, just in time to see Bucky fisting the man's greasy, shoulder length hair and pulling his head back. The music comes to an abrupt pause.

“You don't fucking talk to her like that,” Bucky snarls. “In fact, you don't talk to her at all, you don't look at her, you don't even breathe the same fucking air as her.”

The man is thrashing around, trying and failing miserably to get out of Bucky's grasp.

“Let me go you fucking–”

He doesn't get to finish his sentence before Bucky snaps the man's head forward, sending his face crashing into the granite tabletop.

The instantaneous pool of blood that contrasts so starkly against the white stone snaps you out of your fear-stricken trance.

Bucky pulls his head back up, forcing the man to look up at him.

“It's not my fault she refuses to show off those perfect–”

You all but jump off the stage - miraculously not breaking an ankle in the six inch heels - and rush over to where Bucky still has the man's hair yanked into his fist.

Just as Bucky is beginning to shove the man's head downwards again, you place both of your hands on his chest, gently but effectively shoving him backwards. He immediately releases his grip on the man as the other few security guards on duty arrive to detain the pervert.

“Hey, hey,” you place your hands on his biceps, trying to turn his attention to you and away from the man who he's still glaring after, as he's hauled off by security. “I'm fine, yeah? Everything is fine,” you try to assure him, though you're not sure your shaky voice sounds very convincing. “He's just a creepy, entitled asshole.”

Noticing that Bucky is shaking beneath your touch, you rub your hands up and down his arms in hopes of calming him down.

He finally meets your gaze. He doesn't say anything for a moment, just stares at you as he takes a few deep breaths.

“Go get dressed,” he orders you calmly after a moment. “I’m getting you the fuck out of here.” You want to leave too badly to even think about objecting.

You make a beeline for the changing room, where you throw on a sweater and force your pants over your heels, not even bothering to change out of the lingerie and stilettos.

Bucky's waiting for you right outside the door as you sling your duffel bag across your shoulder.

“How mad do you think Fury will be that we are abandoning our positions?” you ask in a hushed tone as Bucky ushers you through the club, his metal arm wrapped around your waist.

“Not as mad as I am that he's had you doing this bullshit for no reason for almost a week now.”

You and Bucky exit the club as quickly as possible, ignoring the curious and confused stares of the other dancers and security guards. He guides you down the block, then through an alleyway where his motorcycle is parked in a heavy silence - other than the obnoxious clanking of your heels against the pavement.

Bucky straddles one leg over the seat of the bike, taking his place in the driver's position and then hands you the helmet.

“Wait,” you pause before putting it over your head. “I'm starving.” Your stomach growls, as if on cue. “Can we stop and get some take-out?”

He looks at you incredulously. “I just shattered that guy's nose and likely severely concussed him and then just dipped. Our cover is essentially blown, don't you think we should get back to the motel room and lay low until the morning?”

“There's a Chinese place open late just a few blocks from the motel–”

“If I say yes will you put on the helmet and get on the bike?”

Taking that as a win, you slide the helmet over your head and hop on behind him. You wrap your arms securely around his midsection in a tight hug and he takes off down Bourbon Street.

You spend the drive trying to ignore the thought that of all the times you've ridden on the back of Bucky’s motorcycle, you don't remember him ever feeling so tense beneath your touch.

Half an hour later, you're lounging on the rickety motel bed, stuffing your face full of sweet and sour chicken and vegetable fried rice while Bucky fills Sam in on what happened over the phone.

He sits in one of the small chairs at the singular table in the corner of the room, his posture rigid. He answers all of Sam's questions with clipped, one-word responses as he massages his temple between his thumb and forefinger.

He hangs up the phone, refusing to meet your gaze. Instead, he pretends to be interested in the episode of Family Guy playing on the old motel TV.

“Your egg rolls are going to get soggy,” you tell him, pushing the to-go box across the mattress towards him.

“I don't have an appetite right now,” he says, picking up the box of food as he stands. You grab his bicep in your hand as he begins to walk past where you're sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Hey,” you say, stopping him. “Everything's okay. Really. Don't let that guy get to you–”

“A little late for that, don't you think?” He snaps, pulling his arm from your grasp. You sit back, too stunned by his reaction to know how to respond. You just stare after him as he crams his take-out box into the motel room's mini fridge.

“I shouldn't have reacted so harshly,” he says after a moment, still facing away from you. “I couldn't stop myself. He spoke to you that way, and I could have killed him and not thought twice about it. Probably would have if you hadn't intervened.”

He turns back to you. You're frozen in place.

“Do you know what that's like?” He asks, taking a step closer to you. “To feel like you aren't in control of your own body? To be so irrationally protective of someone that you'd kill for them without a second thought?”

You feel like all air has been stripped from your lungs. He's just inches away, staring down at you from where you sit on the edge of the mattress. The way he's looking at you makes your skin feel like it's on fire.

“Because that's what you do to me. That's how you make me feel.”

Heat pools between your legs.

“Come here,” you say - it sounds more like a question than a command.

He closes what little distance is left between the two of you, and pulls you up from the mattress by the tops of your arms so that your body is flush against his.

His mouth hovers over yours - not quite making contact, though you can feel his breath fan across your skin.

He takes his flesh hand and cups the side of your face with it, his thumb trailing across your bottom lip. His metal hand wanders down your back until it reaches the curve of your ass - grasping your cheek in a firm hold and squeezing until his touch borders between pleasure and pain.

“This is what I wanted to do to you every time I saw a man so much as glance in your direction in that club,” he whispers against your mouth. “I thought about bending you over the stage and making them watch me take you right then and there, but they didn't deserve to see that.”

“They aren't here to see us now,” you murmur as you bring your hand to cup the noticeable bulge of his jeans, eliciting a hiss from him. “So what are you going to do now?”

There's a dark grin spread across his face. He pushes you, softly but effectively, back down on the bed. You scoot back a few inches on the mattress, and then bring one of your feet up to remove the stiletto heels that you'd completely forgotten to take off upon returning to the motel with your haul of Chinese food.

“Oh, no,” Bucky laughs lowly. “I want you to keep those on. I've grown to like those quite a bit.”

Your cheeks warm in both arousal and bashfulness. You begin to push your pants down your thighs as Bucky kneels on the ground and helps you maneuver the fabric around your shoes. The sweater that you threw over your bustier goes next.

You're left in the lingerie set that you wore at the club.

“Call me jealous,” Bucky sighs as he begins trailing sloppy kisses up the insides of your thighs. “Call me possessive, call me crazy..”

You lay back down against the scratchy comforter as Bucky gets closer and closer to where you're aching to have him the most.

“But I don't want anyone seeing you like this but me.”

He pulls the already soaked lace material of your thong to the side, exposing your cunt.

He licks up your center torturously slow, causing you to let out a sharp exhale. He repeats the motion, and then locks his lips around your clit. Your hands shoot to his hair, fisting your fingers through the short brunet strands.

He eats you until you're a mewling and squirming mess beneath him.

You come hard, clenching your thighs around his head and riding his face through your orgasm.

“Stand up,” you instruct him as soon as you can think semi-clearly.

He obeys without any hesitation. The warm glow of the singular lamp in the motel room highlights the way your slick coats the lower half of his face.

You get up on your hands and knees before him and he lets out an audible groan at the sight in front of him. He bends down enough to kiss you - cupping your face in both of his hands and tipping your head up to give him a better angle to slip his tongue into your mouth. You moan into the kiss - the ache between your thighs reappearing already.

He removes his hands from your face, unbuttoning his pants while still kissing you.

You pull away to help free his cock from the confines of his boxers. Your mouth waters at what's directly in front of you. He's impressively long and girthy, with a thick vein running up the side.

You pump him a few times in your hand, swirling your tongue around the pre-cum dripping from his slit. He's already putty in your hands - groaning above you and placing his metal hand around the back of your neck to keep you where he wants you.

After you've run your tongue up and down his length a few times, you spit on the tip of his cock and massage it over the entirety of his shaft before taking him as far into your mouth as you can in the first go. He throws his head back, moaning your name.

You feel him hit the back of your throat and you gag before pulling back.

He curses under his breath, nudging himself slowly back towards your throat again.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl,” he praises and you moan around his dick. He gradually increases the speed at which he pumps himself into your mouth, obscene noises echoing off of the thin motel room walls.

When he pulls out, you feel drool running down your neck and mascara-tinted tears leaking from your eyes.

“You're so gorgeous like this for me,” he tells you, and despite knowing that you look thoroughly fucked out, you believe him. “Will you turn around?”

You do as he asks, turning around on your hands and knees. You lower your chest down to the bed so that your ass is angled upwards.

“Jesus Christ,” he grunts under his breath. He grips your hips with both of his hands, yanking you to him. His erection juts against the cloth of your underwear.

He tugs them aside once more, giving him access to tease your slit with the head of his cock. You rock backwards, grinding against him. He brings his flesh hand around your stomach and reaches down to rub your clit as he begins to slowly fill you from behind.

He pauses for a moment once he bottoms out, giving you time to adjust to the fullness of him before he starts fucking into you.

The combination of him slamming into you at such an intense angle and massaging you so perfectly has your climax building shamefully fast.

You grunt his name, bouncing your ass to meet his thrusts. “I'm gonna come,” you mewl, knowing he's on the verge of doing the same as his movements become uneven.

One, two, three more pumps and you can feel your pussy clenching around him as you come together.

You pull off of him, collapsing onto the bed and rolling onto your back. He crawls over you, propping himself up on his arms above you.

“You know,” he stares down at you, his eyes trailing to your breasts that are now spilling out of the black lace bustier. “As much as I hated every second of that mission, I do hope I might get to see you in some of these outfits again.”

♡♡♡♡♡

my masterlist!!!

2020, Better You 60 Day Challenge

At the beginning of 2020 I will be trying @psyduckstudies​‘s challenge, but with a few twists. Here are my 10 daily things.

I am going to:

Meditate - 🧘🏻‍♀️ every morning after waking up. For how long you want but it’s got to be noted and journaled

15-minute-clean-up - when you come home from school/work or at the end of the day, put a 15 minute timer and clean up as much as possible within that time period. This helps keep your environment clutter free and much more enjoyable.

Yoga 🤸‍♀️ - every day. Keep up the stretching and practice those new positions. It’ll pay off in the end.

Drink nothing but water and unsweetened tea ☕️ - we are cutting off the juice, the coffee, the alcohol, the soda! All of that is out (for 2 months, we got this) btw fruit smoothies don’t count as long as there is no juice in it! 

Gratitude journaling 📖 - write down the things you’re grateful for!

Self compliments 🥰 - who says you can’t compliment yourself. Tell yourself 3 things you love about yourself every day. It can be small, like how soft your earlobes are or bigger, like how kind you were for spending personal time helping someone in need!

Walk more 🚶‍♀️ - let’s be honest, it’s winter and all you want is to be in bed hibernating and you probably won’t do crazy workouts. But at least you can walk a little bit more instead of taking the bus or go out of the house just for the sake of taking a walk. It’s good for your mental health too.

Read! 📚 -try to read several pages a day. If you haven’t read in a long time, start with 15pgs a day of anything! Read webtoons or blogs and articles!

Say no ❌ - no more meaningless spending. No to inconvenience. No unnecessary hang outs with ppl ur not even close to. No to doing something that you really don’t want to do that you agreed to because you felt bad saying no!!!! None of that! Be selfish and do what you want.

Lastly, any goal that you feel like you need to work on in order to be the best you!!

I removed the “cold showers” because I honestly don’t think I will be able to do it and I will try cleaning up my room every day for at least 15 minutes.

And I also switched “learn something new” with “walk more” because at the beginning of the month I have almost a month filled with exams so there is plenty to learn for them already, I don’t think it’s reasonable for my schedule to try to fit something new right now. But I think walking more is going to be pretty good for myself because when it’s exam time I tend to stay in at my desk or in bed the whole time without seeing the daylight which is so bad and makes me feel pretty awful. 

My 10th goal is “get enough sleep” 🌙 It’s hard with so many exams coming up but just try to do your best, you know your mind is so much clearer when you’re well rested. Take advantage of that. 

Also, I don’t think that missing a day with 10 habits to check during exam period is that bad, so I won’t be starting all over. Actually I think that what could work better for me is to apply the next rule : “You cannot skip a habit for more than two days in a row”. I think it’s fair enough… 

I hope that you take the time and energy for the 1st 60 days of the new year and join me in this challenge. We can hold each other accountable!

Last but not least, let’s give  @psyduckstudies credit one more time for coming up with this cool challege. And good luck everybody!

Found Archive Item: original photograph of James J. Barnes and Steven G. Rogers, circa 1945

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Archive Series

Captain America: Civil War (2016)

It’s called Stucky because you’re never getting out of this ship, never in full.