Maple

He tries to glare at you, but it just makes you giggle again. You lean down, kissing over his face and rolling your hips cruelty down. You know just how to keep him on the edge. He hits deep inside of you, right against your g-spot as you use him to get off. He looks up at you with glossy, star-struck eyes and parted lips, and you smile sweetly.

“Hi,” you whisper, and he groans.

“Don’t- Don’t be mean, doll-“

“Hmm.” You pout, dragging your hips in a slow, torturous circle. “But you like it when I’m mean.”

A broken whimper escapes Bucky’s lips, and you hum, picking up the pace just enough to make him pant.

“You want to cum for me, baby?” You whisper, and Bucky nods frantically.

“Please, please-“

You start to rock back and forth, shoving down on his chest and purposefully clenching your tight, sweet walls around his cock. Bucky cries out your name, his face slack and eyes unfocused as you pull him right to the edge.

“Still trying to hold it for me,” you whisper. “Good boy.”

He moans, staring at you hopelessly, and you take mercy. He’s too pretty like this, for you to say no.

“Let go, Bucky,” you whisper, and at your command—just as always—Bucky cums.

Beautiful sounds escape him, as he does. His whole body trembles with the force of it, his hips rutting up into your heat as thick ropes of cum paint your walls and dribble down your thighs. You don’t stop when he’s sensitive and moaning, using his orgasm to get yourself off. When it’s done, you roll over and guide Bucky’s face into your breasts, petting his hair with a lazy smile.

“Good?” You ask softly, always just to be sure.

He makes a garbled sound and holds you tighter. Good.

✦Bucky Masterlist - Main Masterlist - read on AO3!✦

There’s a beat where most men would laugh it off, brush it aside, insist they’re “good with animals” like it’s something to prove. You’ve heard it all before. Watched them crouch too fast, reach too quick, push too hard—like affection is something they can demand instead of earn. You’ve ended things over it more than once.

But Bucky doesn’t laugh.

He doesn’t even move.

He just nods, serious in a way that makes your chest loosen slightly, like he understands the weight of what you’re saying without needing it spelled out.

“Her terms,” he says simply. “Not mine.”

You study him for another second, searching for any hint of dismissal, any crack in the sincerity—but there isn’t one. Just quiet understanding. Patience.

So you step aside and let him in.

Clover is already watching from across the room, tucked halfway behind the arm of the couch, eyes wide and unblinking. Her body is low, tense, ready to bolt if she needs to. Bucky notices her immediately, but he doesn’t acknowledge her. Doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t crouch or call out or even glance her way again after that first flicker of recognition.

He lets her exist without pressure.

And you notice that too.

Over the next few weeks, it becomes a quiet routine. Bucky comes over often, slipping easily into your space without ever trying to take it over, and Clover… watches. Always watches. From doorways, from under the table, from the back of the couch when she thinks neither of you can see her.

He never pushes.

Not once.

Instead, he does small things—things that would go unnoticed if you weren’t paying attention. He leaves a treat on the floor near wherever she’s hiding before settling on the couch, never looking at her while he does it. He sets out her dinner if you’re busy, placing the bowl down gently and then stepping away like it’s no big deal. He talks to you in that low, steady voice of his, letting the sound of it fill the room until it becomes familiar, predictable, safe.

Eventually, he starts leaving pieces of himself behind.

A jacket draped over the back of a chair. A shirt folded at the foot of your bed.

The first time you catch him doing it deliberately—watching as Clover creeps forward, sniffing cautiously at the fabric—you raise a brow.

“Bribing her?” you tease.

He huffs a quiet laugh, eyes still on the small, hesitant movement of her nose against his sleeve. “Not bribing,” he murmurs. “Introducing.”

It takes time.

Longer than either of you expect, honestly. Weeks of quiet coexistence, of soft footsteps and careful distance. But then one night, something shifts.

You’re in the kitchen, rinsing dishes, when you hear it—the soft, surprised exhale from the living room.

You turn just in time to see it.

Clover, perched cautiously on the far end of the couch, and Bucky, sitting very still, his metal hand resting open on his knee while she leans forward to sniff his fingers. He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe too loudly, doesn’t even blink as she edges closer, whiskers twitching.

And then—like the world tilting just slightly off its axis—she presses her head against his hand.

It’s brief. Tentative. But it’s contact.

Trust.

You stare, heart caught somewhere in your throat, because you know what that means. You know how much it takes for her to do that, how much fear she has to push through just to get there.

Bucky glances up at you slowly, like he’s afraid the moment might break if he moves too fast, and there’s something almost boyish in his expression—wide-eyed and disbelieving.

“Don’t—” you whisper, barely breathing. “Don’t scare her.”

“I’m not,” he whispers back, like he wouldn’t dare.

Clover pulls back after a second, retreating to a safer distance, but she doesn’t run. She stays. Watches him with something new in her gaze—curiosity instead of fear.

From that point on, it snowballs.

She starts sitting a little closer. Lingering longer. One night she hops onto the couch beside him, not touching, but near enough that it counts. Another time she lets him slide a treat across the cushion instead of the floor. And then, one evening, you walk into the room to find her curled up against his thigh like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Bucky looks… stunned.

And then, slowly, undeniably, triumphant.

He glances up at you with the smallest, most pleased grin tugging at his mouth, like he’s just accomplished something monumental.

“Look,” he says softly, careful not to disturb her. “It’s my new best friend.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you lean against the doorway, warmth blooming in your chest at the sight of them—your guarded, fragile little Clover tucked safely against a man who never once tried to force her to trust him.

“You’re insufferable,” you murmur.

But you cross the room anyway, settling beside him, your hand brushing his arm.

And when Clover doesn’t flinch—doesn’t run, doesn’t hide, just stays right where she is—you realize something quietly, deeply important.

It was never about winning her over.

It was about proving he was safe.

Bucky had insisted the bed wasn’t a big deal.

“It is a big deal,” you’d told him when he showed it to you.

Months of dating had taught you that James Buchanan Barnes rarely did things halfway. The king-sized wooden bed dominating his bedroom wasn’t store-bought. Every joint, every polished board, every carefully measured corner had been built by his own hands.

For you.

Because before you, he’d slept on the floor.

“It’s just a bed, doll.”

“You built an entire bed.”

He’d shrugged, ears turning slightly pink.

That had been three hours ago.

Now you were curled beside him beneath soft blankets, listening to the steady rhythm of rain against the cabin windows.

The room smelled faintly of cedar and Bucky’s cologne.

You couldn’t sleep,Not because you were uncomfortable - Because you were happy, Embarrassingly happy.

This was your first night staying over,The first time sharing a bed, The first time seeing the life he’d built away from missions and Avengers and chaos.

Beside you, Bucky slept on his side facing away, one arm tucked beneath his pillow.

You smiled softly, Then his shoulders tensed.

At first you thought he was adjusting.

Then he twitched.

His breathing changed.

A sharp inhale.

Another.

His body stiffened completely.

“Bucky?”. No response.

His face twisted with pain.

The peaceful expression vanished.

A strangled sound escaped his throat.

Your stomach dropped.

Nightmare.

You’d heard stories from Sam, From Steve. You knew they happened but you’d just never seen one.

Bucky’s breathing became ragged.

“No…” he muttered.

His metal hand clenched so hard the vibranium fingers groaned.

“Bucky.”

His head jerked violently against the pillow.

“Please…”

The word shattered your heart.

Another sound escaped him.

Almost a gasp.

Almost a cry.

Then suddenly—

“No!”

He sat bolt upright.

The shout ripped through the room, You jumped so hard you nearly fell out of bed.

Bucky wasn’t awake, his eyes were open but unfocused.

Wild.

Terrified.

Like he was seeing something that wasn’t there.

His chest heaved.

Sweat covered his face.

“Bucky!” you said louder.

Nothing.

He was trapped somewhere else, Somewhere horrible.

His breathing became frantic.

“P-please don’t—”

The desperation in his voice made your chest ache.

You grabbed his arm. “Bucky, wake up.”

Nothing, You squeezed harder. “Bucky!”

His entire body flinched, His eyes finally focused, Blue replacing panic.

Reality replacing whatever nightmare had been holding him, For a second he just stared at you.

Disoriented.

Confused.

Then realization hit and horror followed immediately.

“Doll…”

His voice broke.

“Oh God.”

You could see the embarrassment instantly.

The shame.

The self-loathing.

The same expression he’d worn whenever HYDRA was mentioned.

“Bucky, hey.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Bucky—”

“I’m sorry.”

He pulled away, dragging a hand down his face.

“You shouldn’t have had to see that.”

Your heart cracked, Not because of the nightmare because of how convinced he was that he had something to apologize for.

You moved closer.

“Bucky.”

He wouldn’t look at you.

“I scared you.”

“A little.”

His jaw tightened. You reached up and gently cupped his cheek, His eyes finally met yours and there it was fear.

Not fear of the nightmare.

Fear of losing you because of it.

“Look at me.”

He did.

“You had a nightmare.”

“It was bad.”

“I know.”

His throat bobbed.

“You don’t have to apologize for that.”

A long silence.

Rain tapped softly against the windows.

“I still get them,” he admitted quietly.

You brushed damp hair from his forehead.

“I know.”

“They don’t usually happen this bad anymore.”

“You don’t have to explain.”

His eyes dropped.

“I hate it.”

The vulnerability in those three words hurt more than anything else.

For so much of his life, things had happened to him.

Things he never chose.

Things he couldn’t control.

And nightmares were just another reminder.

You slid closer until your knees touched his.

“Bucky.”

“Hm?”

“You know what I see right now?”

His lips twitched faintly.

“What?”

“I see a man who built an entire bed because his girlfriend might be more comfortable.”

A tiny huff of laughter escaped him.

“I see someone who spends hours helping neighbors fix fences.”

His shoulders loosened slightly.

“I see someone who leaves food out for every stray cat in a ten-mile radius.”

“Those cats are manipulative.”

“They adore you.”

A slightly bigger smile.

Good.

You kept going.

“And I see someone who survived things most people couldn’t even imagine.”

The smile faded.

But not because he was upset.

Because he was listening.

“You woke up, Buck.”

His eyes softened.

“You’re here.”

You rested your forehead against his.

“You aren’t there anymore.”

For a moment neither of you spoke.

Then he exhaled shakily.

And all at once the tension seemed to leave his body.

Not completely but enough.

His forehead stayed against yours.

“Thanks, doll.”

His voice was rough.

You wrapped your arms around him.

Immediately he folded into the embrace.

Large arms surrounding you carefully, like you were something precious.

Like you were the one who needed comfort.

You rubbed slow circles across his back.

His heartbeat gradually slowed beneath your hand.

Minutes passed, Maybe longer.

Eventually he whispered, “You should get some sleep.”

You smiled against his shoulder.

“So should you.”

“Probably.”

Neither of you moved.

The rain continued outside.

The room felt warm, Safe.

Finally Bucky shifted, lying back down.

This time he hesitated.

Just for a second, As if unsure.

You answered by curling directly against his side.

One arm draped across his chest.

Your head tucked beneath his chin.

The hesitation vanished, His arm settled around your waist.

Holding you close.

“You okay?” you murmured.

He pressed a kiss into your hair.

A quiet, tender thing.

“Yeah.”

You felt his chest rise and fall.

Steady.

Calm.

“I’m not broken or anything,” you muttered, staring down at your hands, voice smaller than you meant it to be. “It’s just… it’s never been good.”

The words felt heavy once they were out, but you couldn’t stop now.

“My first boyfriend just—went for it. Like two minutes of nothing and then he just… shoved in. Said I was too dry, like it was my fault.” You huffed a quiet laugh that didn’t sound like humor at all. “The next one lasted maybe thirty seconds and then rolled over and started playing video games. I just… pretended to sleep.”

Steve’s hand stilled on your knee.

You kept going anyway.

“Another one kept asking if I was close every ten seconds until I faked it just to make him stop talking.” You shrugged, like it didn’t sting. “It always hurt. Or felt like nothing. Or just… like I was something to get through.”

Silence stretched for a beat.

Then Bucky let out a low, dangerous sound that rumbled through his chest.

“Doll,” he said, voice rough, edged with something protective and furious all at once, “those assholes didn’t deserve to touch you.”

Steve’s hand moved again, gentler now, grounding. His other hand came up to cup your cheek, turning your face toward him. His eyes were soft—softer than you’d ever seen them—but there was anger there too, quiet and controlled.

“You’re not broken,” he said firmly. “You’ve just never had anyone who cared enough to learn you.”

Your throat tightened.

“Let us show you,” he added, thumb brushing your lower lip. “No pressure. We stop the second you say the word. But if you want to know what it’s supposed to feel like…”

Bucky’s metal fingers traced slowly down your arm, sending a shiver in their wake.

“We’ll make it good, sweetheart,” he murmured. “So good you forget those idiots ever existed.”

Your heart was pounding hard enough you could feel it in your throat.

Part of you wanted to run.

The other part—the one that trusted them, that had been quietly aching for something more every time they kissed you like you were something precious—nodded.

“Okay.”

They didn’t rush.

Not even a little.

Steve kissed you first, slow and deep, his mouth warm and patient as he coaxed you open, letting you set the pace without ever making it feel like you had to. It wasn’t overwhelming—it was steady. Safe.

Behind you, Bucky’s lips found your neck, soft at first, then a little firmer when your breath hitched. He paid attention to every tiny reaction, like he was memorizing you.

Clothes came off gradually, piece by piece, like there was no finish line waiting, just the moment you were in.

Hands mapped your body like it mattered.

Like you mattered.

Bucky lifted you onto the couch like you weighed nothing, settling you back against Steve’s chest so you were cradled between them, surrounded.

“Tell us what feels good,” Steve murmured against your ear, his hands warm as they slid over your chest, cupping your breasts.

His thumbs brushed over your nipples and when they tightened under his touch, you gasped.

Neither of them missed it.

Bucky’s gaze flicked up to your face, watching, before he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your stomach.

“Yeah,” he murmured, almost to himself. “We’re gonna take our time with you.”

By the time he settled between your thighs, your skin was buzzing, anticipation coiling low in your stomach in a way that felt… new.

“Already wet for us,” he praised softly.

The words alone made heat flood your cheeks.

Then his tongue dragged slowly up your center.

Your hips jerked before you could stop them.

He did it again, firmer this time, circling your clit with careful precision, like he was figuring you out one reaction at a time.

Steve didn’t stop touching you—hands kneading gently, lips brushing your temple, your cheek, your jaw as he whispered soft encouragement that made your chest feel warm and full.

“Doing so good,” he murmured. “Just feel it. Let yourself feel it.”

Bucky’s fingers pressed at your entrance and when he slid them in, it wasn’t the sharp, uncomfortable stretch you expected.

It was…right.

Full, but not painful.

His fingers curled, just slightly, and something inside you sparked.

“Oh—”

Your fingers tangled in his hair instinctively, and he hummed, the vibration sending a jolt straight through you.

“That’s it,” Steve murmured. “He’s got you.”

The feeling built differently than anything you’d known before—slow, deep, coiling instead of rushed or awkward. It spread instead of staying sharp, turning into something warm and overwhelming.

“Bucky—Steve—I’m—”

“Come for us, doll,” Bucky growled, mouth closing around your clit.

You shattered.

The sound that left you didn’t feel like it belonged to you—raw and unfiltered as your body clenched and pulsed around his fingers.

It didn’t stop all at once, either. It rolled. Wave after wave until you were trembling. You’d never—never—had that before. They didn’t rush you after, either.

Bucky pressed soft kisses to your thigh while Steve eased you down onto your back, hovering just enough to meet your eyes.

“Still okay?” he asked gently.

You nodded, breathless.

“More.”

The word surprised even you.

But you meant it.

Steve entered you slowly, giving you time to adjust, his hand steady on your hip.

“Okay?” he asked again.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Yeah, it’s—good.”

His forehead dropped to yours, a soft exhale leaving him before he started to move, slow at first, like he was still checking in even without words.

Bucky leaned in, kissing you deep and messy, his hand sliding down between your bodies.

“Feel that?” he murmured. “That’s how it’s supposed to be.”

Steve’s rhythm picked up gradually, each movement controlled, deliberate, hitting that same spot Bucky had found earlier until your breath stuttered.

Bucky’s fingers found your clit again, circling just right.

The combination was overwhelming.

“Too much—” you gasped, even as your body arched into it.

Steve’s mouth curved faintly against your skin.

“Not enough,” he corrected softly. “Let go again.”

And you did.

The second orgasm hit harder, sharper, pulling a broken sound from your throat as your body tightened around him.

Steve groaned, low and wrecked, your name falling from his lips like something sacred.

By the time Bucky took his place, you were already trembling again.

He was rougher—but never careless.

Never thoughtless.

Every movement was still tuned to you, to your reactions, to the sounds you made when something hit just right.

“Such a good girl,” he praised, voice thick. “Taking us so well.”

Steve’s hands grounded you from beneath, his voice soft against your lips as Bucky drove deeper, the rhythm more intense now, the sounds louder, messier.

When your third orgasm hit, it was almost too much—your whole body tightening as Bucky followed you over the edge, his grip firm, his voice breaking on your name.

Afterward, everything softened again. Warm cloths. Gentle hands.

The two of them settled you between them under a blanket like you belonged there.

Because you did.

Bucky pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

Steve traced lazy circles along your thigh.

“So?” Bucky asked after a moment, a hint of a smirk in his voice. “Still think you don’t like sex?”

You let out a quiet laugh, body loose and warm in a way you’d never felt before.

“I like your sex,” you admitted, a little shy now.

A pause.

Then, softer—

“Can we… do that again sometime?”

Steve’s grin was immediate, bright and warm.

“Every damn day if you want.”

Bucky nuzzled into your neck, voice satisfied.

You were already trembling from the last two orgasms, but Bucky wasn’t done. He shifted angles, hitting that spot inside you with ruthless precision, his thumb circling your clit in tight, slick strokes. The coil in your belly wound tighter, hotter, until it snapped with blinding force.

The orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave—harder than anything before. Your vision whited out, back arching sharply off the bed as you cried his name. Pleasure bordered on pain, every nerve singing. Then the edges of the world blurred, your limbs going limp, and everything faded to black.

Bucky felt it instantly—the way your body went slack around him, your walls still fluttering but your breathing shallow and uneven. He froze mid-thrust.

“Baby?” His voice cracked. He pulled out carefully, cupping your face. “Hey—hey, sweetheart, talk to me.”

No response. Your eyes stayed closed, lashes dark against pale cheeks.

Panic hit him like a freight train. “No, no, no—fuck!” He scooped you up, heart hammering against his ribs.

Your head lolled against his shoulder as he grabbed the nearest shirt—his own—and yanked it over your head. He didn’t bother with pants for himself beyond boxers, wrapping you in a blanket before bolting for the door.

The drive to the nearest ER was a blur of red lights he ignored and frantic calls to Steve, who promised to meet them there.

Bucky kept one hand on your pulse the whole way, whispering apologies and pleas. “I’m so sorry, doll. Should’ve been gentler. Stay with me, please.”

By the time he carried you through the sliding doors, nurses were already rushing forward with a gurney. They pried you from his arms despite his protests, wheeling you back while a doctor fired questions at him.

Bucky paced the waiting room like a caged animal, metal fingers flexing, until Steve arrived and forced him to sit.

An hour later, a nurse finally emerged. “Mr. Barnes? She’s awake and stable. You can come back.”

Bucky nearly tripped rushing after her. You were sitting up in the hospital bed, looking sheepish in a gown, an IV drip in your arm and color slowly returning to your face. The moment you saw him, your lips twitched into a tired smile.

“Bucky—”

He crossed the room in two strides, pulling you into his chest. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” he muttered into your hair, voice thick. “Thought I killed you, doll. My fault. Too rough—”

“It wasn’t,” you whispered, hugging him back. “Felt amazing… until it didn’t.”

The curtain rustled and the doctor entered, chart in hand, with two nurses trailing. “Well, Mrs. Barnes—” (Bucky didn’t correct the assumption; he liked the sound of it too much.)

“Everything checks out fine. Vitals normal, no underlying conditions. Just a classic case of vasovagal syncope triggered by extreme physical exertion and an exceptionally intense… climax.” The doctor’s lips quirked. “Your husband’s, ah, enthusiasm got the better of your blood pressure for a moment.”

One of the nurses—a sharp-eyed woman in her forties—snorted. “We’ve seen it before, but never with a super-soldier on the chart. You two must’ve broken some kind of record.”

Your face flamed. Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, ears red. “It, uh… wasn’t planned.”

The second nurse, younger and clearly enjoying herself, leaned in. “Honey, next time maybe keep some snacks and Gatorade by the bed. Or, you know, pace yourselves. That man looks like he could go all night.”

Steve, who had slipped in behind the doctor, choked on a laugh and quickly turned it into a cough. Bucky shot him a betrayed glare.

You buried your face in Bucky’s shoulder, mortified but giggling. “We’ll… work on that.”

The doctor cleared his throat, fighting a smile. “Hydrate, rest for twenty-four hours, and maybe take it easy on the acrobatics. You’re free to go once the IV finishes.”

As the medical team filed out, the first nurse winked. “And congratulations on the stamina, Sergeant. The whole floor’s impressed.”

The curtain closed. Silence fell for half a second before you both dissolved into laughter—Bucky’s deep and relieved, yours lighter and still slightly dizzy.

“You fainted because I made you come too hard,” he said, incredulous, pressing kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your nose. “I’m never living this down.”

“Pretty sure the nurses are already texting the group chat,” you teased, looping your arms around his neck. “Super-soldier sex: now with blackout warnings.”

He groaned, but his eyes were soft, warm blue full of love. “I was terrified, doll. Thought I hurt you bad.”

“You didn’t.” You tugged him down for a gentle kiss. “It was perfect. Until the hospital part.”

Steve poked his head back in. “I brought clothes. And I’m never mentioning this again if you both promise to never speak of it either.”

“Deal,” you and Bucky said at the same time.

Later, back home, Bucky refused to let you walk.

He carried you straight to bed—fresh sheets, a mountain of pillows, and a tray of water, electrolytes, and your favorite snacks already waiting.

He curled around you like a protective shield, metal arm cool against your waist.

“No more passing out on me,” he murmured, nuzzling your neck. “Next time I make you see stars, you stay conscious so you can tell me how good it feels.”

You laughed softly, threading fingers through his hair. “Promise. But maybe we test the ‘taking it easy’ theory tomorrow. Slow and sweet.”

His grin was wicked and tender all at once. “Whatever you want, baby. As long as you’re okay.”

“What was that?” He girts out. “You could have really hurt yourself…” 

You roll your eyes as you drop your bag by the door. Tuning him out, you take stock of the apartment and exits. A bedroom, an ensuite bathroom, pull out couch, fire escape, and four windows with almost no sight lines. Bucky follows you, prattling on about field safety.

His lecture has very little to do with any of that and everything to do with the crater sized crush on you that he refuses to acknowledge. The last time you directly confronted him about it, he left the room sputtering. It’s beyond you as to how you are attracted to his man in so much denial, yet here you are.

You are looking through the pantry when he finally pauses. The silence is tense, but you ignore it in favor of noting the number of canned meat, beans, and instant ramen left.  

“Just what were you thinking?” Bucky says, frustrated.

 “That I probably shouldn’t let my partner to die,” you say without sparing him a glance and continuing to look through the kitchen cabinets. 

“I had it under control,” he says. “That was a really stupid move you pulled with the furnace.” 

“I’m fire-proof,” you snort, finally turning to face him. “Do you need to be reminded what AIM did to me?” 

Bucky gives you an indignant look before he starts rambling again.

“That’s not the point! You can’t keep taking risks….” 

Good grief, you’re so sick of him pulling your pigtails. What is it going to take? You close the distance between you in three determined steps.

“… It’s the principle of the —” You haul him towards you, fisting the collar of his jacket and press your lips against his. 

Bucky stills.

The last of his tirade effuses into the stunned silence. This close, you are surrounded by the ash and char of mission, and some delicate whiff of spice and musk. Just as you are about to pull away, his lips move against yours, slow and careful. Warmth seeps into your veins, and your hold on his jacket loosens. Bucky trails his hands up your arms, cupping you jaw. The brush of his fingers on your bare skin ignites something new. You can’t help but answer, coaxing yet another sweet morsel from his lips. And another. 

It’s only a borrowed moment of an unrealized future. 

You pull away, Bucky follows, stealing one last kiss from you. He opens his eyes, blinking slowly as if he’s trying to recall where he is and what he was doing. He makes such a tempting sight — lips kiss swollen and parted, slate gray eyes looking at you like you might be the answer. The prideful creature in your chest preens that you made him feel like this. You are tempted pull him back into another kiss but you need clarity more than that. 

Bucky’s gaze drift down to your lips and he leans forward but you stop him. 

“The sooner you admit what these safety lectures are really about, the faster we can start having fun,” you pat his cheek, just a touch harder than it needs to be before walking away. 

“Wait, where are you going?” Bucky asks after a pause, voice thick. 

“I’m going to shower,” you call over your shoulder. “You can make us dinner while you think about what you want to say to me.”

You entered with a loud sigh, kicking off your heels and flicking on the lights, surprisingly not startling at Bucky's unannounced presence. Instead of shrieking in fright, you made your way over to him in your slinky dress and sat on his lap. Immediately his arms were around you, his metal hand stroking your hair.

"I'm exhausted and my feet hurt," you muttered. "I hate these fuckin' things."

"I hate watching you at these fuckin' things. Every creep you have to charm. Every smile you fake, drives me crazy."

"Thank you, baby," you said, "but it's all for the New Avengers so at least it's a cause I believe in."

You lifted your head and kissed his lips briefly.

Valentina had the whole team going out to galas and goodwill fundraising events as part of a PR campaign to boost their profile, and the schedule was grueling. Saving the world by day and being out until all hours of the night meant there was very little time for sleep.

"Sit back," he said, guiding you off his lap on the sofa and taking your aching feet in his hands. You moaned in relief as he started rubbing them in firm circles.

"Feels good, Buck, don't stop," you whispered, head leaning against the back of the sofa and your eyes fluttering shut.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

“S’okay Buck,” you soothe, running your hands gently over his straining neck before migrating to his shoulders and back. “You can relax… no pressure.” You’re a hypocrite of course. You’ve never been less relaxed in your life, lying there with this beast of a man held in the cradle of your legs, as he throbs deep within you while he tries to find an ounce of composure has you feeling like the most powerful person in the world. 

You’re also fighting against the urge to moan wantonly into his ear and roll your hips up for some friction because you’ve never been this full. You know that none of that is going to help Bucky at the moment so you tamp down the wildness within that has you desperately wanting to flip him over and just ride. Regardless of how much you want this, you can’t risk overwhelming him - it’s just not about you right now. Intimacy has been a long and difficult journey for Bucky and - 

“Oh god,” you gasp before immediately biting your lip to shut your damned mouth. 

“Sorry, m’sorry,” Bucky pants, stilling his movements again and daring a glance at your face. “Did I hurt you?” 

“No baby, it’s good, you’re good. You’re so good Bucky.” Your words are a bit garbled as they leave your mouth but Bucky continues pumping his hips gently, the panic receding from his eyes rapidly as static takes over his brain at the feeling of you wrapped around him. 

“Ngh, don’t say that.” Bucky grips your thigh with the intention of keeping himself grounded against the exquisite pleasure, but it only succeeds in him pulling your leg up higher over his waist allowing him to nudge into you just that fraction deeper and you find you can’t help yourself. You cry out in bliss, clenching around his cock as Bucky ruts into you without conscious direction. A final scratch of your nails up his back is what finally tips him over the edge, his mouth dropping open as he pants through his orgasm because he’s pretty sure it never felt like this before and holy crap he’s still coming, pulsing and filling you up so much it’s already leaking back out around where he’s inside you. 

“Sorry,” Bucky gasps, shivering at the sensitivity as he finally starts to come down. 

You give him as soft a smile as you can manage as you slip away from the edge that you were just starting to climb. Bucky’s arm shakes and he lets some of his weight rests on you as he huffs a deep sigh, hanging his head and gearing up to apologise again, correctly, but furrows his brow when you cut him off by tilting his chin up and gracing him with a brief but firm kiss. 

“Buck. It’s okay,” you mutter into the small space between you, hoping that he can hear the sincerity in your words. “Today wasn’t about me. It was for you-” 

“No,” he cuts in sharply. “It was meant to be about both of us and I-” 

“Nuh uh,” you interrupt - you can both play that game. “We talked about this. Your first time this century is way more important than me getting an orgasm. ‘Sides…” you give him a flirty little smile, “... I sort of hoped this wouldn’t be the last time we’d be doing this.” You punctuate your statement with a cheeky little pulse around where he is still buried within you and he hisses even as his dick gives an interested kick in response. 

“You - you’ll let me… again?” It’s ridiculous how cute you find it that even with his dick fully inside you Bucky still struggles to verbalise wanting to fuck you. 

“Mhmm,” you say coyly. “It’s almost like I really like you or something.” 

“Or something,” he echoes, a rueful grin finally breaking through as he skates his hand down between your bodies, determined to make this repeat performance one to be remembered. 

Hope you enjoyed!