A/N: HI EVERYONE! This was a request, and I was so happy to write it! It ended up sort of long, but usually my smut chapters end up rather long because I like to include pre-story and not just smut. Anyway, it's not as long as some of the others but I think it'll be well worth the read! I'm really happy with how this one turned out :)

As always, anyone can request anything at any time! I have a few more requests to post and those will all be coming out soon. Thanks for everything you guys! Lots of love.

Winnie

Words: 8K

There's something intoxicating about Y/N. Everyone who meets her is left with the same unsettled, intrigued feeling. She's mysterious and vague yet blunt and unguarded in some strange, fascinatingly contradictive way. Her touch will set a fire to your soul and have any man's head spinning (or willing woman, for that matter). Many have questioned the legitimacy of her tale: that she was only a spy before joining the Avengers team. Some people think that she's enhanced—gifted with some sort of intoxicating aura that makes her the most intriguing person in any room. Anyone who really knows her knows the truth: she was a normal girl who grew up to become someone extraordinary through hellish circumstances. She's someone who learned how to beat the system and pull wool over anyone's eyes in order to get what she wants to get a job done. In fact, it's in this way and many others that she's very similar to Natasha Romanoff. Perhaps that's why the two became such quick friends when Y/N joined the Avenger's team five months ago. Natasha is the only one that Y/N can really, truly trust in the over-crowded place she's now calling home: the Compound. Natasha feels the same way about Y/N, and from that comes the strongest friendship either of them has ever had.

Y/N's fearless. She's unstoppable. Unwaveringly courageous. Honest. Dangerous.

She's also the most promiscuous flirt anyone ever did meet.

She knows her boundaries... for the most part. She keeps her eyes off the married or eternally faithful—such as Hawkeye—and the forbidden underage fruit (like that delightfully sweet Spiderboy), but everyone else is fair game. No one is safe from her promiscuous behavior. Honestly, no one's ever really complained. It's entertaining and flattering in many ways, and the reactions that she draws from the unsuspecting are the best parts of the whole thing.

The only living soul who isn't a player in her game is a man called Bucky Barnes.

Now, when Bucky first met Y/N he'd been a completely different man. He'd tried to kill her once or twice... or maybe three times. But that'd been in another life. Y/N knows that, or so she says, and the past has been put behind them. Now they're teammates—Y/N and Barnes—and she should treat him just like everyone else.

Except, she doesn't.

Y/N acts completely different around Bucky and it drives him absolutely fucking insane.

Need proof? Take this morning, for example:

"Mornin', Captain," Y/N drawls as she swaggers into the gym just before sunrise. Nat's supposed to meet her in half an hour but Y/N's keen on being early. The only other people awake at this hour are Steve, also known as the Captain, and his "sidekick" Bucky Barnes.

"Good morning." Steve smiles at the newest addition to the team as she comes to straddle the machine closest to his left side. Bucky, meanwhile, is at the machine a few paces to the right feeling utterly jaded and unfairly ignored.

Y/N runs her eyes up and down Steve's sweaty figure. "How much you think you can bench?" she questions.

Steve glances down to the weights he's lifting. "Not sure," he answers through a chuckle.

Y/N leans over to give his bicep a playful squeeze. Her nails lightly rake his toned flesh as it stretches over the bulging muscle. "Just wondering," she answers—nearly fawning. She looks up at him through heavy lashes. "I bet you could bench press me if you tried."

Steve laughs. "I bet I probably could." Surprisingly, Steve's grown used to Y/N's game. He's always suspicious as to why she chooses to come onto him when she chooses to, but he feels it's intentional for reasons he can't yet prove. He goes with it because he knows she's harmless either way.

"Wanna try?" Y/N cocks her head to one side—looking anything but innocent with her pursed lips and glittering eyes.

Bucky, who is literally less than five feet away, grunts and tosses his dumbbell to the ground. He can't even stop the words from stumbling out of his mouth. "I can press 1400, which is a full 200 more than Steve and I know damn well that you both know how much he can press because it's literally posted on the fucking wall of the damn locker room."

Y/N has to bite down on the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. "Oh, Barnes. I didn't even see you there. Sorry, mate." She chuckles awkwardly and scoots a bit farther away from Steve. She gives his knee a fleeting squeeze before rising back to her feet. She paces over to Bucky, hardly giving him a smile, before heading over to the other side of the room. "See you later, Stevie!"

Steve waves bye to the woman. He only stops when he notices that Bucky is fuming—glaring holes into his blond covered skull. "What?" Steve stupidly asks.

"Fuckin' jerk," Bucky grunts under his breath. Steve fights the urge to knowingly grin as he turns away to resume his workout routine once again.

See? She's different with Bucky than she is with... well, with anyone else Bucky's ever seen! She flirts with everything that breathes: men, women, aliens, and Asgardians alike. Damn, Bucky's never felt special in his entire life, and her utter ignorance towards him makes him feel stupidly special in the worst sort of way. Is it because he tried to kill her? He apologized for it, multiple times, and Stark once accidently shot her with one of his blasters. She spent a week in the hospital after that, yet she STILL makes jokes about Stark and her SLEEPING TOGETHER at the dinner table. What the hell did Bucky do to deserve this treatment? Or what is it that everyone else did to deserve theirs?

There's only one person that knows the truth behind it all, and she's the one who can trust Y/N more than anyone in the world to have her back.

"Are you ever going to come out and admit to yourself that you're in love with Barnes?"

Y/N pauses in her assault of her messy updo in the mirror of her bathroom. She looks through the reflection of the glass to where Natasha leans against the doorframe. It's a quarter past eight at night and the two are running late to meet a few of the others at a dinner lounge downtown.

"What the hell brought that on?" Y/N questions half-interestedly. She resumes her fiddling of the hairdo she's anxiously trying to perfect.

Nat grunts. "Everyone's catching on, Y/N."

Y/N turns worriedly towards her friend. "Everyone?"

"Relax, dumbass. Barnes is the only damn idiot who doesn't know," Nat replies. She picks at her fingernails and glances up at Y/N again. "I will admit though, your little game is quite entertaining to watch. I've never seen Barnes so tightly wound."

Y/N purses her lips as she applies a bit more perfume. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she lies.

Nat nearly scoffs. "Maybe you are insane."

"We both are," Y/N replies. "That's why we get along so well, remember?"

"Ah, yes. I forgot." Nat's eyes interestedly watch over her friend as she becomes overly finicky with applying rouge. "You look fine, Y/N. Let's just go before traffic gets too bad."

"I look fine," Y/N agrees with a sigh. She turns away from the mirror—giving the sheet of glass her back. "But I don't look amazing."

"You look the damn same way you do every day," Nat replies. She's already gone back into Y/N's bedroom to start gathering their things.

"Rude." Y/N chuckles quietly before following Nat out of the washroom.

"Why do you want to look so amazing anyway? I thought you said you didn't like Barnes."

"I never said it had anything to do with Barnes," Y/N skillfully dodges the question.

But Nat's too good. "No, but your pupils grew about ten sizes too large when you heard he was coming tonight." She chucks Y/N's purse at her. "Let's go, I'm starving."

The lounge is a relaxed, uppity sort of place where Tony Stark sometimes likes to hang out when he doesn't want to be bothered with random people approaching him. The others hate to admit it, but not being swarmed by fans and paparazzi is a welcomed feeling. The sort of people this lounge downtown draws in are mainly stuck-up elites and dignitaries, and none of them would dare to be seen drooling over a bunch of so-called superheroes. Very rarely does a stranger approach the team here, and if it happens it's usually a pretty woman looking to flirt her way onto Captain America's lap (which has never been a successful feat except for once in the case of a very persuasive Y/N where she had the honor of perching innocently on the sought-after muscle-cushioned seat).

"Your table."

The hostess has led Nat and Y/N to the back of the lounge in the dimly lit corner where the leather seats are occupied by their friends. Gathered around and drinking quite merrily are, in order of appearance, Tony Stark, Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers, Sharon Carter, and Bucky Barnes on the end.

"Ah, look who finally decided to show up." Tony smirks and lifts his stemmed martini glass in Y/N's direction.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, darling." Y/N glances around the circle of open-booth seats and wonders which unoccupied space she should take. Nat's already planted herself next to Steve on the other side of Sam. Momentarily the two women share a glance. Y/N can nearly read Nat's mind as the red-headed friend silently attempts to convince her to sit there beside Barnes instead of Stark. Of course, Y/N would much rather sit next to Barnes. But the thought alone fills her with worry. What would she say if the conversation were to force them to speak alone? Would she be able to play her game in the same way? Could she trust her own tongue not to make a fool out of herself while sitting so close? The last time she got a whiff of his cologne she nearly passed out. Granted, she'd been slightly drunker then than she is now, but the thought does cross her mind that she may end up on the floor again—overcome with her childish obsession with him.

Thankfully, Y/N's thought process feels much longer than it truly ends up being. She decides, nearly in an instant, that she's going to sit next to Tony.

But then before she can plant her ass down, Tony's kicking up an eyebrow and planting his hand with the drink on the seat. Silently his eyes speak at her—meaning, "Sorry, honey. I wanna see how this plays out." He must be one of the ones to know about her crush on Bucky, Y/N thinks with dread. Nat wasn't lying then—the truth is coming out.

Shit.

Gathering herself, Y/N turns towards Bucky. Without once making proper eye contact she settles down in the empty seat beside him. The man, in turn, can't take his eyes off of her. She's stunning—that much is inarguable and plain as the damn day to see. She's not quite like any other woman he's come across before, and his opinions on that are split between confusion and absolute obsession. She's a fantasy—especially in that tight scarlet red dress. Why does she torture him by looking so goddamn fantastic?  She's absolutely delicious in every way. And the fact that she refuses to glance his way is only furthering the speed of his heartbeat. It's already hard enough to breathe with her around, but then she goes and ignores him and he finds himself not only insanely aroused by the smell of her perfume and the sight of her smirk but also enraged by the simple notion that she seems to thrive on the thrill of hating him.

"Has anyone ordered anything yet? Nat's starving," Y/N says aloud. She leans farther back into her seat while running a hand through her curled hair—acting as if she hadn't just spent the last hour perfecting the coil and fall of every last tendril.

"We were waiting for you, babe." Sam picks up the liquor menu and ignores the look of pure disgust Bucky throws his way. Why everyone feels the need to call Y/N by a different flirty nickname will always mystify and aggravate Bucky.

"How have you been, Y/N?" Sharon leans over Steve's hulking mass to try and be seen. "I feel like it's been ages since we've worked the same case."

"Oh I'm peachy keen," Y/N replies with a light laugh. "And you?"

"Doing great," Sharon smiles broadly. Y/N doesn't miss the way the agent's eyes dart momentarily to Steve out of instinct. She makes a mental note to keep Steve on the no-flirt list for a while, as it seems the tension between the two blonds has peaked tonight.

Mid-conversation a waiter has appeared to refill drinks. Bucky has hardly touched the whiskey in his glass. Y/N has yet to look at the drink menu, but she knows what she likes.

"I'll have a coke and rum," she tells the waiter with her softest smile. "Please." She fiddles with the hem of her skirt—a habit that Bucky's eyes can't help but bore into—and smiles again as the waiter nods and walks away.

"No vodka shots tonight?"

Y/N's taken aback by Bucky's voice. It's got a teasing drawl to it that she's not used to—especially coming from him. She looks around subtly but everyone else is too busy talking or on their phones to pay attention to anything being said by either of them.

"What?" Y/N almost wants to slap herself at how dumb her voice has just come out sounding like.

Bucky points to the table as if something is there that isn't. "Last time we were here you had about seven shots lined up before the last of us even walked through the door."

Y/N forces a tight-lipped smile onto her face. She's seems put-off by his conversation, but in reality she's only nervous: a feeling that no one, not even herself, would ever expect her to be. "Oh, well, last time I had a hangover that lasted about a week, so I think it'll be a while before I go and do that again." She rubs a hand up and down the bareness of her arm, looking visibly uncomfortable.

Bucky sighs through his nostrils. He glances around, possibly looking for a way to escape this current conversation, before bringing his blue eyes back to Y/N's face. "Are you going to Peru this week?"

"I am," Y/N replies curtly without being rude. She clears her throat. "Are you?"

Bucky nods. He's leaned over his own lap, in a way, with his long legs slightly splayed and his elbows resting on their respective knees. From this position he can easily reach out to grab his whiskey glass from the low table. "I am." He takes a sip—a rather large glug, actually. After swallowing he adds, "How much do you wanna bet we get partnered up again?"

"I'd say the chances are pretty high," Y/N laughs lightly. Her eyes dart around the table—catching Nat's eyes. Nat flicks her stare back and forth between Y/N and Bucky as if making a point to tell her friend to be more engaging. Going off of this, Y/N says, "I think every mission I've been on with you in the past few months I've been assigned as your lookout."

"Well, I don't think that's an accident." Bucky doesn't give any more information than that, and Y/N isn't sure what he means.

"So not just bad luck then?" Y/N inwardly cringes at her own choice of words as they leave her mouth. She's smart enough to foresee the consequences of this awkwardly, poorly arranged sentence before Bucky even blinks.

"Bad luck?" he repeats, sounding dry and unamused.

"I meant bad luck for you," Y/N rushes to explain. "It's just—I'm not—I think that..." she trails off as Bucky's eyes on her face cause her thoughts to billow away. Her gaze suddenly drops to her lap. "Sorry, that's not what I meant to say."

Bucky's shocked at what he's seeing. The witty, outrageously courageous, confident Agent Y/N is making every obvious attempt to push this conversation with Bucky out of her way. It leaves Bucky feeling stung and heartbroken. He's been pining after this woman for months and he's yet to have a conversation this wrecked with her. Yes, it's sometimes been slightly awkward, but he always just imagined that it was his fault for being so over-analytical of everything he was saying. Now, as he's just buzzed enough to feel relaxation in his veins, he realizes that he's been right all along and Y/N hates him so much she can't even bring herself to properly look his way.

When the waiter comes back with Y/N's drink she's eager to snatch it up. Nervously, as she can feel Bucky eyeballing her occasionally, she brings the chilled tumbler glass to her plump bottom lip. She lets the drink linger there where she can smell the alcohol and the carbonated sugar instead of Bucky's dexterously dangerous Calvin Klein perfume.

Throughout the evening the group's eyes all tend to wander towards the side of the booth where Y/N and Bucky both are set. The two are aggravatingly silent. Everyone knows how they feel about one another: everyone besides them themselves, it seems. Nat makes eye contact from across the table at Steve. They seem to quietly agree on something that causes Nat to suddenly rise up from her seat.

"Y/N. I need you to come with me."

Y/N crinkles her brows. "Why? Where are we going?" She's slowly risen to her feet.

"The bathroom." Blunt and leaving no room for questions, Nat turns away. Y/N deposits her drink on the table before following her friend down the hall.

"What?"

Mirrored images occur simultaneously across the lounge. Y/N and Bucky both tiredly hiss the single worded question to their best friend—scoffing as the latter rolls their eyes. If this was a scene from a movie, the camera angles would be showing each of the interactions side-by-side on screen. Instead, this is real life—and Y/N can smell the stench of vomit in the bathroom.

"Talk to her," Steve whispers so that none of the other loungers can overhear.

"Talk to him—Jesus Christ!" Nat wails in front of one of the stalls. "I'm sick and tired of watching you two twiddle your thumbs in agonizing silence."

Y/N frowns deeply. "You don't think I've already tried?"

Bucky scoffs, "Already tried. She clearly doesn't want anything to do with me."

Nat marches up to block Y/N's view of herself in the mirror. "Listen here," she begins dutifully, "You're gonna walk back out there, pull your pretty head out of your ass, and you're going to force yourself to be flirty and brave around Barnes like you are every other goddamn instant of your life. I know you've been avoiding this, but it's damn time you pull on your big girl panties and make a move on the one guy that really counts."

Y/N's eyes fall towards the sink. "You're right."

"Hell right I am," Nat grunts. "I'm always fucking right." She turns towards the washbasin again. She has a smudge of nude lipstick smeared on the corner of her lip. She quickly fixes it before going back to Y/N. "Now get out there and do it before I kick your ass."

Y/N isn't one to do as she's told. But in this case, she does. She knows that Nat is right: this is her chance to bat her eyes and toss lingering touches at the one man that she's daydreamed about for ages now.

But when she returns to the table, Bucky's gone.

"Where's Barnes?" Y/N asks.

Steve glances up at Nat as she walks behind Y/N. He shakes his head, making the Russian woman curse lowly. Looks like one of them was successful in the pep-talk set-up-our-best-friends plan, and it wasn't Steve.

"He, uh, wasn't feeling well. He went home."

Y/N paints an illusion of disinterest on her face. "Oh. Well, too bad for him, I guess."

Bucky flops down onto the couch rather dramatically. His eyes bore holes into the face of his watch as he waits for one of two things: Y/N's return home or his ambition to see her tonight fading.

It's an hour past ten. The doorknob to Y/N's apartment turns. Bucky stays seated, kicking one leg up over the other in a rather aggressive stance, and waits impatiently for her to appear in the doorway.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Bucky cranes his neck back. There she is—the woman of the hour. She's still in that sexy red number from earlier. Her hair is wilder than it was, but Bucky prefers it this way. He'd never admit that aloud, though.

"I came to talk to you," he answers simply.

Y/N slams her door. "You couldn't call? Or, I don't know, wait until I was home?"

"You're home now," Bucky coolly replies.

Y/N comes around to stand in front of Bucky on her couch. She quite appreciates the sight of him lounging so carefree and tousled on her sofa. She isn't about to say it to his face, of course.

"So what are we supposed to talk about?" Y/N forces herself to turn away from where Bucky sits—almost invitingly with his hands on his thighs. She imagines herself being brave enough to push her way onto his lap before being struck out of the fantasy when she nearly trips on the corner of her coffee table.

Bucky ignores her sudden gracelessness. "I came to talk to you in private because apparently you hate me far too much to be seen speaking to me in public."

Y/N tuts. She wishes she could tell him the truth, but as she stoops over to take off her heels she finds the ability to speak forgotten.

Bucky goes on, because he can't seem to stop himself now that he's started. "You don't acknowledge me ever—even when I try to get you to say something. The only time you seem to look at me is when I'm covering your ass on the field or I happen to be sitting next to Steve or Tony. I get it if you're holding some sort of grudge for me: I haven't always been the nicest guy. But do you have to be so goddamn cruel?"

Y/N's near the wall. Bucky's come to stand in front of her. She cocks her head in innocent question, unknowingly stirring the range of emotions in Bucky's body until they begin to resemble feral lust. "Cruel?" is the only word she can speak. She repeats it quietly, as if not knowing what to think.

"Yes, cruel." Bucky shakes his head sternly. His hands are fists at his sides but they both know that he'd never hit her. It's only a way for his body to release the tension. "You wander around this damn place like you're goddamn Aphrodite—hitting on all of our friends and coworkers—as if you have absolutely no idea what you're doing to me when I have to sit back and watch you dish out all of your attention to every other guy—except for me, and I think I crave it a whole damn more than anyone else could even afford." Bucky only realizes what he's said after the words have spilled from his lips. He sighs, letting his gaze soften just slightly. He still seems hurt, but he appears only moderately angry now instead of fuming and irate. "I'm sorry. It's not fair of me to expect you to treat me the same. I shouldn't have—"

Y/N's heard plenty enough. Her sanity, along with her fears, have completely snapped in half. She's reached up with both hands in the middle of Bucky's apology to hungrily grab his cheeks. She pulls his mouth down until her lips are crashing against his with enough force to hear clashing teeth.

Bucky stumbles forward. His reactions are fast. One hand goes to press into the small of her back. The other braces against the wall as he shoves Y/N against the closest standing structure. The rest of the world fades away entirely. Bucky's never experienced anything like it. His whole body—no, his entire soul—is on fire with her touch. Her hands grip his shoulders and he moans when her fingernails lightly dig into his skin. He's been craving her for so damn long... and now that he has her, he doesn't ever want to let go.

"I want you," Bucky breathes into her mouth. Y/N pulls away, eyes still closed, and he admires her with his thumb tracing her moist bottom lip. She blinks upwards at him as he goes on, "I want you so fucking bad."

"Bucky," she sighs his name like a prayer. She touches his chest and he shivers. "Take me any way you want me—I'm yours." Her voice is lower and grittier than he's ever heard. His body pulses at her lusty tone. As he still toys with her plump bottom lip, she bites down on his thumb gently. He groans to see her with his finger between her lips.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," Bucky breathes. He takes her hard by the back of the neck and crashes their lips together once more. He pushes her tighter against the wall where her back arches to further press herself against him. She molds into his arms as he reaches down to wrap her thighs around his waist and to cup her ass with both hands. An erotic whimper is fed into his mouth as his hands roughly paw at her firm cheeks. Quivering fingers grapple at his chest while Bucky begins to grind his hips against hers. The movement shoots a string of red-hot blood to flow down Y/N's spine towards her quickly dampening core.

"Don't stop," she tells him sternly.

Bucky pulls away—leaving Y/N to chase after his lips with her own red-stained, glistening ones. "Nuh uh, darlin'." He tuts and lowers his mouth again as if planning to kiss her. He pulls back at the last second though—leaving her hanging. "You're not in charge here." He watches with hungry, hooded eyes as Y/N's pretty head dejectedly lowers against the wall and she writhes around—desperate for his touch. Her skirt is bunched up high around her waist to make way for his hips that are pressing against the hot skin of her inner thighs. The rough fabric of his jeans leaves a reddish burn on her soft, untouched flesh. "I think you've been walking around this place with that smug little smirk on your face for far too long, doll." Bucky grabs her by the chin and smiles when she unknowingly bites down on her aching bottom lip. "I wanna hear you beg." His whisper is steadfast and sure, yet deep down Y/N knows that he's leaving room for argument. If she were to say no right now—even give her head a little shake as he holds it so possessively in his metal hand—he would let her have it her way.

But that's not what happens. No, Y/N's prepared to beg: because as much as she likes waltzing around like she owns the place, the thought of giving Bucky all the power has her stomach coiling with excitement and need.

"Please," Y/N starts out breathlessly. She opens her eyes a bit wider than before in hopes of looking innocent and cute. "Please don't stop. Please, Bucky."

Bucky smirks. Her soft whispers turned to whimpers are music to his ears. He's been forced to listen to this same woman flirt, flaunt, and verbally fantasize for months now—just never towards him. Now? Oh, now Bucky gets exactly what he wants: and what he wants is to have the one woman he's ever cared about begging to have him above all other guys.

Having gotten what he wants, Bucky decides to give her a little something in return. He kisses her again, this time managing to make the gesture twice as dirty, and cements her hips against the wall with both hands. His hips grind hard and slow into hers between breaths, and each time he feels her shiver he has to swallow the urge to go faster. He doesn't want to go too far too fast: not yet. He wants to reduce Y/N into a complete mess before being the one to put her back together again.

Y/N doesn't remember anyone ever making her feel like this before. She's desperate to touch him anywhere. She wants to feel his tight muscles and rough skin. But before her hands can even get the chance, her wrists are being snatched up. Her arms are pinned above her head by Bucky's metallic, whirring arm as his teeth make an appearance on her lips—tugging and gnawing with enough roughness to properly soak her panties.

"Bucky," Y/N whines his name. She doesn't get a response so she tries again. "James, baby, please." She doesn't even know what she's begging for at this point except for the appetizer round to be over with and for him to be pounding in her at all angles during the main event.

Bucky's low growl is feral and alarming. He presses his mouth to hers with a ferocity that she's never known. When he pulls back it's only to command, "Say my name again."

"James," Y/N breathes into his open lips.

Hearing her say his unused first name has lit something strange inside. He's never heard it said like this—never really heard it at all, honestly. And the fact that he's now hearing it in Y/N's breathless, bated sex-voice... dear god, he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to hear her call him anything else ever again. He'll forever be imprinted with this image: her lust-dizzy body pressed between his hips and the wall as she stutters out the syllables in a rushed beg.

His hands trail up to tear the dress from her hot flesh. She's left in the lacy lavender bra beneath. He unclasps that from behind, rather hurriedly, and then eagerly takes a breast in each hand. He kneads the tender flesh and she pulls away from the kiss panting. Her face is pale and she's struggling to breath with the things he's making her feel.

Bucky lowers his face to her neck where he sucks and nibbles. When he's done leaving the dark hickey he blows cool air on her damp skin until she shivers and writhes.

"James..." she tugs on his hair to the moaning of his name.

He finally succumbs to his desire to call her whatever he pleases. He's been keeping the urge to call her nicknames locked inside his chest for months now. "Do you like that, baby?" When she takes too long to reply his teeth graze harder against the tender flesh of her inner neck. She whimpers and arches her back away from the wall. "Answer me," Bucky growls into her chest.

"Yes, yes," Y/N quickly makes an attempt to appease the lust-hungry man. Her eyes close and her head lobs to one side to give him more access but also as an attempt to ease some of the stinging ache. "James, I need you—I really need you." She tries to sway him with her words and finds that it's not quite enough. He pulls back to watch her face as she realizes that there are a lot filthier, more explicit things that he would rather hear her say.

"What is it that you need, Y/N?" Bucky prompts her lowly before humming into the shell of her ear. Her mouth is too dry to immediately reply, and Bucky takes this span of time to kiss down her chest again. The scruff of his chin burns her left breast as he nuzzles his face there.

"I—I need you to fuck me," Y/N finally manages to let out in a long breath.

Bucky tuts disapprovingly. "That's pretty vague, sweetheart." He bites down on his lip to keep his smile at bay. He doesn't want to outwardly admit how much fun he's having with this game. He looks up at her from the valley of her breasts. He's got her hoisted a bit farther up in air than she's used to. Her ass is perched on the crook of his metal arm.

"Please," Y/N desperately pleads. She's gained control of her arms again by this point. She uses both hands to comb his hair and try to sway him by tugging on the locks. "I need you to fuck me hard and deep—right now. I need you right now—James, please." Her words have nearly put Bucky into a stupor. She gains enough control to brush her lips against his. Goosebumps draw up on his skin. "Please, baby. I need your cock inside of me. I need you—I'm so wet for you..."

"Fucking hell," Bucky curses in a low growl. He feels her smirk against his cheek as his resolve breaks. He wraps his arm all the way around her naked waist and pulls her sweaty body from the wall. She winds both arms around his neck and noses her face into the curtains of his clean hair. When she gets too frisky on the way to her bedroom, nipping gently at his earlobe, Bucky plants a swift warning smack to her ass. She gasps—not having any time to react before being thrown onto the bed.

"Don't get too cocky, kitten."

"Kitten?" Y/N repeats, feeling lightheaded but more confident now that she can sit back on her familiar duvet and watch with hungry eyes as Bucky starts to strip himself of clothes a few feet away. "I like that one."

Bucky chuckles lowly, almost to himself, as he snakes his way out of the rest of his clothes. All that remains of his attire from before is the boxer briefs. They're grey and thin and straining.

Bucky comes to rest over her body—possessively positioning his arms on either side of her head. His fingers get tangled in her mess of hair as they kiss deeply again.

"Wait, wait," Y/N breathes out before Bucky's hands can wander any farther down her sides.

It's like she's spoken some sort of curse. Bucky's pushed back and away from her so fast she's almost forgotten what it felt like to have him layered on her.

"What? Is everything okay?" his voice is husky and trying so damn hard to sound normal but it's scratchy and sexy in a million different ways.

"Oh, yeah. Everything's fine," Y/N laughs awkwardly. She reaches up with slightly trembling fingers to try and pull out her long, dangling earrings. "I just don't wanna get too far into things and have these flopping around or getting caught in the sheets..." So unsexy, is all she can think to herself bashfully as she struggles to unlatch the earrings under Bucky's relaxing stare. He'd looked so nervous—petrified, even—just a mere moment ago. Now he seems to be back in the game.

"Let me help, baby." Bucky finds her slight struggle endearing and reaches out for some sort of aid. He pulls her chin one way and brushes her hair the other and does the de-ringing himself. Carefully, as if not to damage the expensive jewelry, Bucky leans over to lay the pieces on the nightstand. "Anything else?" he asks with a teasing tilt of his upper lip.

"No..." Y/N's smile taints her voice a pretty shade of pink. It's the same color that her cheeks flush when he mutters compliments.

"Okay, pretty girl. Where were we?" Bucky crawls back over her body—eyes roaming hungrily up and down her laid out form. She's topless but the best half is covered. He plans to change that very soon.

"I think you were about to teach me some sort of lesson," Y/N replies with a sly grin. She tangles her fingers into Bucky's long, soft hair. The pieces tickle her skin and she adores the smell of lemongrass that comes from the tresses.

"Lesson?" Bucky playfully repeats. He's reaching down to hook one of his fleshy fingers into the elastic of her underwear. Slowly he tugs them down her thighs as he goes on to say, "I'm not trying to teach you anything, princess." The strangely attractive pet name sends a shiver through her core. Bucky smirks up at her through long lashes. His metal hand appears out of nowhere to grab her by the face. He's got Y/N right where he wants her—face inches from his, her lust wafting off of her body in palpable waves, and her leg kicking her underwear off of the bed and onto the floor.

Strong grip angling her lips to brush against his, Bucky speaks lowly into her awaiting kiss, "I'm making you mine."

His voice has become so low and gravelly. It's protective—no; dominant is a much more suitable term for the tone he uses. It's dirty and demanding, and Y/N feels the aftershock radiating deep within her bones. She's never had someone look at her like this before: with such assertive attention. It's alarming and exciting all the same.

"O-okay." All of her spunk from earlier seems to have dissipated. Bucky's got Y/N wrapped around his finger. She's fidgeting impatiently for him. The woman can feel his cool skinned fingers trail down her bare stomach to touch her clit. The touches are light and ghosting—hardly there. Still, she's so worked up that she moans. Bucky doesn't kiss her: no, he wants to watch her face.

"Good girl," he hums—mostly to himself. She's not really listening, especially not as Bucky speeds up a bit more. A little extra force on that middle finger of his that traces circles over and around her prettiest, most sensitive bits is cradling her sanity. Y/N takes a stuttering breath. Her hands curl tighter into his hair. "You're so wet." In time with his words Bucky has the tip of his finger tracing her soaking slit.

Y/N peels her eyes open gently. Bucky's face is all she can see. He's flushed and biting down on his lip above her lounging body.

"Who did this to you, huh?" He can't keep the smile off of his face. It sneaks into his voice. Now he's teasing her again: barely dipping his fingers inside of her hollowness between invisible strokes of her throbbing clit. Her hips ache with the need to push closer, but his body weighs her down.

A smirk is working onto her pretty pink lips and Bucky immediately knows he's in for trouble with this woman. She keeps her voice seductive and low as she whispers the fake-confession into his ear, "Tony."

If Bucky's going to keep teasing her, she's decided that two can play at this game.

Bucky's low growl is only partially a rouse. He's equal parts annoyed with this answer and turned on by her feisty behavior.

"Naughty girl," Bucky hisses into her hair. His teeth graze her neck, making her gasp, before he's pulling away completely. He laughs lightly, nearly breaking character, at her high pitched squeal that he's granted with after tossing her over onto her belly. Pressed face-first into the sheets Y/N has very little room to move. She pushes herself up onto her forearms just enough to look back behind her as Bucky squares her hips in his large hands. She makes eye contact with the thick man and can't help but smile. He doesn't look away from her lust-hooded eyes as he steadies himself on his knees—pulling down the band of his Calvin Kleins slowly. Y/N's line of sight moves from his pretty, beard-peppered face to where his cock now springs free of the cotton restraints. Without trying or even meaning to her hips push back closer to him—egging him to get started.

Flattened palm against the small of her back, Bucky leans over her folded body to kiss the nether of her neck. When he's stretched out again he can't help himself from taking a moment to admire the sight laid out in front of him. Y/N's so wet she's dripping down her thighs for him. A wave of pride rushes through Bucky's veins. He hasn't felt this good about something in so damn long. And if this is what it takes to feel this way— making Y/N feel good —then he's convinced he wants to do it every damn day.

"You know how long I've been waiting for this?" Bucky lets out the question in a breath. He grips her ass with both hands and kneads the muscles. She keens at his touch.

"Please, B-Bucky," Y/N chokes on a moan of his name.

He's struck with a pang of pity. Y/N's gripping the sheets and stretching towards him anxiously. He does care for the woman—immensely. He doesn't want to leave her waiting for too long.

"Okay, okay, baby." Bucky soothes. His thumb paws patterns against her hipbone while he gently aligns himself to her entrance. "I got you—I got you, kitten." Y/N's mind goes numb at the sound of his pretty, soothing, and coaxing voice. She's yet to hear him talk to her like that: so far it's been cocky and smug, but all of a sudden he got so soft and caring. It's just as sexy as the other tone.

Bucky's huge, flaming red cock pushes inside of her in one sharp thrust.

"F-f-fuck," Y/N stutters out a curse. She turns her face into the pillowcase to stop herself from saying more.

Bucky's sweating more than he can ever remember doing. Damp skinned and precariously turned on, he runs hands smoothly over Y/N's soft skin before properly gripping her hips. "You okay?"

He watches the back of her head as it nods into the pillow.

"I need words," Bucky responds firmly.

Her face turns out of the pillow. She peers back at him over her shoulder. "I'm ready, James."

This is what starts it all. It starts slow and gentle of course. Waters are being tested. But then, before either of them can realize what's going on, Bucky's slamming into Y/N with incomprehensible speed. The sound of the room is composed solely of skin against skin and Y/N's random curses. She winds the sheets between her knuckles and wishes she could be yanking on Bucky's hair instead.

"Tell me—tell me you're close," Bucky pants. He's intoxicated by the sight of watching himself disappear and reemerge from the prettiest, wettest pussy he's ever seen. The fact that it's Y/N's he's fucking senselessly is the only damn thing he's living for in this moment.

"Y-yes," Y/N replies quickly. She whines and jolts when she feels Bucky's icy cold metal digit reach down to press hard, fast circles against her clit. He's growing desperate to get her off: he needs to see her finish first. It's the damn near sexiest thing Y/N's ever seen. The idea behind the act itself propels her closer to her own climax, but not all the way.

"T-talk to me," Y/N's voice can be heard. If Bucky's not mistaken, she's nearly begging... "Baby—please. I wanna hear you—I wanna hear you."

Bucky pulls her hips closer—angling higher as he speaks, "You wanna hear dirty talk, sweetheart? Wanna hear how much I love my view back here: your ass in the air and the mess you've made all over your legs?" He grits his teeth as his abs clench. He's closer than he'd like to be right now. He's trying to hold off coming for as long as she needs to see her own end. "Come on, kitten. You gotta come for me—I need to see you fall apart for me."

Y/N weasels her face into the pillow again. She whines as the pressure in her lower belly builds.

"That's it, baby. I feel you clenching—you're getting close. Good girl," Bucky praises between grunts and thrust. He's burning with pride at how she's reacting to his words. He repositions himself slightly to ready for when she comes all over him. His teeth grit together. She's so fucking warm and soft wrapped around him...

"Whose girl are you? Who's doing this to you?" Bucky's not sure at this point if the dirty talk is aimed to please Y/N or himself. Either way, they both seem to benefit from the filthy game. He pulls harder on her ass cheeks when she takes a moment too long to respond. "Whose girl are you?"

"Yours—I'm yours, James," Y/N manages to choke out. She fists her hands into the bedding and feels the familiar tightening of pressure in her belly.

"That's right, baby. You're mine—you're my girl now." Bucky squeezes his fingers into her thigh, grunting louder than ever as she clenches unwillingly, and that's when Y/N begins spiraling out of control. She whimpers as the orgasm washes over her. It coats her senses in a sheen of bliss and she shakes in Bucky's hands.

Bucky lets himself go. Y/N's orgasm milks and stretches his own out longer—pulling every last drop of cum from his throbbing, twitching cock into her warm middle. He pulls himself over her where his chest is pressed to her bare back. His hand holds her neck lightly and turns her face back towards his. The kiss he plants on her soft lips as they're both falling down from their highs is the best one that either of them has ever had.

Twenty minutes later and Y/N's staring at her reflection in the mirror. She tosses the soiled hand towel she used to wash her face in the laundry basket with the others. She traces the hickeys, raised and sore, that paint her neck and chest. A sigh comes from her mouth as her hand falls to the counter.

What the hell just happened?

Bucky lingers outside of the bathroom door. He glances back once to the bed where they'd just had sex: the hottest, dirtiest, most rewarding sex either of them has ever had. After pulling out and cleaning up very little was said—just a few short words before Y/N scurried off to the bathroom.

He knocks at the door.

"You okay, b—...?" Bucky almost starts to call her babe before realizing she might not want him to in this context. He sighs and rests his forehead on the doorframe as he waits for her to return a reply.

The door opens slowly. He quickly straightens up. Y/N's wearing a soft green silk bathrobe and looks so damn pretty it brings a smile to Bucky's face. He quickly loses the gesture when he notices the strained frown on hers. "What's wrong?"

Y/N shrugs softly. She looks up at Bucky with eyes that are fresh and clean. All of the heavy makeup from earlier has been washed away. "Did you mean it?"

"What?" Bucky blinks in confusion.

"Did you mean what you said about wanting to make me your girl?" Y/N explains seriously. She seems to be holding her breath. Bucky, meanwhile, is genuinely surprised by her question—confused further by the look of complete fragility on her face and the wavering confidence in her usually spunky voice. He takes too long to speak, and Y/N accepts this as defeat. "Oh, you didn't. Oh god—you didn't mean it..." She shakes her head, hands going to brush her hair away from her face, and makes to scurry out of Bucky's way. "I'm—I'm sorry. This was a mistake..."

"No," Bucky stops her. He's reached to grab her wrist in his hand. She stops at his call. "I meant it."

Y/N pauses. "You did?"

A smile tugs on one side of Bucky's lip. "It wasn't a mistake for me. But if you would rather pretend like it never happened, I'll find a way to be okay with it."

"I don't want that." Y/N sounds completely sure of herself now. Bucky's still holding her hand. "I want you, Bucky."

Bucky steps closer. "I don't understand. You..." he shakes his head, "You treat me so different than everyone else."

Y/N laughs in a hopeless sort of way, "That's exactly why. The whole attitude thing was fun I guess, but I couldn't ever bring myself to do it to you. I suppose part of me was doing it to everyone else to get your attention and get into your head," she has to pause as Bucky pipes up.

"You got me there."

Y/N goes on with a timid smile, "And part of me was too afraid to make a move on you. You were the only one that mattered—the only one that ever made me feel that way."

Y/N looks down to where Bucky holds her hand gingerly. His thumb is soothing the sensitive skin of her inner wrist in a soft, loving manner that makes her heart leap into her suddenly parched throat. The shirtless man with rippling muscles and wild sex hair clears his throat to capture her attention again.

"So is it me and you now?" He reaches out to trace her jaw with the cool metal fingers of his other hand. Bucky pushes a lock of soft hair behind her ear, watching her eyes take on a loving glow as he closes in on her waiting lips—slowly coming on to make time to hear what she'll say.

Y/N's smile lights up the whole room that's scattered with their shed clothes. "I'm your girl, James."

Bucky chuckles just before coming in for one more kiss, "Thank god. I was plannin' on getting on my knees and begging if I had to."

Y/N smirks against his lips: her voice playful and confident once more, "Now that's a sight I wouldn't mind seeing."