chieeriebel

No one ever saw it coming, but Bucky Barnes was the picture of a perfect partner. Everyone around him knew better than to get between him and his girlfriend. To say he was in love with you was an understatement—no.

He was hopelessly devoted to you. Utterly and completely.

Despite the rough glares, the deep voice, the intimidating stature, and the whole ex-brainwashed-assassin thing, he was a total softie when it came to you. It was like taking a big, brooding Bucky Barnes, tossing him into a blender, and turning him into pure, warm mush you could drink right up.

He was clingy in the sweetest way possible. He was always close, always there for you when you needed him. He gave you the softest kisses known to mankind. He spoiled you endlessly, told you every day how beautiful you were, and made sure you never once forgot how special you were to him.

Bucky loved you. You knew that for a fact. He was good at showing it.

Except there was one problem.

Aside from all the kisses and cuddles, he never took things any further. You both had been together for a few good months now, and not once had the two of you had sex.

There were moments—more than a few—when his body gave him away with a hard-on. When you were tangled up in bed, or curled together on the couch, you felt the way his body reacted to you. When you would try to slip your hand lower, thinking maybe it’ll get somewhere, he would gently catch your wrist and say “No, sweetheart. Not yet.”

After that, you stopped making the first move. You let him set the pace for his comfort. But as the weeks stretched into months, the harder it became to ignore the feeling of insecurity creeping in.

It wasn’t like he never gave you signals. He had bought you lingerie and suggestive pajamas to wear to bed more than once. And every time you slipped them on, you told yourself, “this is it. Tonight’s the night!”

But then… it never was.

You respected his boundaries—of course you did. You loved Bucky, deeply. And you would never push him into something he wasn’t ready for. You told yourself over and over that love wasn’t measured by sex, and that what you had was still something beautiful and real.

But that didn’t make the selfish, insecure ache go away.

Because sometimes, when the lights were out and Bucky was sound asleep beside you, those stubborn thoughts crept in anyway. Ugly, unwelcomed whispers that made you wonder if maybe… you weren’t what he wanted in that way.

That perhaps, you weren’t enough to make him want you like that.

You tried to shove the feeling down, to remind yourself that the way he held you, looked at you, and loved you meant more than anything else. But it was hard to silence that insecure part of you that just wanted to feel desired—not just loved, but wanted.

Eventually, you realized you couldn’t keep pretending the feeling wasn’t there. The weight of the feeling was too damn heavy on your chest, only growing heavier each night he refuses to touch you.

You loved Bucky. God, you loved him more more than anything. And you trusted him enough to know this wasn’t something you could just bury and let fester. You’d done your research—most couples fall apart over financial strain or intimacy issues. For you, it wasn’t just about sex. It was about the self-esteem that came with it.

You didn’t understand. How could he be so loving, affectionate, and clingy, with clear physical signs of being aroused by you, yet still refuse to take things any further? There had to be something deeper he wasn’t telling you.

So, you made the rational choice to talk to him—because communication was vital in a relationship.

The two of you were curled up together on the couch, your legs draped over his, his arm lazily wrapped around your waist. His thumb drew soft circles against your skin, and for a second, you almost lost your nerve—because there it was.

That damn erection pressing subtly against your thigh, the one he always deliberately ignored.

“Bucky,” you said softly.

He hummed in response, turning his head slightly toward you. That gentle, half-asleep smile of his nearly made you want to drop the idea of confrontation all together.

But you persevered. “Can we talk about something?”

That got his attention.

He straightened slightly, blinking the sleepiness from his eyes. “Yeah. ‘Course. What’s goin’ on?”

Your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, heart beating a little too fast. “I don’t want you to think I’m upset with you,” you began carefully. “I love you. And I respect your boundaries. Always.”

His brows furrowed together, just a little—as if he already knew where this was headed but didn’t like it.

“But,” you continued softly, “I need to be honest with you. It’s getting a little hard for me. Not because I want to pressure you—never that—but because…” you hesitated, teeth catching your bottom lip. “Because sometimes it makes me feel like I’m not wanted. At least not… in a sexual way.”

There was a quiet pause, and every second that ticked by felt like it was crushing your lungs. You didn’t even want to meet his eyes—too scared of what might come out of his mouth.

The silence drowned you. Would he finally admit that he just didn’t find you attractive enough?

“What? Baby, no,” Bucky said finally, shaking his head hard. “That’s not—”

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard like he was trying to compose himself. “I don’t want you to ever think that. You’re everything to me.”

But his voice was shaky, his gaze flicking away from you for a second too long. All little things, but enough to make you anxious.

“Then why…” you trailed off, trying to steady your own voice. “Why does it feel like you don’t want me?”

His jaw clenched, and you could feel his hand squeeze slightly against your arms before softening again. “It’s not like that. I just—” he let out a small, forced awkward laugh that didn’t meet his eyes. “Can we not do this right now?”

Your heart squeezed a little. Not because he was being mean, but because you could see the way he was retreating—like a door slowly closing before you could get a foot in.

“Bucky,” you pushed. “I need you to be honest with me. I’m not trying to push you into anything. But I can’t keep pretending this doesn’t affect me. I… I just want to understand.”

He still wouldn’t look at you.

“Why don’t you want to have sex with me?” you asked bluntly—not as an accusation, but as a plea for the truth.

Bucky’s breath hitched. He finally looked up, lips parting like he wanted to speak, but no words came out.

“I…” he faltered, his hands flexing against your waist before falling away completely. “It’s not that I don’t want to.” He let out a shaky breath. “It’s the opposite, actually.”

You tilted your head slightly, confused.

He dragged a hand down his face, and you could practically see the gears turning in his head as he struggled to put his feelings into words. Finally, in a hoarse whisper, he admitted softly.

“I’m scared I won’t be able to control myself.”

His gaze dropped to the floor, shoulders tense and jaw tight. “You don’t get it,” he continued, voice so low it was like he was talking more to himself than to you. “When it comes to you, it’s… different. It’s not just wanting you—it’s needing you. I mean, just look at you—”

His eyes flicked up, skimming over your face, down your body, then back to your eyes with a raw honesty that made your breath catch. “You’re this soft, fragile little thing. If I make love to you, I wouldn’t want to hold back.”

Bucky looked into your eyes like he was pleading you to understand—and you did. You did understand. But under the weight of his confession, a spark stirred in your chest. A stubborn, competitive fire. Because you loved Bucky—all of him. Which meant you wanted to take… all of him, even the parts he thought you couldn’t handle.

You inhaled slowly, scooting a little closer to him. “Then… what if we set a boundary?”

He gave you a questioning look. “What?”

“A safe word,” you explained carefully. “Something that we can use if it gets too intense—if either of us wants to stop.”

You thought it was a good idea, and expected Bucky to be on the same page. But he sucked in a breath, his brows furrowing together in that familiar expression—one you knew meant he wasn’t fond of the suggestion.

“I’m serious,” you said, gently reaching for his hand. He didn’t pull away, but his fingers twitched against yours, still unsure. “I trust you, Bucky. More than anyone. And I want you to trust yourself, too. We can set the pace, we can stop whenever you want. If you feel like it’s too much—just say the word, and it’s over. No guilt. No pressure.”

He bit his bottom lip, his silence making you more anxious.

“You think it’s that easy?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t think it’s easy,” you shrugged, trailing your hand down to his, giving it a soft, reassuring squeeze. “I think it’s a start.”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, the sound rough. He looked down at your joined hands with a small pout that made your chest ache. “I don’t know if I can follow that,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “I don’t know if I can trust myself to stop once I start.”

You stared at him for a moment, processing his words, before finally asking, “But… is having sex with me something you want?”

Bucky’s gaze softened, a mix of frustration and longing. He didn’t need to think about it before answering, his voice rough but honest as he looked you square in the eye. “More than anything.”

Despite everything, you believed him. There was nothing more to say, so you let it go.

Since that night, though, you couldn't help but tease him. You knew it wasn’t exactly fair, but you needed to feel something—that spark, that connection, that heat between you. So, you started to frequently wear those slutty pajamas he bought you—lingerie so barely there you might as well have been naked. You would purposefully linger just a little too long when your hand brushed against his leg, letting your fingers trail down his thigh, knowing full well what it did to him.

You would snuggle closer on the couch, wiggling so your body pressed up against his, feeling his muscles tense as you did. And when you bent over—whether to pick something up or just move around—your hips would sway a little too much, your body just a little too close to his.

The little acts were almost unconscious—more instinct than strategy, really. But they were all worked without fail. You could feel that tension from him more than ever. His body would stiffen up, his usually bright puppy eyes would darken with slightly, and his jaw would clench in a sexually frustrated away.

As the days dragged on, you had noticed how much more on edge he seemed recently. Usually when you climbed into bed in your slutty pajamas, he'd welcome you and shower you in compliments. But tonight, his blanket was pulled up to his nose, his back turned squarely toward you.

“Are you calling it an early night?” you frowned, crawling onto the mattress beside him.

He mumbled something under the covers that you couldn’t quite make out. You lifted the blanket, slid underneath beside him, and felt him instantly tense up. With a soft, sleepy sigh, you wrapped your arms around his waist, settling your hands on his lower stomach as you spooned him from behind.

He immediately shuddered at your touch.

“Are you okay, baby?” you asked softly, nose pressed into his shirt, inhaling his scent.

“F-fine,” he grunted.

The contrast between your usually soft and puppy-eyed boyfriend and this pent-up, grumpy mess was amusing. Your hands subtly trailed lower, brushing the crotch of his sweatpants. He shuddered again, but didn’t pull away—he never did.

“Don’t you want to see what I’m wearing? I'm wearing one of the little night slips you bought me,” you asked softly and innocently from behind.

He sucked in a sharp breath. “Baby…”

Your hands trailed lower, your fingertips barely grazing the straining bulge beneath his sweatpants. God, he was rock hard, just the small graze of your fingertips made his hips buck and his cock twitch instinctively.

A low groan rumbled from his chest, and his eyes fluttered shut. “Sweetheart,” he whispered. “If we were to set a safe word, what should it be?”

You couldn't help the small smile that curved your lips as you gave his clothed cock a subtle squeeze that made him gasp. “Well, if we’re speaking in theoretics, it should be ‘Brooklyn.’”

Your hands hovered just above him, expecting him to use the word, but he remained silent.

Instead, he took in a deep, shaky inhale. “Okay.”

Your hands slowly dropped back onto his cock, and he immediately twitched and throbbed beneath your touch. Your thumb grazed the outline of his head, and as you moved your fingertips, you felt something cool and slick.

He was leaking.

You grinned, though he couldn’t see it. “How was your day, baby?” you asked innocently, the question sounding almost taunting.

“G-good,” he muttered, subtly rocking his hips into your hand. “So... good.”

“That’s good,” you murmured, keeping your palm heavy and still against his cock. “I missed you today. I just stayed home and cleaned. I was wearing this night slip you got me. It’s so comfortable, it feels like I’m wearing nothing.”

His breath hitched. He could already picture it—you bending over to clean and pick up items, looking domestic yet tempting in that skimpy little dress. He could picture it clearly because you had been doing exactly that these past few days—purposefully teasing, purposefully taunting. Now, with your palm still against him, you were testing the last of his patience. His hips began to rock more suddenly and deeply, his cock aching for friction. He told himself he wasn’t going to lose control. He tried to convince himself that this act alone was enough for him.

As long as he didn't turn around and look at you—wearing that flimsy dress with your perky chest visible, your ass exposed—then he was safe.

All he had to do was not look at you.

“Fuck,” he swallowed hard. “Did you now?” he questioned, clearly trying to distract himself from your touch.

His cock was growing heavy and hot beneath your touch, and with the aggressive way his hips were rocking into your palm, you couldn't help but increase the pressure. “Mhm,” you drawled. “I was being very good today.”

His jaw clenched as he tried to compose himself, his back shuddering as your hand worked him greedily. “Yeah?” he breathed, straining the word out. “You were being a good girl?”

You let out a soft little whine at the nickname, your legs clenching together to soothe the warmth creeping between your thighs. Then, you lifted your leg, draping it lazily over his, pressing yourself impossibly closer so that your breast pushed against his broad back.

You peeked over his shoulder, his hands were fisted in the sheets. You knew you were being selfish, taunting him like this—but you couldn't help it. You wanted to see him break, and the cracks were becoming more and more visible.

“Bucky,” you whined, your free hand coming up to caress the soft strands of his hair. “Why won’t you look at me?”

The stark contrast between your soft, gentle caress on his hair and your greedy hand working his erection made it impossible for him to think. His mind was spinning with one thing only: to take you.

But he wasn't going to look at you. He made sure of it.

“Don’t you want to see how I look?” you pouted, squeezing your legs more tightly against his.

He took in a deep, steady breath before responding. “I’m sure you look beautiful, baby.”

“How do you know if you haven’t even looked at me?”

“Baby,” Bucky warned, his voice rough and demanding. “Don’t test me right now. I’m trying so hard to be a good, respectful man, but I—oh, fuck!” He moaned as your palm worked faster on his cock, giving it a subtle squeeze as you pumped him through his sweatpants. “Shit, baby. You better fucking stop right now or I’ll—”

“Stop what?” you cooed innocently, your head resting on his shoulder as you stroked him from behind. “I’m not doing anything bad, am I?”

“You know exactly what you’re doing,” he gritted through clenched teeth. “Don’t push it, honey. I mean it.” But despite his warnings, he had yet to say the established safe word. “Fuck—stop.”

You gasped softly, your teasing posture deflating a little with a dramatic sigh. “Oh, you mean it? Okay, okay. If my good, respectful boyfriend is feeling threatened by my hand, I definitely wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You deliberately pulled your hand away, leaving his heavy, throbbing erection alone in the confines of his sweatpants. You even slid your draped leg off his, and the absence of your warmth made his hips spasm once, sharp and frustrated.

You paused, waiting to see if he would finally give in. When his shoulders remained tense and his body stayed still, you let out a long, disappointed exhale. Without another word, you turned back around so that both your backs faced each other.

Even though he hadn’t said ‘Brooklyn,’ you still didn’t want to risk pushing him further. You had never reached this point in your relationship where he sounded genuinely frustrated and pent up. You couldn't tell if his reaction was solely sexual frustration, or if he was actually upset.

Either way, you didn't want to gamble with the possibility of upsetting him.

You had tried. You had been trying for days, and now, you were done. Suddenly, the skimpy night slip felt like an insult to your pride and self-esteem. You pulled the blanket over your body with a shuddering sigh—a sound Bucky definitely heard.

A long, tense silence stretched between you. Both of you were completely still and neither of you dared to move. You wanted to speak up, maybe ask if you had gone too far—but Bucky was so damn quiet, you convinced yourself he had already fallen asleep.

Then, he spoke up first.

“Are you okay?”

You snuggled deeper into the mattress, trying to hide yourself even though he wasn't looking at you. “I’m okay.”

There was another pause, and you thought that would be the end of it. Then, you heard shuffling behind you. Suddenly, strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you into soft fabric and a wall of muscle. Bucky’s warm arm curled tightly around your body and pulled you flush against him.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered into your ear. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Despite the sincerity and softness in his voice, you immediately felt his erection press against you underneath the blankets. You swallowed hard.

“You didn’t upset me, Bucky,” you explained softly, keeping your body still. “I just... I don’t want to push you or force you into something you’re not ready for. But I can’t lie and say it doesn't hurt, you know?”

You felt him stiffen behind you, his arms tightening around you just slightly. “It’s not that I’m not ready,” he explained gruffly, his voice deep and raspy. “I can take you right here, fuck. I want to take you right here—but I won’t, because I know you’re not ready.”

His hand rested heavily on your hip, his thumb circling slow patterns over the fabric of the gown as he spoke. You knitted your brows, glancing over your shoulder at him with a confused look. “What do you mean I’m not ready? I’ve been ready for a long time now.”

“I’m saying, if I pulled the blankets off you and saw you right now—wearing that slutty little dress—I’d flip that gown up and fuck you right through the mattress,” his grip on your hip tightened, his voice a low growl. “I want to, baby. I want you so badly, but I can’t. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Bucky,” you whispered, turning completely around to face him. He had to clench his jaw to compose himself. “I’ve told you this before. You can’t hurt me.”

“Jesus, baby. You’re not understanding me,” he grunted, his hungry eyes slowly wandering down your throat to your collarbone. “You’ll be a crying mess. You’ll be begging me to slow down, and I won’t be able to stop.”

His warnings should have scared you, but they only made you shamelessly wetter.

You bit your bottom lip, and you felt his cock twitch against your leg at the sight of your face. “Well… it’s a good thing we established a safe word, right?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “I told you. Safe words are unreliable—”

But before he could finish his sentence, his words died in his throat as you slowly lifted the blanket, finally revealing yourself to him. The sight of the thin night slip clinging onto your curves, the strap falling down your bare shoulder, and the curve of your breasts poking through the fabric made his throat go completely dry.

“Fuck,” he grunted quietly—the word slipping out before he could stop it.

“Bucky, please. I can take it,” you reassured, holding his gaze. “I want to feel you make love to me. I want to feel every inch of you. I don’t want you to hold back. I can take it. Please.”

He let out a shaky exhale as his eyes fluttered shut, forcing himself to look away. You could tell it was taking everything in him to keep it together—but you also knew that just one more push could break him open completely.

So, you grabbed his hand and placed it back onto your hip, scooting even closer and batting your eyelashes up at him.

“I need you, Bucky,” you whined. “I need you so badly—it hurts. Please give yourself to me.”

His eyes fluttered open, and it was like something in him snapped. His eyes lost that usual soft, puppy-eyed glow and were replaced with something darker, hungrier. His gaze wandered down your body with a shaky breath, and as his eyes took in your whole form—vulnerable and inviting right in front of him—he couldn't hold back anymore.

He sat up abruptly, gripping the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers and yanking them down past his hips. His cock sprang free, heavy and hard, slapping against his stomach.

“I’ve been trying to be a good man—a good partner for you,” he snarled, his eyes burning with desire.

His free hand wrapped around his erection, pumping himself slowly and deeply. You watched, completely captivated, as his thumb rubbed the head of his cock, smearing the pre-cum.

“I’ve been doing so fucking good—holding out for months, trying to resist you. But fuck, you’re testing my patience, baby girl.”

“You asked for it,” he didn't ask or plead—he commanded, his voice a low, gravelly sound you barely recognized. His hand pushed the hem of your night slip up past your hip. “You told me not to hold back. Fine. I won’t.”

His lustful eyes wandered down your body, where your bare thighs lay exposed and the night slip was bunched messily around your waist. His gaze took you in completely—and you felt small and defenseless beneath his heavy presence. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, a low groan slipping from his throat as he admired you.

“Damn, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick. “I was right. You look fucking beautiful in this tiny dress.”

His fingertips caught the waistband of your panties, pulling them down in one swift tug past your legs and tossing them carelessly onto the floor. With rough hands, he gripped your legs and spread them wide—baring your wet slit to his ravenous eyes.

Despite being together for a few months, this was the first time you two saw each other completely bare, intimate, and vulnerable. All you could do was lay there mesmerized by the sheer size of him. He was big and hard in a way that should have scared you, and maybe he was right, maybe you wouldn't be able to handle him. But with your man hovering above you, practically panting at the sight of you—radiating an overwhelming need to claim you—you were determined to take every inch of him.

Bucky must have noticed your hesitation, because a smug grin tugged at his lips. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he taunted, fisting his cock in his hands. “You wanted this, didn’t you?”

His grip on your thigh tightened as he positioned his cock against your entrance, rubbing his tip up and down against your wet folds. You shuddered as he coated himself with your arousal, and you let out a shocked gasp as the tip of his cock probed and caught against your entrance before he pulled it back to rub against your slit again.

“Christ, baby…” he groaned, his cock purposefully catching on your entrance again before retreating. “You’re so damn wet. It would be so easy to just slip it in... to slam all the way in.”

Your legs instinctively tightened around his waist, gripping the bedsheets as if bracing yourself. “I-I’m ready, Bucky…”

A mocking and almost cruel laugh escaped his lips. He shook his head, probing his tip at your entrance again. “You’re not ready,” he rasped. “You’ll never be ready to take me—but it’s okay. I’m still a good man, a good boyfriend for you, aren’t I? I’m so good, I’ll even help you…” he slowly pushed the tip past your entrance, “… ease into it.”

A small whine escaped your lips as you felt his tip slip inside you. It was only the head of his cock, but it was enough to make your walls flutter tightly around him, subconsciously trying to invite him even deeper.

“Oh, fuck,” he moaned, eyes fluttering shut with all the restraint left in the world as he stilled his hips. “You’re so fucking tight, and that’s just the tip, baby…”

“Please…” you whined, “give me more.”

Bucky groaned—almost in frustration—as his hips slowly began to rock back and forth, fucking you with just the tip of his cock. You moaned beneath him, your back arching as you tried to subtly move your hips against his, attempting to push yourself deeper onto him.

“Oh, fuck, Bucky…!” you let out another moan as you pushed onto him, pulling more of his thick cock to stretch you out. It was more than just the tip, and not nearly halfway up his shaft, but it was enough to make your legs shake.

“Fuck… you greedy little slut,” he groaned, his hands finding your hips and tightening to keep you still. “You’re so fucking greedy, trying to take all of me already.”

His hips started to move as he held you still, fucking you with only what was already inside you and refusing to slam all the way in. The stretch burned, but it felt way too damn good. He was so big, stretching you full, and this wasn't even all of him.

Bucky gritted his teeth as he watched you whimper and whine beneath him. You were so tight your walls were clamping down on him, making it hard for him to move. He knew his size was hurting you, but how could he pull away when you were writhing beneath him so cutely?

Pleading for more when you could barely take what he had given you so far?

“What’s wrong, baby?” he cooed, leaning down to wipe a stray tear from your cheek. “You wanted this, didn’t you?”

“Y-yes…” you shuddered. “I wanted this… I can take it—oh, fuck!”

You squeezed your eyes shut as he began to push in deeper. Your wetness only made it easier for him to slide in. A low, raspy groan rumbled from his chest as he tossed his head back in pleasure, finally feeling your tight walls stretching around his cock.

He paused just before he hit the base. “Fuck, baby! God, you’re so fucking tight…” he breathed. “I need to put it all in, okay?”

Just as he was about to move his hips, he saw your eyes squeeze shut again as you braced yourself. “No,” he snarled, his voice dropping low as one hand cupped your face, shaking your head lightly. “Don’t you dare close your eyes, baby. You’re going to keep them open while I stuff the rest of my cock in your pussy. You wanted this, doll. So you’re going to get it.”

Your eyelids fluttered open, eyes glossy from tears. You looked up, and your once gentle, loving boyfriend was staring down at you like you were his prey. It was a dark, hungry gaze, as if the only thing he wanted to do was claim you, ruin you until your body was branded as his.

“I… I can take it,” you sniffled.

He smiled, a dark, wicked curve of his lips. He drew his hips back until only the tip remained inside you. He then lifted your thighs slightly, spreading you even wider for him, before he slammed forward until the base of his cock was buried deep inside you.

“Ohhh… fuck!” he groaned, letting himself be fully buried before immediately grounding his hips, rocking himself slowly against you.

Your back arched off the bed, eyes instinctively squeezing shut as he shoved the rest of his thick cock deep inside. As his hips rocked, you felt every pulsing ridge of him, and your walls clamped down on him, struggling to accommodate his large size. To say it didn't hurt was an understatement, but you were fiercely determined to take him. You wanted to prove to your boyfriend that you could be a good girl and take every last inch like you said you would.

“... Bucky!” you gasped. “T-too much… be slow, okay?”

He snarled as he leaned over you, the heavy weight of his body completely pressing down on yours. His flesh hand slid through the strands of your hair, giving it a rough tug. You winced, your eyes shooting open.

“That’s it. Look at me,” he demanded, grounding his hips against yours.

He moaned softly as he fucked himself into you. His vibranium fingers rested coolly on your hip, and you shivered at the touch despite the warmth of his body pressing down on yours. You let out a cry as he gave you one sharp, sudden thrust, your head tossing back before his grip on your hair went tighter, forcing your gaze to steady on his.

“I-I said to slow down…” you swallowed. “Y-you’re too—”

“Too big, am I?” he smiled, and it wasn’t the usual soft smile he’d give you. No. This smile was mocking, almost condescending. “I know I’m too big. But I warned you, baby. I told you you were this small little thing…” another sharp thrust that made you gasp, “... so small you can’t even take all of me.”

You tried wiggling around, attempting to make yourself comfortable—though it was futile. And the slight shifts and movements only made his cock throb harder inside you, each friction-filled rub making his shaft twitch with pleasure.

“Fuck… so… s-so small, so tiny and tight,” he grunted, his hips moving faster, the sounds of skin slapping against skin filling the room as he continued to belittle you. “Thinkin’ you can take all of me… but look at you—you’re a crying, whimpering little mess.”

Bucky had never spoken to you this way. He always showered you with praise and soft words, but the sheer condescension in his voice now only made you wetter, driving an undeniable craving for more.

“M-more,” you begged despite your weak voice and legs trembling around his waist. “More… please—”

“Yeah?” he laughed, the sound sharp and disbelieving. “You want more?”

Before you could reply, his grip on your hair and waist tightened. His body fully enveloped yours, and he began pounding into you, hard and fast. You cried out, your hands desperately clutching his back as you cursed and babbled his name—but he didn't slow down for a second.

“Fuck—so fucking good, baby girl,” he groaned. “You don’t know how bad I wanted to do this…” He tilted his head down, pressing soft kisses to your neck that starkly contrasted the brutal, relentless pounding of his hips. “To grab you from behind every time you’re cleaning…” another kiss, “...throw you down on the floor and fuck you until you cry, until your throat’s raw from screaming my name.”

You were doing exactly that.

Tears welled in your eyes as he fucked you hard and deep. “Bucky!”

“Yes,” he breathed heavily. “Scream my name.”

“B-Bucky, oh my god—it’s too—I…”

“Shit, what a babbling little mess you are.”

He nuzzled his face in your neck, eagerly sucking, leaving filthy, bruising marks along your sensitive column. He was fucking you so hard and deep, mumbling dirty words into your neck—sounds you could barely distinguish over the frantic slap of skin, your own desperate moans, and the creaking of the bed beneath his assault.

Your head spun with overwhelming desire, and the moment his hand released your hair and trailed down between your bodies, his fingers finding your sensitive clit, you knew it was over. Your eyes widened at the overwhelming sensation, and your walls clenched down on his cock, tighter than ever, as you felt yourself coming undone.

“B-baby!” you gasped, clinging to him desperately. “I’m gonna—”

“You’re gonna cum, baby? Already?” he taunted, though his fingers never faltered in their relentless, merciless movement.

“Bucky… please, fuck, I’m going to come—it feels too good. Oh my god!” you gasped.

He sat up, his arms sweeping under your thighs, lifting them and folding you nearly in half. Your legs trembled, suspended in the air, while he slammed into you—deeper than before—in that punishing position.

You cried out his name, “Bucky! Oh my god—please, I can’t—”

“You can,” he grunted, his voice commanding, “and you will.”

He fucked into you, harder and deeper, indecent noises and rough words spilling from his lips in a relentless litany of lust. You felt him throb and pulse deep inside. Even through the haze, you knew he was close, too, but he wouldn’t let himself go. Not until you did.

“Fuck—come for me, baby. Now,” he demanded, the words hard and mean. “What the hell are you waiting for, sweetheart? Trying to hold out for me?”

“N-no, I…” you blubbered, his cruel, deprecating words sending an agonizing jolt of lust through your entire body.

His words alone were the final push. Your legs trembled, your eyes still wet with tears of pleasure and pain as you screamed his name. You clamped down on him, hard enough to wrench a loud groan from his chest, and came all over his cock.

“Fuck! Jesus, baby…” he snarled.

Bucky’s hips tried to continue their relentless rhythm, but he was forced to still because your inner walls were so unbearably tight. You panted and sniffled beneath him, trying to close and relax your legs, but he held them rigidly in place.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“… tired,” you whimpered.

“Yeah?” he smiled again, and this time it was with a softer adoration—his grin almost boyish. “You’re sleepy?”

You nodded.

He tilted his head, that soft admiration gleaming in his eyes. “But I haven't come yet, baby.” His free hand gently trailed to your cheek, wiping the tears away. “You’re not going to leave your boyfriend high and dry now, are you?”

“B-but…” you panted, your legs shaking uncontrollably. “I don’t think I can—”

His fingers cupped your cheeks, squeezing them to silence you. “Baby,” he warned, “I told you I couldn’t hold myself back once I started.” He then pulled his cock out slowly, the loud, wet sound of your arousal filling your ears as your face instantly warmed with embarrassment.

Before you could protest, he grabbed your hips with strong hands, hauling and flipping your body until your stomach hit the mattress with a soft thud. You yelped as his hands gripped your waist, hiking your hips and presenting your backside bare for him.

“We’re not done,” he grunted from behind you, grabbing his cock and positioning the head at your entrance for round two. “Not until I come.”

“Bucky, I—” your words died in your throat as he drove into you again in one fluid motion, filling you completely.

The stretch burned even more than before, and your cunt, overwhelmingly sensitive, forced you to bury your face into the pillows. Your hands squeezed the fabric as you arched your back, taking every painful inch of him again.

“Oh my god! T-too much…”

“But it feels so good, doesn’t it?” he moaned, fucking you deep. “Tell me how good it feels, baby…”

You were a babbling, drooling mess, barely able to form words, staining the pillows with your tears.

Bucky let out a disapproving sound from behind. His hand slunk around your waist, his finger pressing against your clit and rubbing it in rough, merciless circles. Your whole body convulsed at the sensation, utterly overstimulated as you shook and trembled. Bucky’s vibranium arm circled around your body, the metallic coolness making you tense up as he pulled your hips back and forced you to hold still.

“Tell me, baby,” he demanded, his voice raspy.

You tried to answer, you truly did, but only a ragged gasp escaped. Your eyes were fluttering, and your body trembled violently in his hold. He held you tighter, leaning down to bite softly on your bare shoulder.

“Fuck... I’m gonna cum, baby,” he moaned, his movements growing sloppy and desperate, losing all rhythm. “Christ, it feels so good, doesn’t it? You can’t even say anything because you’re so—fuck, so drunk on my cock... can’t even think straight either, can you?”

Your inner walls clenched and pulsed around his cock at his taunts, and the sensation shattered what little control Bucky had left. He gave you one final, rough thrust, his cock burying deep inside you as he let himself come undone, making your whole body jerk. Even as he held you impossibly full, his fingers never stopped their merciless pacing.

You were so stuffed with him, unable to form a single coherent thought. You weren’t sure how much you could take. He began to rock his hips again, a slow, agonizing grind against your overstimulated flesh.

“Yes, yes—you’re taking me so well, baby girl. Fuck, my cum is buried so deep—”

“...B-brook…”

His hips stilled.

His hands paused.

He held his breath, his face still pressed against your shoulder.

“W-what was that?” he rasped, waiting.

“... Brooklyn.”

The word broke him instantly.

Bucky snatched his hand from your clit and yanked his throbbing cock out in one urgent motion. A small, vulnerable whimper escaped you at the sudden, aching loss. His vibranium arm was quick and soft, turning you over. In the next moment, he had pulled you flush against his chest, both large arms wrapping tightly around your trembling body.

“Fuck, baby. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice dry and thick with remorse.

He looked down to see your tear-streaked face and felt a sharp clench in his heart. His eyes drifted to your neck, the soft skin now riddled with dark, bruising marks left in his wake. He let out a shuddering breath, overwhelmed by the sight of you—utterly ruined by his intensity.

“Fuck,” he muttered, the curse directed only at himself. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I didn't mean to go that far. Are you okay? Shit…”

Your body shook, and your heart clenched at the sound of his distress.

You knew Bucky would never hurt you intentionally, but the overwhelming sensations left you physically weak. And truthfully, despite the intensity, it was the most mind-blowing sex you'd ever had.

“That was… good,” you managed quietly, your voice shaky and breathless.

He frowned down at you. “Good? Baby, how can you say that?” his voice wavered. “I… I hurt you…”

His thumb brushed the corner of your eye, wiping the wetness away. With a trembling arm, you lifted your hand, gently wrapping it around his wrist as you looked up at him.

“No… it was good,” you repeated with a breathless laugh, realizing how unconvincing you sounded. “It was good, Bucky, it was just… a lot for me, that’s all.”

His eyes softened, dropping to your hand wrapped around his wrist. He continued to soothe your cheek with his thumb. “I told you we shouldn’t have…” his voice broke, and he swallowed hard. “We shouldn’t have done this. I’m so sorry.”

“Bucky, stop apologizing,” you cooed gently, tilting your head up to press a messy, sluggish kiss to his lips. “It’s okay. You didn't hurt me.”

“Honey, look at you. You’re covered in…” he made a face, ashamed of himself. “… hickeys. And your hair’s a mess.” He raised his hand, trying to smooth the strands down.

“Bucky,” you said firmly, grabbing his hand and meeting his gaze. “Stop. I’m okay, baby.”

You gently moved his hands away from your hair and pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles. He let out a ragged sigh at the feel of your lips. “It was good. Really good,” you continued, your voice shaky but sincere. “And I want to do it again, and again, and again. More times than I can count. I just needed a little break, okay?”

He pursed his lips, clearly wanting to argue, but he held back. He looked deep into your eyes before nodding quietly. “Okay,” he repeated, but the word was strained, as if he were trying to ground himself. “Okay. I understand.”

A long pause followed—a silent moment where you two simply stared into each other’s eyes. He occasionally leaned in to press a soft kiss to your cheek, his finger dragging over your face reassuringly and gently, as if you were the most fragile thing in the world, and he hadn’t completely ruined you just moments ago.

“I know you said it was okay,” he whispered. “But I still feel like shit for losing control.”

You gave him a tired smile, your hands rising to cup his cheek. “But you listened to the safe word,” you pointed out. “You stopped the minute I muttered it, and you were just over here telling me that safe words were ‘unreliable.’”

He exhaled, breath shaky. “I know. As good as it felt, I didn’t want to hurt you. God. That’s the last thing I want to do.”

You leaned in, pressing a soft, slightly wet kiss directly to his lips—a gesture that held none of the rough lovemaking and only pure, quiet affection. “I know that, Bucky. I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

He looked down at the state of the night slip, now messily bunched around your waist with the strap falling loose from your shoulder. Your hair was disheveled, your neck was marked with bruises from his lips—and yet, to Bucky, you were the most beautiful and precious thing he had ever laid eyes on.

“This…” his fingertips fiddled lightly with the lace hem. “This dress is very dangerous.”

You smiled. “You were the one that bought it for me.”

Bucky huffed a laugh.

“I know. And all I had to do was not look at you.”

thank you for reading <3

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⁀➴ Bucky Barnes

✗♡ your divorce is my birthday present by @aquaticmercy summary: Bucky’s birthday just happens to be the same day your divorce becomes official. +blue: this fic played out like a movie in the best way, the buildup of their relationship is just sooo perfect! it has all the yearning and slow burn that just makes you absolutely melt! also sassy bucky for the win!

✗♡ you're married?! by @astronautlawliet summary: Bucky and reader are secretly married. Stolen moments and private nights filled with softness Bucky shows no one else, until Yelena starts becoming suspicious. +blue: this fic just has the sweetest domestic fluff, and all the fun dynamics of a secret relationship. it's everything Bucky deserves and more. ✗♡ house call by @heldbybarnes summary: you’ve been setting off your smoke alarm on purpose just to get sergeant barnes at your door — broad shoulders, wet gear, and all. but tonight, the game catches up to you. +blue: this broke my brain in the best way possible. every line just pulls you into the next until you're in deep. I will never look at firefighters the same way again. ✗♡ the winter between us by @/heldbybarnes summary: he doesn’t remember you — not your face, not your name, not the life you built together. but when you cry, something in him aches. so you stay. and you make him fall in love with you twice. +blue: I don’t have words to explain all the things I felt about this. Truly the most incredible writing. Kennedy has a way with angst that hits me right in the chest every single time. ✗♡ no one sees by @/heldbybarnes +blue: this one broke my heart into tiny little pieces. It's also one of the most realistic depictions of Bucky’s trauma and PTSD that I have read and captures the pain and loneliness of loving someone you can’t reach in the most beautiful way… ✗♡ the house on haviland street by @/heldbybarnes +blue: this is one of the most heartwarming beautiful fics i've read. ✗♡ like he means it by @marvelstoriesepic summary: you can’t take another night of hearing Bucky fuck a girl who isn’t you. +blue: this made my heart acheee, the angst of longing for someone who’s right there but also out of reach was just so perfect ✗♡ if there's a letter in your bag for me by @pinksplace summary: you find a box of long forgotten love letters all addressed to the same man, Bucky Barnes. +blue: this one has stuck with me ever since i read it, it’s such a creative interpretation of a prompt on “love letters” and is written so so beautifully. i just love the idea of bucky knowing he’s so loved and being reminded of who he is ✗♡ feeling kinda freaky (maybe it's the club lights) by @/pinksplace +blue: this one in particular has me in a chokehold and is one i revisit (the fact that it's inspired by chappell roan just makes me love it all the more), but i implore you to check out the full pinktober masterlist because it's one of the sexiest things i've read. ✗♡ show me again by @artficlly summary: you were born a mutant, gifted with the power to manipulate bodily sensations. until now, you've only ever used it to cause pain. but now, stuck in a remote safehouse with bucky for the next few months, tension crackles between you. when you finally confess that your ability can also bring pleasure, he looks at you differently, more than a little curious to experience it first-hand.  +blue: just 17k words of absolutely captivating writing. every part of reader's magic is written so beautifully and is so immersive that i could FEEL it as i was reading! highly highly recommend!

✗♡ please, please, please by @nonotwithoutu summary: You work at a high profile sex club, the kind where tastes are perfectly tailored and privacy is guaranteed...at the steep cost of the membership fee, that is. Working the glory hole is hardly the most glamorous part of the job. Most times such strict anonymity is less of a kink than it is a mask, a veneer of sensuality for assholes, unfaithful spouses, and people with something to hide. You don't know his name. You've never seen his face. Sometimes he's consistent like he can't stay away, and other times he disappears for weeks on end. So why can't you get him out of your head? +blue: i can't even count the amount of times i've re-read this fic. i've recommended this fic to everyone i know. the tension is built up so well and the writing is so immersive and intense in the best way that I had to just stare at the wall after reading as if i had just come back from an encounter with bucky. it is so so hotttt and also has the most perfect little angst easter eggs.

✗♡ snickerdoodles by @brnssldr summary: you bake bucky his favorite cookies even though you're allergic to the cinnamon in them. when he finds out, he's not letting it slide. +blue: oh my god the absolute fluff that is this fic. it is so cozy and warm and comforting and i just love bucky being so so loved!

✗♡ rewrite the narrative by @drabblesandsnippets +blue: bucky being so down bad for reader and knowing exactly how to bring you out of your head and be in the moment with him. this was so so incredibly hot but also felt so realistic in the best way?

✗♡ (i only came to this) party 4 u by @street-smarts00 summary: For the first few months you worked with the avengers, they barely knew you. Beyond what you were like during a mission, you were a mystery to them. It was truly marvelous how well you worked with the team and yet there was so little they knew about you.  You barely went to team bonding and you NEVER went to Tony Stark's parties. Well, not until last night. And you’re never going again.  Because of James Bucky Barnes. +blue: you know when you just want to yell at the characters because they're both so oblivious and it's sooo obvious they want each other?? this fic is that, the mutual pining is just so perfect!! also i fell in love with the idea of shy reader who only goes to the party for bucky!!

✗♡ operation: kiss by @queen-of-the-avengers summary: you have a weird way of communicating with your upstairs neighbor, and all of your friends start to plan on getting you two together. Operation Kiss is underway, even though there are a few hiccups on the way. +blue: i love love love a neighbour!bucky fic and this one is one of my absolute faves. it is so incredibly sweet and fluffy and had me squealing while reading.

✗♡ unauthorized response by @lolobeey summary: the experimental neurobond was an accident. Getting stuck with Bucky Barnes was just your luck. Now you’re linked—body, mind, and something worse: sexual tension. You’ve got 72 hours to resist him. And every hour, it gets harder to remember why you should... +blue: this fic genuinely was so immersive that i felt like I had a neurobond with bucky and felt every single intense emotion. enemies to lovers, forced proximity and feeling every bit of bucky's desire in your own body. ding ding ding ticks all my boxes!

✗♡ cabin fever by @blowingbarnes summary: Bucky and you have been sneaking around in secret for a while. Not for any particular reason aside from not wanting all of the questions from the team. But now, your schedules haven't been lining up. +blue: i'm gonna say it, this is the best smut i have ever read on this site. bbl is the smut queen fr fr. no but the relationship between reader and bucky is so perfect and this somehow made me so emotional while being completely soaked at the same time??

✗♡ substance F52.8 by @/blowingbarnes summary: How many times has Steve told you not to touch weird shit in old labs? +blue: bbl writes build up and desire in the most incredible way, this one will have you clawing at the walls, going absolutely feral (just like bucky in this fic) this was my first sex pollen fic i read and i am now hooked forever (seriously, i've re-read it more times than i can count)

✗♡ ya gotov otvechat' by @/blowingbarnes summary: The Soldat had been observing you for weeks. One day, looking at you from the rooftop one building over isn't enough anymore. +blue: after i read this, i genuinely just had to sit and stare at the wall (with my ruined panties) because my brain was so thoroughly gone after reading this.

⁀➴ series

✗♡ counting the red flags by @imnotjustreadingg-volume-two summary: Y/N has dates on dates but she’s unhappy, because she can’t find a good man. Maybe she should look elsewhere. +blue: one of the first series i read for bucky and it has stuck with me! gin writes slow burn so perfectly, the angsty plot twists will have you screaming and throwing your phone (in the best way).

✗♡ hold the line by @unificsation summary: he called on a whim and ended up thawing desires long lost. you thought it was just another routine, until your body showed you otherwise. lines tangle, cross, and blur—and not just on the phone. or: congressman james buchanan barnes finds a curious business card. +blue: i don't know how to explain how much i loved this series. the idea of bucky being so down bad for you even over the phone and you feeling something different to what you usually do to the point of breaking the rules for him. this series was so so hot and i love the dynamic so much.

✗♡ rodeo the red carpet (farmer bucky au) by @singulartoast summary: A storm blew you off course and into his bed leaving an invisible string tying you to rugged farmer Bucky Barnes. Can he rodeo the red carpet while you write melodies in meadows? +blue: farmer bucky oh how i love you! these fics just play out like the most perfect rom-coms and farmer bucky (and toast) will have you giggling, swooning and clawing at your sheets. I've said this before but this is my favourite AU I've read on here!

✗♡ o come all ye faithful by @/epiphanyrogers summary: you'd both agreed it was for the best. bucky's new role as congressman, yours as US ambassador in london, meant that time zones, distance, and duty had slowly, but inevitably, unravelled what had once been a passionate marriage. but a divorce would be “bad for optics”. so the decision was made - publicly married, privately not. it works. mostly. until bucky shows up unannounced to your embassy party, finding you very cosy with your lawyer. and it turns out bucky barnes doesn't share what's his. +blue: if you want a fic that will make you feel ALL the things, this is the one. Bucky is characterised so perfectly to the point where he is so infuriating, but you also just want to hold him and maybe push him against a wall. the smut in these are so so delicious and the absolute heartbreak of losing someone you thought you'd have forever had my chest achinggg. this is one of the best exploration's of bucky's character and sense of self after everything he's been through.

⁀➴ Steve Rogers

✗♡ a fever he can't sweat out by @epiphanyrogers summary: the HYDRA mission was successful. steve's a little off, sure, but medical cleared him forty minutes ago. it's just exhaustion. except his heart won't stop pounding, heat's crawling under his skin, and his jeans suddenly feel far too tight. and every cell in his body is screaming that the only cure is you. +blue: sex pollen is one of my favourite tropes and Maddie did this so so perfectly! sex pollen!steve has me in a chokehold. mads characterises steve so so perfectly, even when he's absolutely feral and not himself and muttering under his breath ahhhhh okay i'll shut up now because i could go on about this fic forever. READ IT!!

✗♡ repercussions by @love-stucky summary: you couldn't behave, now steve's making sure you face the consequences. +blue: this is one of the first steve fics I read and I swear it just got me hooked! oh my godsss this is so hot, i was biting my fist while reading. the way Jazz writes reader being so desperate for steve is incredible (and so relatable fr)

so i'll admit I haven't read too many steve fics yet, but trust me that's gonna change soon and I'll be adding my faves here as I go

Oneshots -

🌷 Simon × Blind Reader

🌷 Simon "Got issues" Riley × Wife Reader

🌷 Getting a tattoo for him

🌷 Simon × Desi! Reader Part 2

🌷 Simon and his civilian neighbor

🌷 Sleepy! Simon snores like a pig

🌷 Drunk Simon (Give him his wife)

🌷 Simon is a gentleman?

🌷 Watching Godfather with Simon

🌷 Decorating his mask with kisses

🌷 Hybrid Simon

🌷 Beach trouble with Simon

🌷 Afraid of Babies

🌷 Simon's neighbour is not the average Y/N Part 2

It’s been two months since the meet-cute, two months since you slipped and fell into his bed. Since then, it’s been good. God, it’s been good.

You flirt over text. You bring takeout over to his place and canoodle on the couch. When the snow gets heavy, he brings you groceries and bends you over your kitchen counter. You occasionally go on cute little dates, and you’ve become a connoisseur of the truck-cab-makeout-session.

But you feel the conversation looming. You can already see the question marks forming in his eyes when he looks at you a little too long, a little too soft. What are we? How do you feel about me? Where is this going? It’s a conversation you’re notoriously bad at, a conversation you usually try to avoid at all costs. 

You like Bucky. Of course you do. He's kind and considerate and sweet and drop-dead-sexy and holy-mother-of-god good in bed. You very much want to keep seeing him. You’re just… not great with change. Or vulnerability.

Of course, you can only avoid the conversation for so long.

“So, how are things with Tall, Dark, and Beefy?” Natasha asks, gnawing on a cherry stem as you wrap up yet another painfully slow shift.

You give her a slightly pathetic look. “Yesterday, he fixed my shower’s water pressure and then railed me within an inch of my life.”

She nods in understanding. “You’re in trouble.”

“I know,” you groan, dropping your head into your arms on the bartop.

“Are we considering the B word yet?” Natasha's voice gets that tiptoeing, careful quality she puts on when she knows what she’s saying might freak you out. “He seems like boyfriend material to me.”

Your head snaps up and you glare. “Nat, I wanted you to talk me down from the ledge, not push me off it.”

“You and your bizarre commitment issues.” Nat rolls her eyes and leans over the bartop towards you. “You really like this guy. He's obsessed with you. What’s the problem?”

“I like what we have now. It's fun. low stakes.”

“You don’t win big with low stakes, kid.” She slides off the barstool and slings her purse strap over her shoulder. “And as much as I'd love to sit here and continue to therapize you, I have a date.”

You sigh and resume polishing glasses. “Don’t do anything I wouldn't do.”

“Oh, I intend to,” she calls over her shoulder with a lascivious wink.

After you clock out, you resolve that maybe it’s a good idea to stay home tonight, to try and introduce some space, in order to delay the inevitable.

Of course, you wind up in Bucky's bed anyway, talked into spending the night yet again because it’s too late and too cold, and he is too warm and delicious and him.

Morning finds you in front of the coffee machine in nothing but socks and Bucky’s ridiculously soft henley, trying to figure out the stupid spaceship buttons that will make the coffee happen.

Bucky’s sleepy morning voice rumbles from the kitchen doorway. “You’re wearing my shirt.”

You glance up, feeling a little caught. “Sorry, I was—“

“Don’t be,” he mutters, wrapping you in an intimate embrace from behind. “I like it.”

It’s hard not to melt into him, especially as he starts to nuzzle against your neck, his lips pressing against that spot that makes you go weak in the knees.

“Hi,” you greet him softly.

“Hi.” He releases you from his hold, takes over the coffee situation, and drags his eyes over you with a look that is not appropriate for daytime. “You can hold onto that, if you want,” he says, his eyes dropping to his shirt hanging off your left shoulder. “Looks better on you than it ever did on me.”

He wants you to keep his shirt. An act dangerously approaching boyfriend territory. You try not to visibly stiffen as you lean against the countertop. “I’ll bring it back once it’s washed. At this rate, I gotta start keeping a change of work clothes in the car.”

“Or you could keep them here,” he suggests lightly, “so they’re not freezing cold when you put them on.”

Keeping clothes at his place is even more perilously close to boyfriend territory. You shrug non-committally. “Maybe.”

Bucky examines you for a moment, sighs, and turns to face you fully. “Okay, I gotta say something here.”

Here we go. No avoiding it now. “…Okay.”

He takes a deep breath before speaking. “I like you. So damn much. And unless I'm totally misreading a lot of stuff, you like me too.”

“I do,” you agree, although your reluctance to have this conversation seems to have stolen some of your conviction.

“I want to put a name to this thing,” he says softly, his hands finding your shoulders. “I want to be able to brag to my friends about the amazing dinner my girl cooked for me. I want to feel like you’re not just passing through. I wanna be yours. But every time I mention anything resembling a next step, I feel you pulling away from me.”

His blue eyes pierce yours. “The way you are right now.”

Guilt churns uncomfortably in your stomach. You don’t want to be pulling away. It's a leftover reflex, an instinct you can’t seem to shake off, even though you know he doesn’t deserve it.

“Bucky…” you murmur apologetically, reaching for him. 

He lets you drape your arms across his shoulders, his hands settling with familiarity at your waist. “I’m not upset, and I'm not judging. I just wanna know if I'm spinning my wheels here.”

You decide to be truthful, in spite of your nervous system whispering that it's better to stay guarded. “I… I struggle a little with the label thing.” You have trouble fully meeting his eyes, but you say it anyway. “Doesn’t hurt as bad when someone lets you down if you never give them one.”

Bucky nods understandingly, his arms tightening around you like a reassurance. “You know I'll never let you down if I can help it.”

“I like you, Bucky. I do.” Your fingers curl into his hair affectionately, but you find yourself unable to resist the urge anymore to dig your heels in. “I like what we are right now. I'm afraid it’ll get ruined by the big stuff. The real stuff.”

He withdraws just a little, clearly wounded. “This doesn’t feel real to you?”

“That’s—“ You close your eyes, frustrated with yourself. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Generously, he seems to let it go — perhaps more generously than you deserve. He doesn’t remove himself from your embrace, just fixes you with those blue puppy-dog eyes that make you want to surrender every time. 

“I want your real stuff. The messy parts, the parts you hide because you think they’re too much or not enough. The parts that you think will scare me off. I wanna show you I don't scare easy.”

You resist the urge to frown. “Bucky, I don’t know—“

Bucky leans in and gently kisses your cheek. “Just think about it, okay? That's all I'm asking for right now.”

“Okay,” you reply after a moment. “I’ll think about it.”

Seemingly satisfied for now, Bucky returns his attention to the now-ready coffee, pouring two mugs and sliding one to you. You accept it with a thin smile and try to ignore the feeling of dread in your gut.

“You look like someone peed in your jar of infused tequila.”

Nat plops herself in the barstool in front of you with little ceremony, half-smirking, half-concerned at your downtrodden expression.

“Thanks,” you reply flatly as you cut your limes with slightly more aggression than usual.

“What’s eatin’ you, kid?” she asks.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing. You are not in the mood to talk about this, especially at the end of a long shift with yet another ass-clenching snowstorm looming outside, but you know Nat won’t give up until she wheedles it out of you.

“Bucky sort of… asked me to be his girlfriend,” you mumble.

Natasha’s eyes widen. “That's huge! So why do you look like you’re attending a funeral? You said yes, right?”

“I said I'd think about it.”

For five full seconds, Natasha stares at you. Her face cycles through disbelief, exhaustion, and ends in frustration. Swearing under her breath in Russian, she rubs her temples and groans. “Why are you being like this?”

“I’m not being like anything, Nat,” you protest. “I’m just not sure—“

“Okay, it’s time for some tough love.”

Nat fully climbs onto the bartop, sitting in front of you with her legs dangling over. She puts her hands on your shoulders like she means to shake some sense into you, giving you her sternest look. “Bucky is a great guy. He's your boyfriend in everything but name. And you’re being mean by letting him dangle like this.”

“Mean?” you repeat, a little indignant. “I can't change how I feel, Nat.”

“How you feel? What are you talking about?” She gesticulates wildly with her hands, her voice growing louder in her frustration. “You're crazy about this guy! Every time you’re in a room together, it’s like everyone else disappears. And you’re letting your baggage get in the way of something that could be really good for you.”

There’s a part of you that knows, objectively, that she’s probably right. That you could be in the middle of wrecking a really good thing. But the thing about baggage is that it’s notoriously hard to let go of, because you feel like you need it to protect yourself. You can’t bring yourself to pry your fingers off yet. 

“I should start closing up,” you mutter, turning back to your cutting board.

Natasha, sensing that she might have loved a little too tough, reaches for you. “Hon—“

You shrug her off, barely glancing in her direction. “Say hi to Steve for me, okay?”

She watches you for a moment with a complicated expression, then sighs in surrender, clambering down off the bartop and reaching for her coat.

You’re in a pretty foul mood when you clock out, and it only turns fouler when you have to dig your car out of the snow that accumulated during your shift. It only makes it harder not to think about the Bucky situation.

The drive home is nerve-wracking. You go as slowly as you need to, give yourself generous amounts of room for stopping, and try not to panic whenever you feel a minor slip beneath your tires. 

But there’s no accounting for certain variables, primarily other drivers.

You nearly jump out of your skin when an impatient driver lays on the horn and races up behind you. They decide to pass you, nearly swiping into the side of your car. On instinct, you swerve to avoid contact, and you feel your tires begin to slip in a major way, your car fishtailing on the snow and ice.

Your heartbeat races in your ears as you try to remember what to do. Bucky's voice echoes in your mind — don’t brake, steer into the skid. And you try, but you’ve never done this before, never had to. You overcorrect, and your car careens into a snowbank left on the side of the road by the plowtrucks.

Your breath comes in shallow gasps as you clutch the wheel in front of you. You didn’t hear serious impact, and it seems like your car is undamaged. You're fine, you tell yourself, you’re fine.

But when you try to reverse to pull out of the snowbank, your tires groan and spin uselessly. And the panic really starts to set in.

Carefully, you step out of the car to assess how bad the predicament is. You squint through the still falling snow, the wind practically cutting your cheeks. The hood is completely invisible under the partially collapsed snowbank, and the tires are buried in inches of snow. You yank your pathetic little snow shovel out of your backseat and try to dig out the tires, working until you can’t feel your fingers. A second attempt with the gas pedal and the car in reverse yields no movement.

“No, no, nonono!” You slam your hands on the wheel and feel the tears begin to spill down your face. The typical unhelpful, panic-driven thoughts start to spiral out through your brain, playing on a loop. You should never have moved to a snow state. You can’t even drive in the snow. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

You can’t do this on your own.

That thought shocks you out of your paralysis, and you reach with shaking hands into your purse for your cell. You pull up Bucky's contact and dial without a second thought.

He picks up on the second ring, voice betraying his fatigue from a long day behind the plow. “Hey.” 

“Bucky, I need your help.” You try to hold in the sobs, but it doesn’t work. They wrench out of your throat anyway.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asks, immediately alert, immediately concerned.

“My car, it fishtailed and I— I couldn't get control of it and now I'm stuck in this snow bank—”

“Are you hurt?”

“No, I'm fine, I just— will you please come?” you plead, unable to care anymore about how pathetic you probably sound.

You can already hear the jingle of keys, the rustle of his coat. “Yes, baby, I'm coming. Can you send me a pin of your location?”

“Okay,” you whimper. It takes you longer than it normally would with how bad your hands are shaking, but you manage to send it off.

“Got it. I'm on my way. It's not far,” he assures you.

You wipe your tears on your coat sleeve. “Thank you.”

“I want you to listen to me carefully.” Bucky's voice is calm, with an undercurrent of urgency. In the background, you can hear his truck engine rumbling to life. "Is your car warm enough right now?”

“I— yes, I think so.”

“Okay. I want you to turn off the engine for now. You can turn it back on if you get cold.”

You follow his instructions and kill the engine.

“Now, I need you to get out of the car to look at something for me, just for a minute. Can you see if the tailpipe is clear of snow?”

“It's clear. I already tried shoveling the car out a little.”

“Okay, good. I'll be there in around ten minutes, okay?”

“Will you stay on the phone with me?” you ask, your breath leveling out a little. Even as your tears start to subside, the leftover panic clings to your chest, and you don’t want to be alone with the silence.

“Of course I will,” he promises.

You see a pair of headlights manifest in the rearview, and it takes everything you have not to immediately jump out of your car and run in their direction. 

Bucky leaves the engine running and hops out of the cab, moving with urgency until he’s at your door. As soon as it opens and you stand up, he pulls you into his arms, letting out a shaking breath that said without words, oh thank god. The tears start flowing again, despite your best efforts.

“I’ve got you. You’re okay,” he assures you, his gloved hand cradling the back of your head. No mention of the words you’d exchanged the other day, no careful distance. Just him, his chest solid and warm underneath your cheek, his arms secure around you.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” you half-sob, your voice small, your frame trembling now that you don't have to be the only thing holding you together.

His other hand draws a soothing path down your back, repetitive, comforting. “You cold, baby?”

You shake your head and bury your face in his chest.

Bucky holds you close a minute longer before taking your face in his hands and looking down at you softly. “Must have been scary. Let’s get you in the truck, where it’s warm.”

Strong hands guide you towards the glow of the headlights, the hazards blinking rhymically. Bucky helps you up into the cab, grabs a blanket from the backseat, and wraps it securely around your shoulders. 

“Wait here for me, okay?” he gently instructs you. “I’m gonna take care of your car.”

You know it’s useless to argue, that he’s going to do it anyway, and that you’re in no condition to help. So you nod weakly, and he kisses your cheek before venturing back out into the snow.

As the warmth of the truck’s heating system seeps into your bones, you listen to the rattle of equipment being moved in the back of the truck, watch Bucky shovel your car out from the snowdrift, his safety vest over his jacket reflecting the headlights of passing cars. Something in your chest tightens as you sit sentry in the truck, observing as he works methodically and patiently in spite of the cold. 

It takes him about fifteen minutes, alternating between shoveling and gently rocking the car, shifting from drive to reverse over and over, but he manages to successfully free your car. After pulling it out next to the drift, he jogs back over to the truck.

Once he slides into the cab, he immediately puts an arm around you again, his nose cold against your temple. 

“Thank you,” you sniffle, leaning into him.

“Of course.” Biting the fingertip of his glove, he frees his other hand and pulls his phone out of his pocket to glance at a text. “Steve is gonna be here in a few minutes with his hitch. And then I’m taking you home.”

“But–”

Bucky gently cuts you off. “I don’t want you driving in this weather when you’re this upset. Steve will tow it home for you. He owes me a favor, anyway.”

Your lower lip trembles. “I feel so stupid.”

He frowns and squeezes your shoulder. “You’re not stupid. You did the exact right thing calling me.”

Bucky makes good on his promise – five minutes pass and Steve’s truck is parked in front of your car, Steve’s fist knocking on your passenger side window. Bucky rolls it down and Steve flashes you an easy grin.

“You guys are good to head out. Don’t worry, your chariot will be in my very capable hands.”

You manage a small, shy smile in return. “Thanks, Steve.”

“My pleasure.” Steve pats the side of the truck. “You kids get home safe. Take care, Buck.”

“Vest on, Stevie,” Bucky calls after him before rolling up his window. “Alright, sweetheart, let’s get you home.”

“Can we go to your place?” you ask quietly, shifting slightly closer to him and clutching his winter coat like a security blanket. 

He turns in towards you, surprised and a little concerned. “You sure? You don’t wanna sleep in your own bed?”

You shake your head. “I just wanna be with you.”

Bucky melts a little at that, and he gives you one last squeeze before putting the truck in gear. “Okay, baby. Let’s go.”

On the drive to Bucky’s apartment, you don’t say much, and he doesn’t pressure you to. The two of you just sit in the quiet, you head on his shoulder. You feel a deep appreciation for the way he takes the reins when you can’t hold onto them anymore. He gently ushers you into his apartment, runs a hot shower for you, lays out a pair of his sweats and that stupidly soft henley for you to change into. You feel cared for, but not crowded. 

It’s nice. And it also makes you feel immensely guilty for how you’ve tried to keep him at arm’s length.

You shuffle out of his bathroom, tail between your legs, to find him stretched across the bed with a book in hand and Alpine curled up at his feet. The sound of your footsteps draws his attention, and his eyes go soft and gooey and ridiculously fond when they land on you. 

“Hey,” he murmurs. “You feelin’ better?”

You don’t reply with words. Instead, you join him onto the bed, molding into his side like you need him to keep you steady. Maybe you do. 

Bucky doesn’t miss a beat in drawing up the covers around you, in pulling you closer. Your eyes already start to flutter closed, the nervous tension finally starting to bleed out of you at the weight of his arm around you, at the scent of laundry and soap and him shrouding you in familiarity,

His lips press to your hairline. “You can rest. I’ve got you.”

When you wake in Bucky’s bed, it’s much earlier than you would prefer. Such is the life of the plow driver — his six a.m. alarm stirs you, and despite your best efforts, you can’t get back to sleep. Mostly because there is a huge fluffy cottonball of a cat nudging her face against yours and purring like a motorboat.

“Okay, okay,” you groan. “I'm up.”

As you scratch her behind the ears and sit up, the events of last night flick through your mind like a movie reel. The panic is gone, and left in its place is a warm, fuzzy feeling you don’t entirely know what to do with. The smell of coffee draws you to the kitchen, where Bucky’s already pouring two cups, shirtless and looking unfairly good for someone who just rolled out of bed before the sun has fully risen.

You think about last night – how he came to your rescue without question, how he held you like your safety was not only priority, but paramount. You think about the less-than-perfectly handled conversation when, sensing your hesitation, he didn’t pressure you or ask for more than you were ready to give. Maybe you’re ready to give more than you’d thought.

You think about what Natasha said. 

You're crazy about this guy.

He's your boyfriend in everything but name.

You take a deep breath and decide to jump.

“Okay.”

Bucky turns to you, clearly not fully awake yet. “Okay what?”

You force yourself to hold his gaze, not allowing nerves to overtake you. “You want to be my boyfriend?”

He buffers for a long moment, like he’s not sure if this is a test or not. “…yes.”

“Then okay.”

Bucky puts his mug down and looks at you properly, brows furrowing. “Sweetheart, you don’t have to say that just because I rescued your car. I would have done that no matter what.”

“I know.” 

In a way, it was easier to be vulnerable last night than it is now, in the daylight. You'd had no choice then. But you want to choose it now, choose him. So with a little difficulty, you step towards him, nervously fiddling with the sleeves of the henley you’re wearing.

“I called you last night because I knew I could count on you to show up. And when I was scared and cold, I just wanted you there holding me. That's why I'm saying it.”

Bucky breathes that in for a moment, his expression careful, as if afraid that the wrong move will dispel this moment. “So you're serious.”

“As a heart attack,” you laugh nervously, though you don’t find the situation funny in the slightest.

A grin slowly spreads over his face, like dawn breaking. He takes you into his arms and kisses you, not just your mouth – he enthusiastically plants kiss after kiss along your forehead, your temple, your cheeks and jaw.

“Bucky!” you laugh, warm and real this time, clutching his shoulders so he doesn’t knock you over.

“What?” he asks, all feigned innocence. “I'm just kissing my girlfriend.”

Your face warms even as you giggle. but you find that you don’t hate the title, especially when he says it. All you can manage in response is, “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously into you,” he corrects you, his lips finding yours again.

Maybe it’s the way you feel so tenderly cared for since last night, or the warmth of his arms around you, or maybe it’s just him, but you melt instantly. Your hands settle on his bare chest, making a needy little sound when his tongue slips past your open lips and strokes against yours.

That sound seems to activate him like a sleeper agent, because the very next moment he is scooping you up and hitching your legs around his hips, carrying you back to bed.

“Don’t you have work?” you mumble against his mouth, barely managing to care about the answer.

“I’ll be quick,” he mumbles back before nudging open the bedroom door with his foot and brushing his lips along the column of your neck.

You laugh breathlessly. “That’s what every woman wants to hear.”

Bucky lays you down and, to his credit, wastes no time in getting your pants off. He drags his mouth, hot and demanding, along your inner thigh before diving into you, burying his face between your legs. The sudden sensation of his tongue against you rips a gasp from your lungs, your hands flying to his hair.

His hand splays on your stomach, keeping you in place as you try in vain to rock up into his mouth. Your whole body jolts as he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks hard, before (infuriatingly) backing off and returning to exploratory laps of his tongue.

“Bucky, this is not quick,” you pant, your protests morphing into a whine when he buries his tongue in your entrance.

“Fuck,” he groans against you, like the thought of stopping is almost painful. “You just taste so good.” He licks another stripe along the length of you, and nearly growls, “Taste like mine.”

His words, the possessive tone of his voice, combined with the way he latches onto your clit once again, send a shockwave of pleasure through you that’s so unexpected and intense, you nearly come on the spot. 

Bucky, feeling the sudden tension of your body beneath him, eases off again and asks softly, “Too much?”

You know what he’s really asking. He's wondering if he’s scaring you off. You glance down at him, flushed, trembling, startlingly turned on — and shake your head.

“Condom, now.”

His pupils nearly swallow the blue in his eyes, his mouth glistening with you. “Yes, ma’am,” he replies, immediately going for the bedside table drawer.

As soon as Bucky manages to free himself from his pajama pants and roll the condom onto himself, you’re climbing on top of him with a cheeky grin and eagerly fitting him at your entrance. You sink down around him and purr, “Can’t have my man be late for work because of me.”

“Jesus,” he moans, his hands gripping your hips hard with the effort of not immediately thrusting up into you. He presses his forehead to your shoulder, breathing hard. “Say that again.”

“You like that?” You roll your hips as you begin to set a purposeful rhythm. “Being my man?”

Unable to resist anymore, his hips begin to rise and meet yours with every movement. “You have no idea how much I like it.”

You don’t bother with preamble or slow build. You’re on a timetable, and the snow waits for no man. You fuck yourself on him while he rubs tight, efficient circles on your clit, his other hand at your hip to guide your rhythm when it falters because it’s all too much. 

Pleasure crests hard and fast, your orgasm just within sight. You let out a high, helpless sound, your nails digging into his shoulders. Bucky, sounding quite pleased with himself, pants, “Fuck, close already?”

You almost tell him to shut up, but the words don’t come. Instead, you release another ragged moan as the angle of his cock hits just right.

“Come on, baby,” he encourages you. “Let me feel it.”

With one last desperate cry, your body shudders around him, your hips instinctively chasing every last pulse of your orgasm as it rises and falls. Beneath you, Bucky comes with a strangled groan, “Fuck, baby, fuck—“ and coats the inside of the condom while your cunt wrings his climax out of him. 

You nearly collapse on top of him, both of you sweating and panting and still half-clothed. Bucky chuckles breathlessly, and it infects you quickly. The two of you laugh for a moment, leaning into each other affectionately, sated and satisfied for the moment.

You ease yourself off of him carefully, still giggling softly. “You should probably get dressed.”

With a groan, he throws an arm over his eyes briefly, before sitting up and squeezing your thigh. “You too, speed demon. I'm giving you a ride home.”

Despite the ungodly hour, it’s a lovely morning. You take coffee and protein bars to go, since your soul-bearing and subsequent sexcapades set Bucky's morning timetable back a considerable amount. He wraps you up in a sturdy, spare winter coat that absolutely swallows you, because, in his words, he’s “tired of pretending your coat isn’t a pretty but useless piece of fabric.” You ride next to him in his truck as he plows his way to your place, rattling around in the cab and giggling as he sings along badly to the radio. 

He walks you to your building’s front step, kisses you goodbye at the door, and salts your steps and sidewalk before he leaves. 

Smiling out your window as you watch him, you realize you have no regrets about promoting him to Boyfriend status — except that you’re going to have to hear Natasha say I told you so.