#sub bucky

Bucky is lounging on the sofa with Steve, some 50s flick playing that Steve had insisted on, something about a painter in Paris- he wasn't sure. And then, you walk in, your sweet voice drifting into his ear.

“An American in Paris, huh?” you asked, gently teasing as you moved closer to the sofa, catching sight of the movie they were watching.

Bucky shifted a little, his gaze flickering to you, then quickly back to the TV. He tried not to look at you too much when you were around, not because he didn’t want to, but because every time he did, it felt like something in his chest tightened. It certainly didn’t help that it was a hot day today, you’d opted for a cute pink and white sundress that stopped mid thigh.

“Yeah, Steve’s choice,” Bucky muttered, trying to sound casual, but his voice came out a little softer than he intended. He knew that you liked these kinds of old movies, so maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

Steve grinned from the other end of the couch, catching the subtle shift in Bucky’s tone, but not saying anything about it. Instead, he glanced up at you with a friendly smile.

“You a fan of the classics too?” Steve asked, gesturing for you to sit if you wanted to join them.

You walked over, the scent of your shampoo reaching Bucky’s senses. Vanilla and coconut, coincidentally his favourite fragrance, something that had changed not long after he’d met you… coincidentally of course, and the more you lingered around, the harder it became for him to focus on anything but you.

“Reminds me of my dad. Some are super sexist but I’m a sucker for Marilyn Monroe” you said, sitting down at the edge of the couch, right next to Bucky. Close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating off of you, but still with enough space to respect his boundaries. You always seemed to know exactly how to balance that, without even trying. It amazed him.

Bucky felt his pulse quicken as you sat beside him. You were so close. Too close. Not close enough.

He grunted in agreement with your statement, nodding, though his eyes stayed fixed on the screen. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to you—he just didn’t know how. What could he say that wouldn’t make him seem awkward or broken? Besides, talking might make him reveal just how badly he wanted to be near you, and he couldn’t afford that.

But then you spoke again, your voice soft and gentle, like you were speaking just to him. “How was training today?”

He cleared his throat, trying to push away the thoughts clouding his mind. “Same as always. Steve still hits like a truck.”

Steve laughed from the other side, “You’re the one with the metal arm, Buck.”

Bucky shot him a look, but there was no real bite to it. Just a distraction. He was grateful for it.

You laughed too, and that sound—it was like a melody that settled right under Bucky’s skin, making him feel warm in a way he hadn’t in a long time. He stole a glance at you again, just for a second, and you were looking right at him. That smile on your face, the one that had been seared into his memory from the moment you’d met.

“Let me guess,” you said, eyes twinkling, “you didn’t let him win this time either?”

Bucky’s lips twitched, almost into a smile, but he stopped himself. “Nope.”

“Good,” you replied, your voice soft again, almost as if you were relieved. “Can’t let Cap off easy.”

It was such a simple thing to say, but it hit Bucky harder than he’d expected. You cared. Not just in the way you handed out snacks and drinks after training or smiled when they passed by, but genuinely cared. For him. For Steve. And maybe, just maybe, that meant you’d be willing to see something more in him than he saw in himself.

The silence between you wasn’t awkward, but it was thick with unspoken words. Bucky could feel it. He wanted to reach out, say something—anything—but the words lodged themselves in his throat, like they always did when it came to you.

For a moment, Bucky let himself wonder what it would be like—if he could let himself believe he was worthy of you. Of someone so full of light and warmth, when all he felt was the shadows of his past.

But then the doubt crept back in, and he looked away again. He couldn’t let himself get too close. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. It wasn’t much, but it was all he could manage without giving too much away.

You didn’t push him, though. You never did. You just smiled again and settled into the couch beside him, watching the movie like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And for a fleeting moment, Bucky let himself pretend that it was.

The training room echoes with the sharp sound of fists hitting metal, the rhythmic thud of boots against the mat, and the occasional grunt of exertion. Bucky and Steve were sparring again; the same routine they'd run through countless times. It usually helped Bucky clear his mind, focus his energy on something physical, something he could control. But today, it was different.

“Come on, Buck, focus,” Steve says as he circles around, hands up and ready. His movements were fluid, precise. He was always like that—disciplined, unshakable. Bucky was too, usually. But not today.

His thoughts kept drifting, unbidden, back to you.

He couldn’t stop thinking about how close you had been on the couch last night, the way your voice had softened when you’d spoken to him, like you saw something in him that no one else did. That smile. It was haunting him in the best way.

As if to taunt him farther, his mind flashes with the image of you in your sundress, the way it swayed around the soft skin of your thighs.

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice cut through his reverie, but not fast enough.

Distracted, Bucky moves just a second too late. He swings wide, and Steve, quicker than ever, ducked under his arm and swept his legs out from under him. Before Bucky could react, he hit the mat hard, air leaving his lungs in a sharp gasp.

“Damn it,” Bucky growles, more at himself than at Steve. He stays on the floor for a moment, trying to shake the thoughts of you from his mind. He shouldn’t be getting distracted like this. Not during a sparring session. Not ever.

Steve stands over him, offering a hand, his brow furrowed in concern. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky grumbles, accepting the hand and letting Steve pull him back to his feet. His ribs ache from the fall, but it wasn’t anything serious. It was more the embarrassment that stung. Bucky didn’t like feeling off his game, and lately, thinking about you was doing just that.

“You weren’t focused,” Steve says, stepping back into position. It wasn’t a question.

Bucky wiped the sweat from his brow, shaking out his arms as if that could somehow reset his mind. “I’m fine. Let’s go again.”

Steve hesitates for a second, then nods, getting back into stance. He could tell something was on Bucky’s mind, but he wasn’t going to push. At least, not right now. Steve knew when to back off, and when to press—though Bucky had a feeling that conversation would come soon enough.

They start again, trading punches and dodges, but Bucky couldn’t shake the lingering thoughts of you. The way you made him feel—safe, seen. The way you’d praise him. God… the way you’d tell him he did a good job after training or a mission,

Just for a second, his mind drifts again— Your pretty eyes, the way they’d look at him like he was something amazing, the smile you’d give him and then he wonders what your face would look like as he dives down deep between your thighs-

Steve’s fist came in fast, and though Bucky manages to block it, he doesn’t account for the follow-up. Steve's knee connects with his side, hitting just below his ribs with enough force to knock the wind out of him.

Bucky staggers back, holding his side with a grimace.

“Whoa, Buck!” Steve stops immediately, hands out in concern. “You good?”

Bucky clenches his jaw, nodding, though his side throbbed. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth.

“You’re not fine,” Steve replies, taking a step forward, but Bucky waves him off, frustrated with himself more than anything.

“I said I’m fine,” Bucky snaps, turning away for a moment to catch his breath. He hates this. Hates how easily you get into his head, how much he let himself think about you when he was supposed to be focused. It wasn’t like him to get distracted, especially not in a fight.

Steve gives him a long, knowing look. He wasn’t pushing the subject yet, but Bucky could see it in his eyes—Steve had noticed something. And knowing Steve, it wouldn’t be long before he asked about it.

Steve lets out a sigh, shaking his head. “You need to go get that checked out.” He motions to the cut on Bucky’s cheek and his ribs.

“I said I’m fine,” Bucky mutters.

Steve doesn’t budge. “Buck, if you don’t get that cleaned up, it’s going to get worse. You’re already bruised, and that cut—” He gestured to Bucky’s face. “—needs to be looked at.”

Bucky was about to argue again when Steve adds, with a pointed look, “Go see her.”

He blinks, his heart suddenly beating faster in his chest. “What?”

“Go see her,” Steve repeats, his voice calm but insistent. “You know she can patch you up. She always does.”

Bucky opens his mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. You always did take care of them after training, offering vitamin drinks or snacks, your touch gentle and your presence calming.

“I don’t need—” Bucky begins, but Steve cuts him off with a significant look.

“Buck, you’re hurt. Let her help you. Besides, we both know she’d want to,” Steve says, his tone softening as he rests a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “She cares, man. And you’re not doing yourself any favours by pretending you don’t need her.”

Bucky clenched his jaw, his chest tight with a mix of frustration and something else he couldn’t quite name. The truth was, he did want to go to you.

With a heavy sigh, Bucky nods, finally relenting. “Fine.”

Steve smiles, patting him on the shoulder. “Good. Now go get cleaned up. I’ll finish up here.”

Bucky hesitates for a second before turning to leave the training room, his side still aching from the hit.

All he knew was that when he saw you, when you smiled at him with that gentle, understanding look in your eyes, it was going to make it that much harder to keep pretending he didn’t feel anything.

Bucky’s footsteps echo softly through the hall as he makes his way to the infirmary. When he reaches the infirmary door, he gives a soft knock before stepping inside.

You’re there, sitting at your desk with one thigh crossed elegantly over the other, your attention focused on some paperwork in front of you. You’re dressed in your usual professional attire—a fitted dress that hugs your form just enough to hint at your curves beneath your white lab coat. The subtle click of your black heels against the floor when you shift is a small, but noticeable, sound that makes Bucky's heart beat a little faster.

You look up when you hear him enter, that sweet, welcoming smile appearing almost instantly. “Bucky,” you greet warmly, your voice soft. “What brings you in? Did you and Steve go a little too hard today?”

For a second, Bucky just stands there, distracted by how you look. His heart skips a beat as he takes in the sight of you. He notices, maybe for the first time, how the hem of your dress rides up slightly when you cross your legs. He forces himself to look away before you catch him staring.

“Uh, yeah,” he mutters, gesturing vaguely to the cut on his face. “Just a cut… and maybe some bruised ribs.”

You arch an eyebrow, your smile turning a little coy. “Only maybe bruised ribs? Sounds like you need me to take a closer look.”

Bucky blinks, heat creeping up his neck as he tries to decide whether he’s imagining the playful tone in your voice or if it’s actually there. He clears his throat. “Yeah… probably.”

With that, you uncross your legs and stand up, heels clicking softly against the tile floor as you walk over to him. Your movements are graceful, confident, and Bucky feels his pulse quicken as you draw closer. There’s something about the way you carry yourself today—calm, collected, but with an air of subtle suggestion that makes him feel off balance.

You stand just inches away from him, reaching up to gently tilt his chin up so you can inspect the cut above his eyebrow. Your fingers are cool against his sweaty skin, and Bucky freezes, his breath catching in his throat.

“It’s not deep,” you murmur “But it’s a little more than a scratch. Seems like you need my magic touch~” you wiggle your fingers and Bucky bites back a groan at the subtle implication.

Before Bucky can respond, you place your hand gently over the wound, and he feels a soft, warm tingling sensation spread across his skin. Your healing powers are subtle but effective, and within seconds, the pain is gone, the cut already closing up beneath your touch. He’s experienced your abilities before, but every time he feels a spark from your touch, it’s a simple move but he craves more.

“There we go,” you say softly, removing your hand from his face. Your fingers linger a little longer than usual, trailing down his jaw ever so slightly before you step back, your eyes locking with his for a brief moment.

Bucky swallows hard, trying to shake off the heat rising in his chest. He’s probably imagining it—just reading too much into things. You’re always sweet, always kind and innocent.

Your gaze drops to his side, and you gently brush your hand over his ribs. “Lift your shirt for me?” you ask, your voice light but carrying a tone of suggestion that makes Bucky’s heart skip a beat.

He hesitates for a second, then does as you ask, pulling up his shirt to reveal the dark bruise spreading along his ribs. You make a soft sound of sympathy, a small pout forming on your lips as your pretty eyes lock with his for a moment. You look back down, your fingers grazing his skin as you crouch slightly to get a closer look.

“You really got hit hard,” you murmur, your tone carrying a note of concern but it switches up subtly as you carry on: “Good thing I can take care of you.”

Bucky’s breath hitches. Did he hear that right? Is there something more in your words? You were just talking about the injury right? The way you said it, the way you moved—it feels almost sinful in a way he’s not used to, at least not from you. He tries to keep his focus, but with you this close, your fingers trailing lightly over his bruised skin, it’s damn near impossible.

You place your hand gently over his ribs, your touch soft but firm as you close your eyes for a moment, focusing on healing the injury. Bucky feels the familiar warmth of your powers again, spreading through his body like a gentle wave. The pain begins to melt away, the bruise slowly fading beneath your hand.

“There,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “All better.”

But your hand doesn’t move right away. Instead, it lingers on his ribs for a second too long, your fingertips brushing the edge of his abdomen in a way that makes his breath catch. Then, just as he’s about to say something—anything—you pull away, turning to your desk, palms flat and bending as if you’re looking for something. Bucky’s mind flashes to pulling up your dress and fucking you senseless then and there, his metal hand clenches and he shakes the thought away.

Bucky exhales slowly, trying to calm the sudden storm in his chest. He has to be imagining it, right? You’re just being your usual caring self- but that touch felt different. Everything you’re doing feels different. More intentional. And the way you’d looked at him just now—

He notices you didn’t actually pick anything up from the desk after you’d bent over it a little.

“Alright, just one last check,” you say as you come back to stand in front of him, a small, almost playful smile on your lips. “Let me make sure everything else is fine.” You reach up, your hand lightly brushing against his neck as if you’re checking for tension or soreness. But then, your fingers linger—soft and warm against his skin, trailing slowly down to his collarbone. The touch is innocent enough, but there’s something in the way you do it that makes Bucky’s entire body tense.

You meet his eyes, your expression still sweet and professional, but there’s a hint of something more—something almost teasing in the way you hold his gaze. “Hmm, seems like you’re all healed up,” you murmur, your voice soft but suggestive in a way that makes his pulse race.

Bucky swallows, his throat suddenly dry as he stares at you. For a moment, he can’t move, can’t speak—stuck between the need to figure out if what he’s feeling is real or just in his head. He tries to convince himself it’s all innocent, but the way your hand lingers on his neck, the way your eyes flicker to his lips for the briefest of moments… it leaves him wondering if you aren’t quite as innocent as he thought.

You finally step back, that same sweet smile on your face as if nothing happened. “Take it easy, alright? Don’t push yourself too hard next time.”

Bucky nods, his voice hoarse when he finally speaks. “Yeah… thanks.”

You tilt your head, your smile widening just a little. “Anytime.” You sit down on your chair again, crossing one thigh over the other, it seemed deliberate.

You rest a pencil on your lower lip, teeth grazing it just slightly, pretty eyes on him. Bucky draws in a breath and feels a problem growing between his legs. He spins around to the door, hoping you don’t notice.

As Bucky begins leave you call out once more: “Let me know if you need me Bucky~ you can always come to me”

As Bucky leaves the infirmary, his mind spins. He came in with injuries, but now he has a different kind of problem, he attempts to calm down, the hardness in his pants making it hard to think. Something has shifted between you two, and whether it’s real or just in his imagination, Bucky can’t help but think back to it all. Did you want him too?

That night, Bucky stares at his ceiling, mind flashing back to you at your desk. Why didn’t you pick anything up? Did you forget what you were looking for? The look in your eyes told him you must’ve known what was going through his head.

He groans and pushes his face into his pillow, he thinks back to something that had happened a few days ago. You were giving out some sort of vitamin pill to everyone, when you’d leaned in, lips near his ear as you whispered:

“I saved you the last cherry flavoured one, don’t tell anyone” before winking slightly.

He shivers at the memory; he could smell every inch of you when you leaned in.

He grunts and pushes his face farther into the pillow. Why did you always save the good things for him? Was it on purpose? Whenever you baked you’d give him first pick- he thought you were just being nice, the sweet girl they all know. But the more he thinks about you the more he notices those little things.

Before he had even registered what he was doing, he was standing and making his way to your rooms. You did say he could always come to you. Bucky freezes outside the door when he realises where he was and what he was doing. Was he crazy? How could he come up with an excuse for being at your door at eleven at night? Before he can change his mind and turn around your door opens. There you stood wearing nothing but a pair of sleep shorts and a tank top- with no bra.

Bucky freezes, his breath catching in his throat as his gaze locks on you. The soft glow of your bedside lamp spills over your frame, highlighting the way your sleep shorts hug your hips and your tank top clings to your chest. His mouth goes dry.

You blink at him. “Bucky?” your voice is soft, a hint of curiosity laced in your tone. “Is everything okay? F.R.I.D.A.Y told me you were stood outside my door.

For a moment, all he can do is stare. He knows he should say something, anything, but his mind is scrambling for an excuse—an explanation for why he’s standing at your door in the middle of the night. His thoughts drift back to your touch earlier, the brush of your hand on his neck, and the memory of your lips near his ear just days ago.

You tilt your head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips, and Bucky swears there’s something teasing in your expression. You step aside, opening the door wider as if you’re inviting him in. “You didn’t have to knock, you know,” you say with that same sweetness. “You can always come to me.”

His heart pounds in his chest, loud enough that he wonders if you can hear it. He swallows, trying to push down the tension, but something in your eyes—something about the way you're looking at him—has his feet moving before his brain catches up.

He steps over the threshold.

Bucky steps inside, the door clicking shut softly behind him. The room is dim, and the soft scent of your perfume lingers in the air, teasing his senses. He watches you as you turn back toward him, your smile still warm, still innocent—at least on the surface.

“So…” you say, your voice soft as you walk a little closer to him, “What brings you here so late, Bucky?” There’s a hint of playfulness in your tone, like you already know the answer but want to hear him say it.

He shifts awkwardly, his eyes darting away from yours. “I… uh, I couldn’t sleep.” His voice comes out rougher than he intended.

“We both know my healing powers can’t help you sleep Bucky. So what’s up with you coming to see lil’. ol’. Me.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but no words come out. His mind is racing—unsure if you're playing a game or if he’s just reading too much into it. His eyes flick down to your tank top, the way it clings to you, the coolness from the hallway had made hard peaks appear on your chest he then glances back to your face. You’re watching him carefully, that same playful glint in your eyes.

You tilt your head slightly, voice soft but teasing. “You’ve been thinking a lot lately, haven’t you?” Your fingers brush lightly against his arm, sending a shiver through him. “About me?”

Bucky feels his pulse quicken. He’s certain now—there’s no way he’s imagining it.

“I—” He swallows hard, trying to find the right words. But before he can, you step even closer, your body inches from his now, your hand lingering on his arm.

“You think I didn’t notice?” You ask sweetly

Bucky’s breath hitches as your words sink in, and his chest tightens, the space between you suddenly feeling far too small. His mind is racing, but his body is rooted in place, drawn to you in a way he can’t explain. He tries to speak, to form some kind of coherent response, but his voice fails him.

“You think I didn’t notice?” you ask again, your voice low, sweet, but with a teasing edge that makes Bucky’s heart race. Your hand is still resting lightly on his arm, your touch burning through his skin despite the fabric of his shirt. The warmth of your body is so close now, and Bucky is overwhelmed by the scent of you—intoxicating, pulling him deeper into the moment. He can feel himself grow hard at the simple touch, he want’s your hands all over him. He just needs to feel you touch him.

He stares down at you, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the way your lips curve into that soft, knowing smile. You tilt your head up slightly, your eyes locking with his, and for a moment, everything else fades away. It’s just the two of you, standing impossibly close, the air between you thick with tension.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, but Bucky hears every word. “I notice where your eyes go when I wear a skirt or dress, if I bend over or wear anything even remotely low cut.”

He swallows hard, his pulse pounding in his ears. He wants to say something, to explain himself, to apologize, but he can’t—because the truth is, you’re right. He has been looking at you, watching you, craving your presence without ever fully admitting it to himself.

You shift even closer, your chest almost brushing against his, and Bucky’s breath catches as your fingers slowly trail up his arm, lingering at his shoulder. His heart feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest, and he’s not sure how much longer he can keep control of himself. The way you’re looking at him, your lips parted slightly, your eyes holding his like they’re daring him to make the next move…

He’s losing it.

“You don’t have to hide it,” you whisper, your voice laced with that same soft, teasing edge. Your hand moves up to his neck now, your fingertips brushing the sensitive skin just below his jaw. “You can tell me what you want, Bucky…”

He whines.

Before the embarrassment can hit him you let out a low groan at the sound. “Fuck…”

Bucky’s breath comes out in a shudder, his self-control hanging by a thread. He feels the warmth of your hand against his neck, the way your touch lingers just a second too long, and it sends a wave of heat rushing through him.

He opens his mouth to respond, but you’re already moving, closing the last bit of space between you. Your eyes flicker down to his lips, and Bucky’s resolve crumbles. He can’t hold back anymore.

His hand reaches out almost instinctively, fingers gently curling around your waist, pulling you closer. He leans down, his breath mingling with yours as he hovers just inches from your lips, his heart pounding in his chest.

“You…” His voice is low, strained, as if he’s barely holding on. “You’re driving me crazy, doll.”

You smile, and the look in your eyes—soft, teasing, and just a little wicked—sends him over the edge.

Bucky leans to close the gap but your finger presses against his lips. A frown forms on his face, and then you speak.

“ah ah ah” you shake your head “we ask for what we want”

Bucky mentally scolds himself for not asking, he was in the moment.

“May I kiss you?” he asks.

“Say please” there was an unexpected dominance to your tone, completely wiping out the innocence.

Oh fuck.

Bucky feels himself grow harder at the tone. He’s momentarily stunned. Your pretty eyes are on him, feigning innocence but there’s something sinful hiding in them. His beautiful blue eyes look down at you, filled with need.

“Please?”

You let out a moan at the word, your body heating up, your core dampens your shorts.

“Fuck… Bucky…” You say breathily before you pull him down a little to reach your height and kiss him. It’s gentle, as though you’re teasing him, giving him a glimpse to what he can have. He just needs to ask politely.

“Doll… please… I…” He struggles to get his words out, brain fogged over from all the sensations hitting him at once. You run your hands along his abs and he whines again. The whine shoots straight through you. Bucky Barnes, the worlds most accomplished assassin is whining for you.

“Please what? Good boys use their words.” You say in a sinfully soft voice that sends a shiver down his spine.

“I need… more… please” He whispers your name at the end and you hum, satisfied. You grasp his hand and it feels so good to him. Too good. He follows you as you pull him towards the bed.

“Sit there. Lean against the headboard” you hum and he immediately does as he’s told. Sure, he was a super solider who could overpower you in a second, you were both aware. But you were both also aware that he didn’t want that. He needed you to guide him.

You plant yourself in his lap, straddling him, before letting out a soft hum as you feel his hardness push against your core over your sleep shorts. Bucky lets out a moan at the contact but you’re quick to swallow it with a deep, heated kiss. His hands claw at your hips and you gasp slightly as the metal of his hand touches your skin. He’s quick to pull it away but you’re quicker, gripping his wrist and shaking your head, guiding it back in place.

You continue the kiss, before taking his lower lip in between your teeth. You open your eyes to see his blue ones are locked onto your own in what can only be described as the hottest, neediest way, his pupils dilated. You lick over his lip before your hand snakes around the back of his neck and up to his hair. You gently tug, its light, testing the waters and his lips part, head nodding. You pull his hair back a little harsher and he moans. You laugh, the sound dark and sinful in Bucky’s ears.

Your lips kiss his earlobe. “You like your hair pulled? Dirty boy~”

He moans again and nods, hands gripping your hips a little harder, pulling you down to grind on him. You make a ‘tsk’ sound and he freezes, quickly remembering your rule.

You get off him and he groans at the loss of contact, his needy eyes falling onto you. You slowly pull down your shorts, revealing your core to him. His breathing quickens, cock twitching and straining against his sweatpants.

“Take your clothes off, honey” your sultry voice fills his ears and he does so immediately, stripping off his shirt first, exposing the honey toned abs with numerous scars here and there. He is beautiful and you let it show on your face. He drags down his sweatpants leaving him in his grey boxers. There’s a dark damp spot on them from his arousal, pre-cum weeping through from the tip. You make a gesture for him to keep going and he obliges, dragging the boxers down. He stands there, glorious cock hard against his abdomen, looking at you, waiting for your next command.

“What do you want? You just need to ask” You inquire, goading him to tell you.

He swallows, looking down at your dripping core and then back to his cock. You fully expect him to ask to fuck you based on his expression, but he shocks you.

“Can I taste you please?”

Your eyes widen briefly, stunned at his choice.

“I’m sorry— if you don’t want—“ He begins to speak but you cut him off with a finger to your lips and standing up. You slowly peel off your shorts, leaning against the wall.

“You asked me so nicely.” You beckon him and the speed in which he’s on his knees in front of you has your legs weak. His hands skim over your thighs, leaving Goosebumps in their wake. “Is this what you want?”

Bucky looks up at you with desperate eyes, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “Yes, please” His voice is hoarse.

“You wanna make me feel good?” You coo.

Bucky groans, his hands gripping your thighs a little. “More than anything” He confirms.

You nod, giving your permission and he settles in between your thighs. He grasps your ass, pulling you up so your legs are over his shoulders, his head cradled by your thighs. You’re momentarily stunned, briefly forgetting he’s a super soldier with insane strength. The thought goes right to your core. Your back is against the wall, his hands still firm on your ass, keeping you in place. Bucky’s breath ghosts across your core before he looks up at you. The sight was nearly enough to make you come. With a firm squeeze on your ass, he dives in, licking a stripe up your lips, making you gasp and weave your fingers through his hair. He groans and begins to lap at your clit like a man starved. He occasionally moans and groans, letting you know how much he’s enjoying being between your legs.

“Bucky— oh my god” You moan out. This only drives him more, he focuses his tongue on your bundle of nerves and you see stars.

He is good at this.

Really fucking good.

Too good?

It doesn’t take you long to come at all, you grasp his hair tighter, thighs squeezing around his head in a way that makes his cock twitch against his abdomen. He rides you through your orgasm until you’re squirming and too sensitive.

He pulls back, holding you up still, and looks into your eyes. The lower part of his face is sinfully wet, he gives you a charming smile, eyes still betraying his neediness.

“You did so well… so good for me…” You breathe out and a strangled noise escapes him.

A praise kink.

“You did so so good for me Bucky~ You deserve a reward” You coo, getting off his shoulders and standing up. You tilt his head up with your finger. “You want a reward baby?”

Bucky lets out a breathy noise and nods.

“What do you want? I’ll give you whatever you want”

Bucky Looks up at you, standing up. He shocked you again.

“Please doll… sit on my face… if… you want…” He adds the last part, unsure. All he knows is that being in between your thighs, hearing you, feeling you, giving you pleasure is all he wants right now.

You bite back a groan and nod, watching him scramble to the bed, laying on his back. He’s gloriously naked, thick cock incredibly hard and standing to attention. You crawl up his body, making sure to brush up against his length to hear those delicious whines from him. His hips buck a few times against you and then you’re settled just above his face. You look down at him and he looks ravenous— His desperate eyes flicking from your core to your face. His hands keep flexing as he struggles, wanting nothing more than to pull you down onto his face and hold you there until he can’t breathe.

“You can touch me Buck” you say softly and his hands hesitantly settle on your hips. He pauses before it eventually becomes too much and pulls you down onto his face, groaning at the impact. You don’t move much, assuming he wants to take the lead when he speaks, muffled against your core.

You giggle and look at him innocently. “Sorry honey what was that? I can’t understand you~”

His eyes grow even more needy, looking up at you. He speaks, muffled again before he decided to lift you up just enough to speak.

“Move— please. Grind on my face. Use me to come please”

How could you say no to such a beautiful request?

You settle back down and rock your hips. His tongue moves with the same finesse and you can’t help but wonder if he’s tired. He doesn’t look tired. You move his arms so he’s holding them up and you entwine your fingers, using his arms to keep you upright, moving against him. His eyes are fluttering shut in pleasure and you groan. You make quick work of your shirt, leaving you both naked now.

“Eyes open Bucky~ I thought you wanted to see what you do to me?~” You tease.

His eyes shoot open again, pupils dilated, his eyes more black than blue now.

“Good~ So good to me” You breathe out and he moans against you, making you gasp and your hips stutter. You grip his hands tighter. His pretty eyes are begging you to come and you do, thighs once again squeezing around his head, making him feel dizzy. Your hips are bucking against his face not even thinking about his breathing— but that isn’t on Bucky’s mind either. You ride out your orgasm and get off him, falling on your back, breathing erratic.

Bucky lays there with the lower half of his face wet, stubble and all. His breathing is erratic and his cock is painfully hard against his abdomen.

“Holy shit Bucky” You huff out and a hoarse moan leaves his mouth.

He slots himself between your legs, kissing your shoulder, slowly moving down your body until he’s at your hip, kissing it softly.

“You are so beautiful doll” His eyes are sincere and your cheeks feel hot at the compliment. “One more time? Please?” He asks, eyes pleading.

Sweet mother of Jesus.

“You want— you seriously— you want to eat me out again?” Your eyes are wide.

Bucky nods, nuzzling and kissing your thigh before focusing on your face again. “And to fuck you with my fingers if that’s alright with you doll?”

Sweet. Mother. Of. Jesus.

Your brain short circuits for a moment at the words leaving his mouth and you mindlessly nod, your gaze heated and intense.

He runs a finger along your dripping core and he moans. Was he really getting this much pleasure? You hadn’t even touched him at all. He teases your entrance before sinking a finger in softly. He hisses at how tight it is, his cock twitching. You let out a soft breathy moan at the feeling, instinctively reaching for his hair. Bucky peppers kisses on your thighs before he begins pumping his finger.

It’s not enough.

“More” You demand, gripping his hair. Bucky is happy to oblige, pushing a second finger in, your toes curling. “oh god yes”

Bucky begins to curl his fingers, brushing up against your sweet spot as he increases his pace a fraction and you cry out.

“Am I doing good?” His husky voice asks, desperate for praise.

“So good baby, so fucking good. You’re so good to me” You moan out and he snaps, thrusting his fingers into you with a little more force and latching his mouth onto your clit. You’re so sensitive at this point you let out a whine, your words not coherent. You didn’t even know it was possible to come this many times before being fucked. The coil in your stomach feels more intense than you have ever felt before, you tighten around his fingers and before you could warn him, he pulls away, watching the liquid squirt from you in awe. You, on the other hand are glassy eyed and trembling afterwards.

Bucky gives you a few minutes to settle before he brings himself back up to your face, you pull him in for a messy kiss. His cock is settled on your thigh, Bucky whines into the kiss and you can feel him jutting against it. You grasp his chin as he kisses you, feeling his length as he desperately claims whatever friction he can get.

Bucky is surprised at himself. There has never been a time in his life where he has felt the need to dry hump a woman. But you have the best ways of bringing new feelings and actions out of him.

“Please” He says softly.

“Oh you’re so worked up honey. After doing such a good job. Take what you want Bucky” you coo, stroking his cheek and he leans into it before settling his hips between your legs.

“Can I… are you okay if I…” He begins and you nod.

“You’ve more than earned it” You rake your hands through his hair, nails scratching his scalp.

In an attempt to ground himself, He places his hands on your headboard, letting you guide his cock into place. He pushes in and groans, immediately shattering the headboard where his hands were.

Oh lord.

You squeeze around him and let out a breathy, aroused giggle. Bucky on the other hand looks mortified.

“Oh my god doll I am so sorry—“ He goes to pull out of you but you grasp his arms and shake your head. He doesn’t take much convincing before he pushes into you fully. He’s panting and rests his forehead on yours. Even with the fingers stretching you earlier, you need to adjust. The super solider cock is no joke.

You moan encouragingly in his ear and he pulls back softly before pushing back in. Your eyes flutter and Bucky has his trained solely on you and your reactions.

“Am I hurting you, doll?” He asks, breathily, stopping his motions.

You shake your head immediately. “Please don’t stop”

He keeps his strength in check, bracing on the half broken headboard again, his hands slotting into the Bucky sized hand holes in them. He uses a leisurely pace that does hit the spot, but it’s not quite enough. You could tell he was holding back for your sake but you needed to see just how much he needed you.

“Harder Bucky~ Fuck. I can take it— please”

The headboard crushes even more at your words, your legs were wound around his hips, he leans forward, wrapping his arms around you, his face buried in your neck as he desperately thrusts into you. It’s hard and fast, a string of moans and curses leaving your mouth as you can’t move in his grip, all you can do is take it. You’re seeing stars now, as Bucky is whining and muttering praises in your ear.

“You feel so good doll”

“I would do this forever… beautiful beautiful girl”

And lastly:

“Oh god thank you” He repeats the phrase a few times and your head spins.

He’s fucking thanking you.

You manage to moan out a few praises that are punctuated by his sharp needy thrusts. He pulls his face away from his neck when he’s close. You can see it on his face, begging you to come first. He slips his metal hand down to your clit, stroking the already sensitive bundle of nerves and your eyes widen at the coolness against it.

“Please come” He moans and it doesn’t take you long to oblige his plea, the metal hand on your clit, the whines from Bucky and his cock hitting you deep pushes you over the edge and you come, clenching him hard.

“You’re so beautiful” He says in awe. “Please can I come— please doll” Bucky’s thrusts are faltering.

“fill me up Bucky~” You moan and that’s all it takes, his thrusts become harder, your body jolting from the force, you’ll feel this in your hips in the morning. You could always heal it away. But you probably won’t. You place a hand over his neck holding it loosely, your other hand raking through his hair.

Bucky thrusts into you hard and deep, with hoarse moans of thank you as he comes inside you, filling you up. He simply stays inside you after, his body moving with his deep ragged breaths before he collapses on top of you, making sure to use some strength to stop him crushing you. You stroke his hair, muttering soft praises.

He rolls off you, his honey toned skin covered in a sheen of sweat that made him look godly. Your legs are jelly; you aren’t even sure you can use them for the next few days. Bucky stands and walks to your bathroom, giving you the perfect view of his sculpted ass and returns a few moments later with a warm wet cloth to clean you up with.

When the both of you are cleaned up, Bucky begins to wipe away the crushed pieces of headboard from your bed sheepishly.

“Sorry doll” He says quietly.

“It’s okay” You assure. “It was hot. Made me feel like Bella Swan” You joke.

Bucky looks at you, not understanding the reference.

“From Twi… never mind” You hum, helping to brush off the little pieces of wood. He lays back down and pulls you into his arms.

“Doll… I… I have never felt like that before. What did you do to me? I am under a spell when it comes to you.”

You yawn and let out a sleepy laugh. “You’re telling me. I don’t think I could sleep with a regular dude again after that”

It’s not long until exhaustion rushes through you. Super solider stamina is no joke. You drift off, head on his chest. Bucky watches the soft rise and fall of your chest, your soft snores filling the room.

And for the first time in what feels like forever; Bucky has a deep, dreamless sleep. His nightmares paused as he slumbers beside your soft, warm body.

It’s late when Bucky wakes up. Your side of the bed is cold. He glances at the clock on his phone, reading 11:07am, and a text from you, timestamped two hours ago:

‘Morning sleepy head. I didn’t wanna wake you. You looked too comfortable ;)’

He smiles at the text and looks for his clothes, only to find you must have taken a trip to his room to grab some fresh clothes. There is a towel on a chair with a new set of clean clothes and a pair of boxers.

When he’s all cleaned up and dressed he makes his way to the kitchen. You’re talking to Wanda, Steve and Sam.

“Bucky good morning!” Your sweet voice drifts over to him. “You slept in late. Are you feeling okay? Late night?” It’s an innocent question, no one bats an eyelash at it. You’re the healer of the team, and you’re concerned. But Bucky bites back a groan at the implications they both know is behind the sweet words.

Before Bucky can respond, Tony walks in.

“Hey Hippocrates” Tony calls out to you. “Why did F.R.I.D.A.Y tell me you needed a new headboard for your bed?

Oops.

Now he’s pinned beneath you, your knees caging his shoulders, your slick heat hovering just above his mouth. His hands rest lightly on the backs of your thighs, gentle, soothing circles with his thumbs even though his pulse is hammering in his ears and his cock is straining painfully against his boxers.

He’s been at it for a long time already. Long, dragging licks. Slow, open-mouthed kisses. Sucking your clit softly until your hips buck, then easing off before starting again. He’s trying to pace you, trying to stretch it out so you don’t crash too hard too fast.

But you’re not interested in pacing.

You’re feral.

Your fingers twist tight in his hair, yanking his head exactly where you want it. Every time he tries to pull back, even half an inch to drag in a proper breath, you haul him right back with a broken, needy sound.

“Baby,” he rasps against your folds, voice thick and wrecked, lips swollen and glistening. “Baby- fuck- my jaw’s killing me. Just- give me a second, yeah? Please.”

You make a sound that’s half sob, half snarl. Your thighs clamp harder around his ears.

“No,” you gasp. “No, Buck, I need more. I’m so close- please-”

He groans, the vibration rolling straight through your clit. His hands flex on your thighs, torn between holding you steady and trying to ease you off just enough to breathe.

“Doll,” he tries again, words muffled and slurred. “Sweetheart, I’m tryin’- I swear I’m tryin’- but I can’t- can’t keep goin’ like this forever. My tongue’s numb, my jaw’s locked up-”

You lean forward, one hand braced on the headboard, the other still fisted in his hair. Your hips roll in a slow, deliberate grind, dragging your slick over his lips, his chin.

“I know,” you whisper, voice shaking with want. “I know it hurts. But I need you to let me fuck myself on your tongue, Bucky. Just- open your mouth and let me ride it. Hard. Please. I need to come like that. I need it so bad.”

His eyes flutter shut for a second. A low, helpless sound rumbles out of his chest.

“Baby… Christ.” His voice cracks. “I want to- fuck, you know I want to- but I’m already hangin’ on by a thread here. If you start ridin’ my face like that, I’m not gonna last. I’m gonna- shit- I’m gonna come in my pants like some fuckin’ teenager if you keep goin’.”

You whimper at the confession, thighs trembling harder.

“That’s okay,” you breathe, rocking just enough to tease the tip of his tongue against your entrance. “I want that. I want you to lose it. Please, Buck. Open up. Let me take it. Let me use you.”

He’s panting now, hot little bursts of air against your soaked skin. His fingers dig into your thighs, not to stop you but like he’s bracing himself.

“Fuck- doll, you’re gonna ruin me,” he chokes out. “I’m beggin’ you. Just- slow down. Give me a minute. I can’t- I can’t hold it-”

But you’re already moving.

You sink down, slow at first, letting his tongue slide inside you. Then faster. Harder. Fucking yourself on it in short, greedy thrusts while his muffled groans vibrate through you.

His hands scramble up to grip your hips, not to control, just to hold on. His whole body is shaking under you now, muscles locked tight, breath coming in ragged, desperate bursts against your cunt.

“Baby- please-” he manages between thrusts, voice wrecked and pleading. “Slow- fuck- slow down or I’m gonna- gonna come- can’t stop it-”

You don’t slow down.

You grind harder, chasing the angle that makes stars burst behind your eyes, using his tongue like it’s the only thing that matters. His pleas turn into broken, garbled sounds- half curses, half whimpers- muffled against your heat.

And then you feel it.

His hips jerk upward, helpless, once, twice and a low, guttural groan tears out of him as he comes untouched, soaking through his boxers, body shuddering beneath you while you keep riding his face.

The sight, the sound, the feel of him losing it completely sends you over.

Your thighs lock around his head, a sharp cry ripping from your throat as you clench hard around his tongue, pulsing, shaking, drenching his face all over again. He keeps his mouth open, keeps his tongue flat and steady even as he’s trembling through the aftershocks of his own release.

When it finally eases, you collapse forward, forehead pressed to the headboard, chest heaving. Only then do you loosen your grip on his hair.

He sucks in his first real breath in forever, face a wrecked, shiny mess, lips puffy, chin dripping, eyes glassy and dazed. But he’s smiling, soft and stupid and so fucking in love.

You slide down his body until you’re sprawled across his chest. His arms wrap around you instantly, one hand rubbing slow circles on your back, the other cradling your neck.

“Thought you said you couldn’t hold it,” you murmur, voice hoarse.

He huffs a wrecked laugh, voice raw. “Yeah, well… I tried warnin’ you.”

You nuzzle into his throat, already going boneless. “Worth it.”

He presses a shaky kiss to your hairline, still catching his breath.

“Yeah,” he whispers, lips brushing your temple. “Worth every goddamn second.”

He’s still catching his breath underneath you, arms tight like he never wants to let go. And you know he’ll be right back down there the second you ask again.

— yours truly, ѕℓυtdιεr.

masterlist | bucky version

Her manicured nails trail up his abs, bunching the fabric of his shirt and scratching up to his broad shoulders. He gulps in anticipation with the tip of his tongue touching the ends of his teeth, watching her hands find their path. His ears bloom red with heat and lust. He’s blushing hard and she sees it.

She inches up his neck, dragging soft red lines across the sides and earning a hum of appreciation he instinctively lets out. She presses her thumb to his pink lips, and his big blue eyes suddenly widen.

“What are you—” he starts but she shoves past the first knuckle into his mouth, and his lips immediately wrap themselves around it.

“I said shut up, didn’t I, Barnes?”

Like the respectful man he is, he listens.

She hums in approval as he stays silent and pushes her thumb further into his mouth, letting him slobber over it before pulling it back out—just to prove a point.

"You're so much cuter when you get what you want, you know that?"

Dumbfounded, he stares up at her like he wasn’t sure if this was really happening, trying to recall how he’d gotten himself into this situation— how she’d gotten him bound for her. But truth be told, he liked this. He wanted this. This big beefy man was dying to be touched by her, manhandled by her into submission even if his pride wouldn’t let him admit it. Bucky always had a soft spot for her, even if they’d fight like hell. The devilish grin on her face when she saw the gears turning in his brain made him so much harder.

“I see the way you look at me, Barnes,” inching herself even closer to him, a leg on either side of his thick thighs.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes.

She nods in amusement like she’s listening to his thoughts, seating herself firmly on his beefy thighs.

"F-fuck,” he groans, growing even harder at the contact.

He was always down bad for her and she could tell just from the way his eyes would wander. She pretends not to notice but tonight, she has him all to herself. No responsibilities, no work, no distractions. Just them.

Giggling at his reaction, she gleams. Her lip is caught between her lips in a seductive smirk.

“You’re so fucking easy, you know that,” ghosting her breath over his cheek as she deliberately shifts her hips on him. He chokes on his spit, straining his hands against the ropes that were just barely keeping him bound.

If he wanted out of them, he could’ve done it.

But he waits and her curiosity gets the better of her. She grinds slowly against the bulge in his pants.

“S—stop that,” he chokes out again. Pulling himself together and glaring at her, lust and embarrassment in his eyes, “god, I hate you,” he’s lying through his teeth. His boner is literally pressing against her core.

“no, you don’t,” she teases, “you hate how much you like me, don’t you, Bucky?” licking a stripe up his jaw and biting at the sharp edge.

“Y-yes, I mean no,” he tries but they both know he doesn’t mean it. She twists her hips in his lap, leaning her head back to stare his flushed appearance. He groans again like it hurts, huffing at her. “Okay—fuck—please,” she smiles at his silent submission.

But still, it wasn't enough.

“Oh, come on now. You can beg better than that,” her voice dripping in honey-tongued seduction.

Seating herself harder against him, his rock-hard length creating the most delicious friction through his jeans. Bucky throws his head back, and she grins down at him like she knows something he doesn’t, leaning into his ear.

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you what you can’t seem to say you want,” his lips part as she says it, his eyes gleaming with joy. But she’s stilling her hips against his, and he whimpers in protest, “if you admit it first,”

His breath hitches, brows furrowing, “Admit what?” practically whining the words out of frustration.

“Admit you belong to me. Hmm?”

A heavy gulp pollutes the air as soon as the words come out. His lips are pink and plump from biting them too hard at her mean ministrations. She stretches out her arms behind him, rubbing him just right again.

“D-don’t do that—ah—I’ll—”

She giggles, interrupting him, “You’ll what, Bucky?” dragging her lips over his neck now, hips giving him the slightest contact with a subtle shift.

Everything was building for months, the stares, his lingering touches, the way he would stop himself from saying something and bite back his real desires.

The way she would do the same.

But not anymore.

“You’re so fucking annoying, shit,” He’s practically shaking beneath her, hips bucking back up into her.

She stops her movements and hovers over him. Desperately, he gasps, thrusting his hips upward again but finding no friction to suffice it with.

"Why did you stop?" whining the words in a way she'd never heard him before, and god, was it glorious, “move.”

She stares down at him, “You just called me annoying, so no.” She’s batting her pretty lashes like she could do no wrong, like she were the most innocent woman, just sitting in his lap with no intention of getting him off through his jeans.

He grunts in that way he always does, bucking his hips up when she inches away, “come on, I was joking,” whining the words so gorgeously. He breathes out her name, before biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. She doesn’t move, crossing her arms and he almost cries, at how badly he wanted her on him again, "Please, okay fine, please, let me fuck you.”

She hums, pretending to think to hear him whine again, "That's not what I was looking for," seating herself back on his lap, earning a beautiful moan out of him, "but it sure was pretty, so I'll sit for you,” he gasps in relief as she’s planted back down, “how's that?"

His hips move in circles to coax her, "No, no, wait please, I want you, okay?" he pants, straining against his ties, the chair groaning beneath him as he leans as far as he can into her, "You own me, alright? I belong to you," he watches her face begin to unravel as he grinds perfectly against the seam of her pants, teasing her scrumptiously.

Everything about him screamed power and authority, but beneath her, he was singing like a fucking canary, telling on himself and how desperately he was chasing his pleasure. His perfect, plump lips fall open, and she can't help but lean towards them. He makes contact first, kissing her soft and purposeful as though he's been waiting for this moment for years.

The intrusion is immediate, and he bites her bottom lip to make her open wider, causing her to gasp and moan while he tangles his tongue with hers. The muscles fighting for dominance as all semblance of control and sanity leave both of their minds, and her hips shift in tandem with his. It felt like being drunk for the first time; it felt electric, it felt like fireworks, and they were dry-humping like teenagers.

She had him wrapped around her finger.

She pulls away enough to whisper against his lips, in the sexiest, raspiest voice, knowingly teasing him, “wanna do it raw, pretty boy?"

Fuck, she was gonna kill him. Like something out of a wet dream, her words dawned on him and he was entirely ruined.

Suddenly, he moans her name, stilling his hips as his face falls into the crook of her neck. She freezes, eyes widening as she runs her fingers soothingly through his hair and pulls his head back to face her. He shudders and groans, his skin flushed. A warm, wet spot was pooling just beneath where she sat on his crotch.

“Did you just—?” their faces inches apart.

There was no embarrassment anymore, despite him literally cumming in his pants; now he was past that. He barely pulls at the ropes keeping his arms back, vibranium arm yanking it off with ease. The tearing sound fills the air as she gasps and hops off of him.

“I told you to stop fucking teasing me,” his voice sharp with a newfound anger beneath the edge.

He’s standing now, towering over her, fury evident on his flushed face. Even in anger, he looked like a snack she wanted to unwrap slowly, and lick the wrapper clean like she just couldn’t get enough. His eyes trail down her form and his metal arm wraps around her wrist, pulling her into his embrace before she can get too far.

He crashes his lips into hers and his restraint is entirely gone. Kissing her hard like he had no time to waste, his tongue tangles with hers and she couldn’t do anything about it this time. His fingers firm and purposeful as they snake up the nape of her neck, gripping enough to coax a sharp gasp out of her.

He leans down, whispering in an authoritative and deliciously rough voice that made her shiver exactly as she imagined it would, lips ghosting over hers.

“Now you're really gonna get it.”

#happyfreakysundayeverybodygetlit

you’re half-dressed and cradling your daughter against your chest. one of your hand cups her perfect little head while the other strokes her back in a steady rhythm.

her soft, wet suckling fills the quiet, punctuated now and then by that tiny sigh she makes when she pauses for air.

you’re tired now. but in that floaty, dazed way that’s oddly peaceful, like your body knows you’ve just made a whole human and is demanding your stillness.

the robe you’re wearing parts a little, when you shift on the bed, exposing the warm skin to the night air. one breast is out, full heavy and leaking, the other still tucked away. your belly is softer than before. your thighs, too. and yet you’ve never felt more powerful than in this moment: feeding someone that grew inside you.

something moves in your peripheral vision, and you don’t have to take another look to know that it’s your husband.

the wedding band glints at his finger, as he stares at you. again. and he’s not being very subtle about it.

he’s leaning in the doorway like he’s forgotten how to move. like someone pressed pause on his brain and he’s just stuck there.

you don’t look at him for a while. you just let him watch. it’s become a quiet game between you lately. he studies you, drinks you in like he thinks you’ll vanish. and you pretend not to notice until the weight of his hunger becomes impossible to ignore.

you clear your throat softly, but your eyes remain on your daughter. “you’re staring again.”

“i know.” there’s no apology in it. it’s just the truth, like it’s just a fact. his gaze slides down your body and drags its way back up, lingering far too long on the breast not currently occupied, albeit it being covered. “i can’t help it.”

you finally glance at him.

he looks like a man with his hands tied. like he’s trying to be respectful, like he’s trying to wait until you give him permission.

but there’s just something wild just beneath his stillness.

you tilt your head, just a little. “what is it, baby?”

you let your eyes drag down his body now. there’s the evidence of barely-there outline of his cock already thickening beneath the fabric of his pants. your eyes find his face again, he’s red in the cheeks, breathing real slow he’s trying to will himself not to get hard watching you feed your child.

you feel the wicked little grin tug at your lips before you can stop it.

“do you want a taste?”

you ask it so damn lightly. like you’re offering him a sip of your latte.

his mouth actually opens a little. but nothing comes out other than air. his arms uncross and his hands hover at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them anymore.

“what?” his voice is croaky, like he’s forgotten how to speak entirely, and english sounds more like an inconvenience rather than a language he’s fluent in.

“you’ve been staring for twenty minutes like you want to get on your knees and suck it.”

bucky makes a noise in his throat that’s somewhere between a gasp and a groan. his eyes drop again, then snap back up, like he’s afraid he’ll come just from looking too long.

“you’re—you’re not serious.”

“oh, but i am.”

you shift your daughter slightly, stroking her tiny back as she continues to suck lazily in her sleep-heavy rhythm. “you’ve been walking around this house like a kicked puppy for a month. you’re hard every time i take my robe off. flustered every time i bend over. and don’t think i didn’ notice how long you stood outside the door last night just listening to me pump.”

his lips part again. nothing. just breath, yet again.

“fuck.” he finally manages to drag one word out of his throat.

“you want to taste what your daughter gets, don’t you? you want mommy to feed you, too.” you say the latter like it’s a statement, not a question.

you don’t know what came over you when you uttered that word, what spurred you to actually say it. but the way he reacts tells you he’s into it.

in fact, he’s very much into it because he whimpers. actually whimpers.

“say it. say what you want, baby.” your voice is barely a whisper, excited to see what might come out of his mouth. because not everyday does a six foot super soldier look like the ground has been ripped away from him.

his eyes flutter close like he’s in pain. “i want—fuck. i want to suck your tits, mommy.”

you smile like you’ve won something. hearing him call you that is a different type of arousal, one that you hadn’t felt before, but now embraced it fully. he’s exactly where you want him.

“good boy,” the two words leave you way too easily.

your husband moves without thinking. crawls onto the bed like he doesn’t remember how his knees work. when he’s finally kneeling beside you, his hands hover again, like he’s uncertain.

you’re still feeding your daughter. she’s still latched, little sucks slower now, fading more towards sleep.

bucky, on the other hand, is breathing hard.

“you want to wait until she’s done? or do you want the other one now?” you ask sweetly, like you’re not short-circuiting your husband in real time.

his eyes flick down to your boobs, and then back to you, then down again, as though he’s weighing his options. “now.”

you reach up and tug the robe down off your other shoulder, letting the soft fabric fall completely. you’re bare from the waist up now.

you bring your hand to the full breast he’s been staring at and squeeze just slightly. a thin stream of milk beads at the tip.

a moan rips out of him. and you haven’t even touched him, nor has he touched you. yet.

“open,” your voice is way too soft for an order.

his lips part instantly, like he’s waited enough.

you guide his mouth to your nipple, and he latches as though he’s the one who’s starving. his hands go to your waist, gripping you tight like you might float away. the groan he lets out when he tastes the first trickle of milk is obscene.

there’s no hesitation in the way he suckles, it’s just him, his mouth, his tongue and soft suction.

“good boy,” you whisper again. “drink.”

you stroke his hair, like you’re petting something loyal. you can feel the tension leaking out of him with every suck. and the unmistakable strain of his cock against his sweats now that he makes no effort to hide it.

“that’s it,” you coo. “you missed mommy, didn’t you?”

he nods against your skin, mouth never leaving your breast.

“you’ve been so patient and sweet. helping me every day. putting our daughter down. kissing me goodnight and walking away with your cock hard, haven’t you?”

he pulls off for half a second with a gasp, mouth still wet and swollen with saliva and milk. “i tried to be good.”

you smile and guide him back to your nipple.

“you were. that’s why i’m letting you drink.”

his groan vibrates against your skin and your whole body spikes with heat. you’re soaked between your legs now, your thighs clenching every time he pulls more milk from you.

there’s precum leaking through his pants that you can clearly see now.

your daughter unlatches with a little sigh, drunk on milk and sleep, and you shift carefully to lay her in the bassinet beside the bed.

bucky doesn’t stop sucking. he just follows you, stays latched, hands on your hips like he thinks you’ll take it away if he lets go.

you chuckle breathlessly and run your fingers through his hair. “you’re really needy, huh?”

he just nods.

“you wanna make mommy come first?”

he looks up at you, with stark black eyes and lips impossibly pink.

“please.” he pops off your breast to utter the word and goes right back to it, like that’s where he belongs.

you stroke his hair again, watching his eyes flutter. his tongue moves slower as he sucks you, almost softer now, more worship than hunger. his grip on your hips is tight, like you’re his anchor.

“god, you’re a mess. look at you.” your voice is thick with both affection and arousal.

another groan slips past him as he pulls back slightly, tongue dragging along your nipple as he breathes out. your breast is wet with milk and spit, your nipple flushed and shiny and swollen. he looks up at you like he’s drowning in it.

“i c—can’t think when you say it like that,” he stammers, “you say it and my brain just… shuts off.”

you grin down at him. “good. i don’t need you thinking right now. i just need your mouth.”

you lean back against the headboard, spreading your legs slowly, watching the way his eyes drop and his jaw tightens at the sight of your bare cunt.

you’re soaked. well, no surprise there. you’ve been aching since the second he looked at you like that. since you saw his cock twitch behind the fabric of those old sweatpants.

“you still remember what i like?” you spread yourself for him with two fingers. “it’s been a while.”

bucky exhales like he’s about to cry. “i remember everything, mommy.”

the word, even uttered for the hundredth time today, brings a new wave of arousal between your thighs. “then show me.”

there’s no hesitation inn his movements as he crawls between your legs and settles there.

the first touch of his mouth is soft. his lips part and he exhales hot against your folds before dragging his tongue up in a wet line that makes you moan and buck your hips upwards.

“ohhh, fuck—yes, just like that, baby.”

he groans in response as he licks deeper, the tip of his tongue pressing just enough to tease before flicking against your clit.

he’s slower than he used to be. maybe careful is the word. like he knows your body’s changed and he’s not here to rush it. he’s here to worship every inch of you.

he spreads you with his thumbs and sucks your clit into his mouth slowly, and your hand flies to his hair.

“there’s my good boy—ahh—keep going.”

he moans again, hips rocking down into the mattress like he can’t help it, like he’s trying to grind through the fabric just to relieve some of the pressure.

his tongue slides down to your entrance to tease and circle, and then goes right back up to your clit.

“fuck, bucky, don’t stop—don’t you dare stop—”

he mumbles something into your pussy and it takes you a second to realize he said, “won’t stop, mommy.”

you tug his hair harder. “say it again.”

he obeys you in an instant as he looks up with half lidded eyes, “i won’t stop, mommy.”

your cunt clenches around nothing, and you laugh. maybe it’s a little mean what comes out of you next.

“you’re so fucked out and you haven’t even had your cock touched yet.”

he whines. genuinely whines. he actually rocks his hips down again like he’s going to lose it just from licking you. you decide to test that theory.

“you gonna come in your pants like a good little mommy’s boy?”

he lets out a strangled sound and sucks harder, tongue swirling over your clit until your whole body arches off the bed.

“jesus— yes, baby, right there, don’t stop—”

he’s locked in now, moaning into you and grinding down. very desperate and obedient of him.

you just ride his mouth like you own it. because you do. every inch of him. every twitch of his tongue and clench of his jaw belongs to you.

your orgasm hits like a wave. sudden and earth shattering after the abstinence.

you cry out and pull his face into your cunt, grinding down, letting him drink every last second of it from your body.

a moan tears off him like he’s the one coming.

when it finally passes, you loosen your grip on his hair and stroke his scalp gently. breathing hard, he pulls back slowly. his entire face is wrecked.

“did you…?” you raise your eyebrows in question.

he swallows. “i—almost.”

you glance down and see the wet patch on the front of his pants. cupping his face, you lift his jaw up, “you want to come, sweet boy?”

without waiting for his answer, you push his back towards the headboard. he leans back, sweats still on, cock still straining hard against it, like it aches.

“pull down your sweats, baby,” you order him and he obeys without wasting a second. there’s no thoughts behind his eyes, only desperation.

when his pants are discarded to the floor, you gaze over him. his cock stands proud, a little bent towards his abdomen, smearing precum.

the tip is flushed, a delicious shade of pink, begging to be tasted. but you have other plans for him.

you slide up higher to where he is, bracketing his thighs with yours.

he watches the whole thing like he’s watching the moon rise. his hands come up automatically, gripping your hips, trying to hold you steady.

your swollen, aching cunt is hovering over his dick. when you cannot support your body so much, you feel yourself sitting over him, more like, right over his dick.

a hiss leaves his lips as your pussy makes contact with his cock. but he makes no effort to move you, only supporting you by your hips.

“mommy, please i need to be inside you,” his voice is a wreck when it does come out.

you thoroughly ignore his request, as you drag your cunt over his cock once. he whimpers like it actually hurt him, and your hand flies to his cheek.

“are you okay, baby?”

“no—aah, fuck, mommy, i’m gonna cum if you keep—keep doing that.”

you trail your fingers up his abdomen, smearing a bit of cum as you go. his abs clench under your touch. you’re not even trying to be cruel, but the effect is devastating.

the flesh arm leaves your hip to find your tit, and he brings it to his mouth. even wrecked, he needs to be drinking.

you lean forward a bit, making it easy for him to nurse. carding your fingers through his hair, you pull him towards you, and he comes to you without hesitation.

he squirms a little under your touch, and you pull back to see his lips glistening.

“what is it, baby boy?”

“ah—fuck, mommy, it hurts! please— please do somethin’,” his voice is hoarse, and you grind down on him, maybe just to torture him a little more, thus pulling a whimper out of him.

he buries his face in your neck and mumbles, “please, mommy.”

you think he might cry if you keep this up.

“aw, you’re so needy, baby,” you coo and run your hands through his hair. a whine leaves him as he nuzzles closer to you.

you sit back up slowly, watching the way his eyes track your every movement. you reach for his cock and wrap your hands around the base, gently, so gently, that touch equals torture.

he lets out a soft, broken sound in the back of his throat.

“you’re so full, baby,” you marvel at your husband.

you stroke him slowly, barely moving your wrist. the pressure is feather-light, more tease than anything. the tip of his cock is angry-red, veins flushed up along the shaft, pulsing under your hand.

his hips twitch, like he’s trying not to fuck into your fist.

“i’ll come if you do that, mommy, aaah, please.”

“i thought you wanted to cum, sweetie.” your eyes flick up to his face. he’s flushed from the neck to his ears. his head tips back into the headboard, so much so you think it might hurt, but then you remember he’s a super soldier and that he can probably take it.

“i do—i do, i just— i wan’ to cum in you, mommy.”

“you poor thing,” you stroke him slow and steady now, your palm gliding over the slick head with every pass. “did i let it build too long? should i have let you cum sooner?”

“please please let me inside you—nnngh—please mommy.” he’s trembling now. his whole body is reacting, like you’ve bypassed his brain and gone straight to the part of him that just feels.

deciding that you’ve tortured him quite enough, you lift yourself from his thighs and let your cunt hover right over his cock.

his hands grip your hips, in an attempt to push you down, but you hold yourself together as you slide his cock up and down your pussy until it catches your entrance, earning another groan from him.

a broken sigh emerges from him when you finally lower yourself fully on his cock, and you’re seated snug on his lap.

his head slumps towards your body as you start slowly grinding on top of him.

greediness engulfs him as he takes one of your nipples in his mouth, his tongue working circles over it until his lips wrap around it fully, followed by which there’s a soft suckle.

the dual assault on your body is too much, especially since this is the first time you’ve welcomed him inside you after delivering your babygirl.

like he’s read your mind, his metal arm grips your hip tighter, while his flesh arm snakes down between your legs to find your swollen clit.

the sensation of him rubbing slow circles on your aching nub is almost too much, and you feel yourself slipping away, falling into another mind blowing orgasm.

all while, he hasn’t taken his mouth off you, drinking languidly. you feel his cock twitch inside you, and your walls clamp down on him, both of you reaching the sweet release at the same time.

the milk let down increases when his latch doesn’t waver, but only strengthens as he spills hot cum inside you.

breathing grows heavy on both sides, until you cannot do anything. not even move. wrapped up in one another, like there’s no possibility of space between you.

he lifts his face from you, and that’s when you catch sight of him. utterly gone. milk and spit and the remnants of your cum adorn his face, lips flushed pink, and irises completely eclipsing his pupils.

you lean down and kiss him, tongue slipping into his mouth with lazy ease.

“you’re okay, baby,” you whisper. “you did so good.”

he doesn’t even speak. something like a groan comes out of him and you nuzzle against his cheek, still smiling.

“i love you,” he whispers, looking down at your chest, eyes dragging over the shiny, slick skin of your breasts. “you’re still leaking. fuck. mommy, you look edible.”

edible isn’t a word you’d use to describe yourself, but whatever floats his boat. you roll your eyes at him, but your thighs clench.

“wanna suck it again,” he mutters, dragging his thumb across the side of your breast. “lick it up and swallow every drop. god, you taste so good—so warm—”

you press your hand flat against his stomach. “you’re literally trembling.”

“i know.” he laughs breathlessly. “my legs don’t work. my balls are empty. my brain is gone. i’m just a mouth now. just a mouth and a cock actually.”

you snort into his skin.

“god, you’re disgusting,” you whisper, but there’s no heat to it, you punctuate the sentence by placing wet kisses to his collarbone.

he turns his face toward you, brushing his nose against your temple. “i mean it. the second you said i could have a taste—fuck, something in me just broke.”

you could feel his cock slightly harden in you by the second, and he looks at you like he’s just realised that too. but he also knows you don’t have enough in your body to give him another orgasm.

you try to nuzzle close to him, try to grind down on him despite being wrung out, but he gently lifts you off him and you both silently hiss.

"can we just lie down?" to which you reply with a kiss to his lips. he takes that answer eagerly and curls into your side.

he's half on top of you now, one arm slung across your waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. his face is pressed against your chest, lips brushing the swell of your breast.

the stillness doesn't last longer as he twitches every now and then, little aftershocks still rippling through him.

you think he’s drifting. until he shifts slightly and murmurs, voice barely above a whisper, “can i…?”

you glance down. he’s looking at you with that dazed expression again. completely blissed out and somehow still wanting. he nuzzles your breast, dragging his mouth lazily over your skin, and repeats it, "mommy… can i just… can i nurse again?”

you smile and kiss the top of his head. “of course, baby.”

shifting slightly, you guide him to the soft weight of your breast, your nipple already stiffening at the feel of his breath. he’s gentle, so damn gentle it almost breaks something in you.

he opens his mouth slowly, presses his lips to you, and latches without a word.

you realise there's no hunger or desperation this time, like earlier when he was moaning and grinding and trying not to come.

this is something else. this is soft. and soothing. and soft.

his tongue drags lazy circles around your nipple. he sucks lightly, rhythmically and his cheek is pressed to the curve of your breast like it’s the only place he ever wants to live.

you wrap your arm around his head, fingers sinking into his hair, just to hold him closer.

you feel the letdown and the warm ache. the subtle sting that comes just before the release.

but you just watch him without a word.

he moans softly, the sound vibrating against your chest.

“tastes so good,” he murmurs, voice muffled. “so fucking warm. feels like you’re feeding me straight from your heart.”

quiet laughter ripples through you. “i might be.”

he sucks again, deeper now, lips sealed around your nipple, his tongue moving with slow precision like he never wants to stop. your other hand finds the back of his neck, rubbing gentle circles there, keeping him grounded. keeping him yours.

“i love this. i’d live here if you let me.”

you smile and tilt your head to kiss his forehead. “you already do.”

his hand slides over your belly, stroking the soft skin, fingers tracing the stretch of you, the weight you still carry.

“i love this body,” he whispers. “you made me everything in it. you feed me from it. you fucking break me with it.”

a slow exhale leaves you, and he just keeps nursing.

you can feel his cock— not hard, but not soft either —resting against your thigh. it twitches every now and then like it’s remembering earlier. like it’s responding just to the taste of you in his mouth.

he shifts a little, pulling your breast deeper into his mouth, moaning as he suckles like he’s trying to coax every last drop from you.

his tongue flicks gently, then presses firm. you can feel the tug low in your belly. your nipple aches, your core pulses, but you stay still and let him take what he wants.

let him keep drinking.

“am i gonna get addicted to this?” he mumbles around your skin.

“you already are, baby.”

“i don’t wanna stop.”

“you don’t have to.”

you look down again. he looks so peaceful. so full of want and contentment at the same time. he shifts his legs a little, then presses closer, curling into you like he’s trying to melt into your skin.

you whisper into his hair, “you want to switch sides, baby?”

he hums. “mmhm.”

you gently ease him off your breast. his lips make a soft, wet pop as he pulls away, and he actually whines. his tongue darts out to lick the corner of his mouth, already chasing the taste again.

you guide his head to the other side, lift your arm so he can tuck beneath it, and he latches just as eagerly as the first time. maybe even more.

this nipple’s still wet from earlier, still sensitive, and the moment his tongue touches it, you shiver.

he groans.

“god, mommy,” he mumbles. “still leaking.”

you run your fingers through his hair, stroke the curve of his jaw.

he keeps sucking. messy now. even drooling a little. he's moaning like it gets better the longer he stays latched. and it might.

you’re not sure where the pleasure ends and the intimacy begins anymore. it’s all blended together—this soft, sticky need that just keeps pulsing between you.

your thighs are slick again. you don't have to voice it out for him to know that.

he pulls off suddenly, just for a second, eyes dazed as he looks up at you. his lips are swollen, and you feel him shaking.

"i love you so much," it's a statement, that holds more love than it could ever express.

"i love you too, baby," you caress his hair and pull him closer to you.

a smile spreads on his lips and he kisses the side of your breast. then latches again, eyes fluttering shut. and drinks.

my masterlist .ᐟ

extras | aight i’ve been summoned to hell. i’ll see myself out. i genuinely forgot that the baby existed, so if we can collectively imagine it’s in the next room fast asleep, that would be terrific! taglist | @devililithh @buckyfmd @sheriff-bodecker @houseofhyde @umbreoni @bckyslover @kqtholins @54nboo @amoremarveloustime @barnesandashes @colettebarnes @barnes-babydoll @miraclediviner @of-sanguine-eyes @flockoff-featherface @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @manly-man-whore @indigo123789 @wasa-bby @biggestfangirl @herejustforbuckybarnes @buckysbunnny @highhopes1008 @castielscaplan @grumpysunnybarnes @pinksplace @luvyoupxmimi @slutdier @yes-ilovetowrite @cautiouscas17 @astridphantom @delusionalwomsn @cinnamon-girl-writes @wherewinterblooms @stifflyspeedyquirk @sassandscribbles @marvelouslyme96 @tw1sters @stesha02 @floatingvalhallasea @goobers-mcgee @t1redphoenix @vickynguyennn @bluellamacheesecake-blog @serenityrjd @pitabread79 @galaxygoddess30 @biggestfangirl @chenoadouble-o7 + to get added to the taglist .ᐟ

Tonight you crack and Bucky never stood a chance.

You’re beneath him at first, your thighs parted around his hips as he kisses down your neck, slow and reverent the way he always is. That big body caging you in, lips tracing your pulse, his metal hand stroking lazy circles on your waist.

Suddenly you tighten your hand in his hair, tugging just hard enough to make his breath hitch.

“Up,” you murmur.

He lifts his head, confused and a little dazed. “Doll?”

You sit up in one clean motion, your palm catching his jaw—not gently, not sweet, but firm, controlled, possessive. His pupils blow wide instantly, like his brain short-circuits at the feel of your fingers digging in.

“Sit back,” you tell him, tone low, steady, leaving no room for anything but obedience.

And Bucky…obeys. Immediately. Without thought. He shifts back onto his heels, spine straightening, chest rising like he’s waiting for inspection. Head empty, instincts buzzing.

You crawl into his lap, slow enough to make him swallow, and wrap your hand around his throat, not to squeeze, just to hold, to guide.

“You listening to me, Bucky?”

His lips part. “Yeah,” he breathes, already wrecked. “Yes, ma’am.”

The title slips out without intention, like his body gives the answer before his mind catches up. Heat floods your stomach.

Your thumb strokes the hinge of his jaw. “Good. Because I’m going to tell you how I want you to fuck me.”

Bucky chokes on air.

Your nice, soft, sweet girl is gone. Or maybe she was always this too; maybe she just hadn’t let it loose until now.

You lean in, nose brushing his as you roll your hips deliberately against his cock, dragging a moan out of him that sounds embarrassingly desperate.

“I want you deep,” you whisper, lips ghosting his. “As deep as you can give me. I want you holding my hips open and fucking me until I forget how to stand.”

His eyes flutter. A ragged sound tears from his throat. He nods so quickly it’s almost frantic.

“You want that?” you ask, tilting his head up by the chin like you’re examining him. “You want to give it to me?”

“Yes—yes, fuck, anything—”

You cut him off with a slow kiss, your fingers tightening around his jaw until he melts. Not a soldier. Not an Avenger. Just a man reduced to trembling putty in your hands.

“Good boy,” you murmur against his mouth.

Bucky whimpers.

Actually whimpers.

Your smile turns sharp.

“Lay down.”

He drops back instantly, muscular body hitting the mattress in one smooth, obedient motion. You straddle him, palms on his chest, watching how his breath stutters. His cock is heavy against his stomach, twitching with every pass of your eyes.

You drag your nails lightly down his ribs. “Look at you,” you taunt softly. “Already gone and I haven’t even gotten on your cock yet.”

“Please,” he whispers, voice cracking like he’s been edged for hours instead of minutes. “Please, doll, I—I need—”

“You’ll get what I give you.”

His hips jerk, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut.

You line yourself up, but you don’t sink down yet. You trace the tip along your folds, letting the sensitivity torture him. His fists clench in the sheets, metal hand denting the fabric.

“Hands on my hips,” you order.

He grabs you instantly, grip firm but reverent, as if he doesn’t know how strong he’s allowed to be anymore. Like he’s scared to do anything wrong.

You lean down and kiss him, slow and filthy. “Bucky,” you breathe against his lips, “I want you to fuck me. Not be gentle. Not hold back. I want all of you.”

He makes a broken sound—half moan, half prayer.

But before he can thrust up, before he can even think about taking over, you sink down onto him yourself, inch by inch, watching his expression crumble into pure ruin.

“Doll—oh god—f-fuck—”

Your hand flies to his jaw again, forcing his gaze up to yours. “Eyes on me.”

He obeys instantly, eyes wide, shiny, helpless.

“Now,” you say, settling fully on him, swallowing the thick length of him in one slow, devastating push, “fuck me exactly the way I want.”

His hips snap up so hard it steals your breath—and you laugh. Breathless. Pleased. Addicted to the sight of him unraveling.

Your nails drag into his shoulders. “That’s it. Just like that. Give it to me.”

Bucky’s gone.

Completely.

His head drops back, mouth open, groaning like he’s being pulled apart. His brain is mush, his thoughts turned to static under the weight of your commands, your hands, your body milking him with every roll of your hips.

“Good boy,” you whisper again, and he swears he could come from the praise alone.

You ride him harder, using him, taking exactly what you asked for, exactly what you wanted, and Bucky can only hold your hips and obey, panting, shaking, overwhelmed, worshipful.

When he finally comes undone, it’s with your name gasped like a confession, like salvation.

And when you collapse onto his chest, his arms wrap around you tight, still trembling.

“Doll?” he whispers, kissing your temple.

“Hm?”

“You can… do that again. Whenever you want.” A beat. “Maybe… right now?”

You laugh against his skin.

“Head empty?”

You dab the pink lip gloss on your lips that you know is his favourite. He'll lick it right off of you after all.

Perfect.

Checking yourself in the car mirror one last time, you make your way upstairs to your husband's office.

Your stilletos click against the expensive hardwood floor as you greet the receptionist and his assistant before strutting towards his cabin.

You don't ask if he's in a meeting or if he's busy. He might be the boss here, but you have an authority on him at all times, that you don't need any permission to walk into his office and interrupt whatever important work he's in midst of doing.

You don't knock on the door, clicking it open with a flick of your wrist and entering the room with a charming smile on your face.

He doesn't look up “jenna I would like another black coffee, please. I really need to get this client's paperwork done by today”

“You don't need any more coffee sir” you coax your voice into a sweeter tone, imitating jenna, his assistant “What you need is a good fuck”

His eyes perk up at that. Finding you where he expected jenna to be and the tension in his body loosens ever so slightly.

You walk towards the desk with more of a sway in your hips than normal and his gaze drops immediately. He shifts in his seat, just as you make your way around his desk and settle down on his lap like its your assigned seat.

He doesn't startle, or stop you. Instead his hands find your waist on their own. Fingers curling around the silky fabric of your dress “Wasn't expecting you today”

“I wanted to surprise you” your hands smooth their way up his shirt until they rest just below the knot of his tie.

He gulps “Well I'm surprised”

You grin, eyes finding his and coaxing the truth out of him as you say “So…what's got you all hot and bothered today sir”

He sighs, exhausted “I have to get this paperwork done by tomorrow and there's these reconciliation statements that need to be reviewed before Monday and a creditor’s payment is due so I'll have to—fuck”

A curse slips out of him as you grind down on the growing bulge in his pants.

“Honey I don't think this is the right time” he mutters, eyes pinching closed as he tries to keep his composure

“You need a break Mr. Barnes” your voice is sweet poison. Luring him in without knowing what's waiting for him.

“Yeah no shit” he attempts to joke but you cut him off “I mean it” the gravity of your voice tells him he's not getting out of this unscathed.

“Honey I don't think—”

“Shhh you don't have to think. You just have to be. Let me do the work bucky. You just relax.” You rock forward before drawing your hips back again, rutting onto his cock in a slow, teasing rhythm.

“Baby—ah fuck that's…” words are lost to him. He doesn't know how to describe this feeling. You sitting on him with that fucking gorgeous dress that he loves and looking down at him with wicked glint in your eyes

“Yeah?” You draw him out of his thoughts “Feel good bucky?”

“Yes, fuck—so good” he leans forward slightly and you envelope his mouth in a kiss that is meant to overwhelm. You let him fall into you. All his senses answering to you as you find his eyes looking into yours, mouth moaning your name, ears tinged red from your teasing voice, the sweet scent of your perfume filling his cabin as his hands try desperately to feel your skin on them.

One of your hands leaves its resting place in his hair and finds his metal palm trying to sneak under your dress before grasping it your hand and bringing it back up.

“Did I say you could do that?” You raise an eyebrow.

He shakes his head, obedient, it makes you smile “Then be a good boy and do as I say, okay” you peck his lips before moving from his lap and sinking onto your knees in front of him.

His palm comes to rest on your head, fingers curling around the hair as he brushes it away from your face.

You work at his fly with nimble fingers, tugging the zipper down and freeing his cock from the entrapment of his boxers.

It greets you just the way you knew it would. Hard and flushed pink all over, the tip of him glistening and tinged a shade of pink darker as it remains neglected.

You press a kiss on his shaft, and his hand tightens in your hair making you grin against him “So greedy, James. Thought you didn't want this?”

“I always want this” his voice is breathy, cracking at the edges.

“Yeah? You'll be a good boy for me won't you, then? Let me play with it nice and proper?” You look up at him from under your lashes.

“Yes please” he nods.

You take your time working him. Teasing licks on the length of him, tongue grazing the sensitive underside every so often as you ignore his forlorn tip even more.

All the while muttering filthy things under your breath, riling him up even more “Look how happy he is to see me, Bucky. All wet and pink and so fucking hard” you tap the head of him with a finger, barest of touch, but his whole body jerks in response.

“Baby, please” he whimpers when your tongue traces the shaft again, withdrawing before it grazes the tip.

“Please what, bucky?” You smirk, wicked and amused.

“Please, just—” his face burns redder with the moment, not wanting to say it out loud but knowing you're doing this on purpose to tease him.

“Say it, honey. What do you want?” you graze a single fingernail down the underside of his cock and he shudders.

“Do you want me here?” you kiss your way up his length

“Or here?” You press open-mouthed kisses on his frenulum and his cock twitches against your cheek.

You smile, mouth finding his balls and taking one in your mouth, “or maybe here?” You withdraw your mouth abruptly, giving him just enough of your touch to tease.

“Uh..” he groans, frustrated and waiting “baby please don't be like that”

“Like what?” You feign innocence.

“C'mon baby, tell me where do you want me” you push him further toward confessing his desires and he succumbs.

“Suck the tip, angel. Just a little, plea—aah fuck” he curses when your mouth closes over the head of him. Suckling slowly as your tongue swirls across the tip, delving into the slit, tasting the salt of him.

He moans, loud and unfiltered.

“yeah? Like that baby?” You pull away just to tease him with your words.

“Fuck yeah, just—ughh—like that.” He grunts

You work him slowly, almost teasingly. Taking him in little by little until he hits the back of your throat and his voice chokes on a moan at the feeling.

You hollow your cheeks, a hand going to play with his balls meanwhile. You cup them in your palm, tugging lightly and he whines “Harder please”

You can feel he's close in the way the muscles in his thighs tighten and his eyes pinch shut. And you, menace that you are, pull away completely.

His eyes open and find you looking up at him with the most innocent expression ever. The kind that doesn't say in the least of how you've edged him right now.

“Why would you do that?” His eyes have gone glassy with how pent up he is.

“You tell me. Why do you think you deserve to come bucky? You haven't been a good boy lately, have you?”

He tries to pull you back up onto his lap disregarding your words but your fingers grasp his jaw, making him look at you.

You feel the stubble scratch at your fingers, as you hold his gaze.

“You work too hard. Come home late. Have no time for me ‘cause you're overtired. And you still think you've been good?”

“I'm sorry” you hear him say. And the way he's looking at you tells him the apology is genuine. As much mad as you might be at him for not giving you the time for past few days, you know its not his fault. His work takes too much out of him and he's just as dedicated to it as he's to you.

You accept his apology in a sweet, chaste kiss. The kind that he feels in his bones. He moans into the kiss when he feels you settle above him.

He feels the warmth of your core, snuggle his cock. And he realises you were probably bare under that dress the entire time.

His cock twitches under you at the realisation and you grin tells him you're acknowledging it.

Your hands find the buttons of his shirt, opening them one by one before pushing his shirt off his shoulders.

His fingers move from your waist to his tie, loosening the knot but your hand comes to stop him “The tie stays on”

You tug at the fabric like a leash, pulling him in until his mouth rests on yours.

The kiss is heated. More tongue than lips, teeth clacking against each other until you're both breathless.

You rock forward, your warm core on his bare cock, sending shock waves through your veins. His tip nudges at your clit with every involuntary thrust of his hips and you both moan into the kiss.

And before you know it, you're sitting up and sinking down on him, walls clenching as you adjust to the sheer size of him. No matter how many times you take him. He hardly ever fails to take your breath away with how big he is.

But with how wet you have been since the moment you saw him, it doesn't take much resistance. He slides in right away, your walls snug around him as he revels in the feeling of you.

Home.

You grind down on him, rocking forward experimentally before pushing yourself up until just the head remains inside you and sinking down. Hard.

The moan he lets out is loud enough to summon all the staff working on that floor. And you’ve never been more grateful for the soundproofing in his cabin.

You set a pace almost instantly. Its nothing like the teasing way you had worked him in your mouth. It's brutal. Hard and fast that is meant to drive him towards his release.

Your hands grip his shoulders tightly as you bounce on him with practised rhythm. The kind that comes from doing the same thing over and over again.

His palm comes up to cup your breast through your dress, fondling it, and a high-pitched sound leaves you involuntarily.

The tip of him hits your cervix every time you sink down on him again, making him grunt

“Fuck. Baby, slow down. I'm not gonna last” he warns, trying to hold himself together and you want anything but. You want him to lose himself in you.

“You can fuck me slow later on, bucky.” You remind him “I want you to come now.”

“And when you come home early today, I'll be waiting for you in bed.” You feel him thrust up into you, noticing how close he is, you amp up your teasing, knowing he needs to hear your filthy words to climax.

“I'll even wear that lingerie you like. The pink one, you got me on your birthday. You'd love it, won't you?”

“Yes.” He pants against you “Fuck yes”

“And I'll let you do whatever you want. You can taste me if you want or have me on all fours. Like the time we did on our anniversary.”

The room reeks of sweat and sex now. The only sound is that of your skin slapping against each other as his thrusts grow erratic.

“You can even come inside. Give me all your babies. You'd be such a good dad, you know. They'd love you so much”

“Fuck—don't say that if you don't mean it” his voice is raspy, barely holding himself together.

“I mean it. Give it to me, bucky. Let me make you a daddy” he loses it at that. Burying himself to the hilt one last time before spilling into you with a loud curse.

You can feel the warmth of his release trickle down his shaft and your legs but none of you have it in yourself to care.

He's slumped back in his chair now. Chest heaving, eyes hooded, there's a dewy glow on his face that you only ever get to see on him after sex.

You smile despite yourself. Hand coming up to brush sweat slick strands of his hair back from his forehead.

He looks wrecked, coiffed hair messed up from your fingers in them, shirt rumpled from the way you were clutching it. Pants soiled and tie half undone.

You lean in, pressing soft pecks on his cheeks, his forehead, the tip of his nose. He chuckles, coming down from the high.

“You did so good for me” you cup his face in your palms and feel his cheeks burn under your skin at the praise.

“Shut up” He hides his face in your chest, but you can feel him smile against you.

You stay like that for a few moments before attempting to stand up from his lap. But his arms come around you immediately.

“Wait.” His eyes soften “I haven't—you didn't come”

“I didn't need to. I came here for you, sweetheart. This wasn’t about me.” you reply, voice sweet and even, “But I'm holding you to your promise of coming home early.” you wink, already moving to smooth your dress down from where it's bunched at your waist.

But bucky, gentleman that he is, doesn't take compromises like that when it comes to you.

So just as you're about to turn away toward the door, his hand comes around your wrist pulling you back into him.

“You're not going anywhere until I have returned the favour”

Dividers by @diviniyae

Tag list : @redstarleftarm, @sweetserendipity65, @sambuckystony, @nymphhbabie, @darlingdenise, @venigrantrogers, @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger, @bstan01, @phoenix-in-writing, @singulartoast, @danerb67, @onyx8514, @globetrotter28, @buckysdecaflove, @alyssinwunderland-blog-blog, @herejustforbuckybarnes, @v33mustdie, @windsweptarmadillo

It has been four months. Four months and one day, to be exact, since Bucky Barnes became mine. I’ve never heard so many people congratulate me and warn me in the same breath, but I never cared. Not when he’s been so precious, so thoughtful, so achingly romantic. Not when he’s spent every single day making me feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

I love him more than life itself. And with him—life and death feel closer than they should.

So why does it feel like I’m still not enough?

Four months, and he hasn't touched me. Not once. Not like that. 

Every time I try, every time I lean in, every time I press just a little too close, he pulls away. Sometimes subtly, sometimes not. Sometimes it’s a hesitant step back, sometimes it’s a firm grip on my wrist, pushing me away just enough to make it clear.

I tried everything. Cute lingerie. Whispered invitations. I even got my hair done for our anniversary last night. Nothing helped, I couldn't shake his composed demeanor, no matter what I did.

Maybe, he doesn’t want me at all. Why would he?

The Bucky Barnes could have anyone. Someone like Natasha—gorgeous, cool, effortlessly magnetic. The kind of woman who could hold her own against a super soldier, the kind who wouldn’t hesitate. The kind who makes sense with him.

Me on the other hand? What was I thinking, believing I would be enough? Just a simple girl, coming from a boring family, with no interesting backstory, nothing to show, nothing to–

"Baby?" Bucky put his face an inch from mine, which immediately snapped me out of my spiralling thoughts. "You okay? Is your stomach upset?" He pointed to the remaining of mac and cheese he cooked. 

He grew to be extremely good at reading my expressions over the past few months. He usually doesn't need to ask; he just knows what's wrong, and eliminates the problem without a word. This time, though, he didn't know. How could he?

"No," I say flatly.

"Sure? Because–"

"I am fine," I snap, louder than anticipated. 

I immediately regret my tone when I see Bucky stiffen, the sound of his metal arm clenching into an unbreakable fist. He takes exactly three steps back from me; measured and calculated. His eyes terrified; I can almost see how he is searching for the possible threats or punishments he would receive, now that he senses the change in the mood. He's still as a sculpture, except for the arms; they are shaking from how strongly he is sqeezing his fist.

Oh, I fucked up.

"I'm sorry. It's just been a really hard week on me, I-"

"You're hurt." 

It's not a question, it's a fact.

"I'm not hurt–"

"I hurt you."

It's not a fact, it's a crime. At least that's how he says it.

I look down to the tiled floor where I can still spot the signs of Bucky's cooking. I cannot look at him. I would need to lie to his face and that is one thing I was never able to do. Not after what he's been through. 

I notice a small movement from him as he takes another step; farther. Way farther away from me. I take a deep breath and force myself to look at him, wishing I didn't as the sight instantly breaks my heart; his eyes are filled with tears, and he's so confused. Scared. Terrified of what is coming. He's gripping onto the side of his shirt, like he always does when he feels unsafe. A lump forms in my throat as I try to open my mouth to speak. I've ruined him. 

"I– uh." The sound I made was barely a whisper, but it made him visibly flinch. "Do you... Do you not... want me?"

Bucky's terrified gaze turns into utter confusion in a matter of seconds. He blinks – for the first time in maybe minutes – as he's struggling to understand my question. I collect all my leftover courage and hope to keep talking. 

"You push me away," I say, trying to be as soft as possible. "We've been together for months, but never... together."

I feel so stupid for not being able to just straight out say it. I'm hoping he somehow understands what I mean, but judging by his scrunched eyebrows, I'm gonna have to be more specific.

 I let out a big sigh and close my eyes to make the embarrassment less painful. "Bucky, we never had sex." 

As soon as the words leave my mouth, his face drops. I lose him again somewhere very far away from me, and he keeps looking at me like I am about to destroy him completely. 

"If you don't want me, that's okay," I assure him, ignoring the bitter taste in my mouth. "I know I'm not the prettiest girl, and you've probably seen better—"

"No!" he snaps, so I lift my head up. He looks horrified, like I've just said something unspeakable. I wait for him to continue, but instead, he keeps staring at me, as if his eyes could tell everything he is unable to.

"No?" I echo. "Then why do you run every time I try to touch you like that?"

He breaks the eye contact by strictly looking at the kitchen counter right in front of him; or at anything that is not me. From all the months I've spent in his presence, I recognize this look too well. He's ashamed. 

"Bucky..."

Silence. He grips the fabric of his shirt, twisting it in his hands. A nervous tick, but to him, a grounding mechanism. He's really trying not to lose himself.

"I—, I don't—," he stutters. "I don't know how."

"What?" I blink. “Bucky, you’ve—” I hesitate. “You’ve been with other women before.”

His head jerks up with a flicker of panic and frustration.

 “That’s not—that’s different.”

“Different how?”

Bucky is refusing to look at me, so I stand up from my seat to make way towards him. He takes a sharp breath when I'm within his reach, but doesn't move. That's a good sign. 

"Look at me, baby," I ask, softly. His eyes snap up instantly, and I see it all there. The fear, the desperation, the battlefield in his head. "Tell me what's wrong."

He tries to do so; he opens his mouth, swallows, exhales, shakes his head, tries again, but he fails, no matter how hard he tries.

"Do you want me?" I ask bluntly.

He nods, still staring at the marble countertop. Okay.

"Are you scared to ask for what you want?"

Another nod. 

"Do you trust me?"

This one is instant.

"Yes."

"Then tell me."

He lets out a shaky breath before he swallows. He turns his head to me, face flustered, his chest moving up and down as he tries to regulate himself.

"Please, can you—," his voice dies before he can finish. He clearly is struggling, like he doesn't know how to want things and the fact breaks a small part of my heart permanently.

"Go on, Bucky. What do you need?" I encourage him.

"I—," he stutters, and then shakes his head hard, like the words are physically hurting him inside his head.

 His body, however, tells the truth on behalf of him. The way his hands tremble and his chest heaves with each exhale, the way his metal fingers twitch against his thigh—he is fighting himself.

I let the silence stretch, waiting, watching the way his face twists with frustration, with hesitation. With want.

“Baby,” I say softly.

His eyes cracks open, blue burning with something raw, something pleading. He sucks in a breath, and for a moment, I think he finally gives in, but then he shakes his head again, hard, turning his face away.

I click my tongue, grabbing his chin, forcing him to meet my gaze. “You want something. I can see it. I can feel it.”

His chest rises sharply, lips parting, but still, he doesn't speak. I lean in, lips brushing against the shell of his ear. 

“Do you need me to guide you?”

His entire body jerks, a sharp inhale ripping from his throat. His fingers are clenching into fists, the tremor rolling through his shoulders like a quake. But he still doesn't answer me.

My grip tightens slightly, my voice dropping to a whisper. “Bucky, if you don’t tell me what you need, I can’t give it to you.”

He exhales shakily, a frustrated, broken sound. His brows knit together, his hands lifting before falling back to his thighs, his whole frame trembling.

“Please,” he whispers.

My heart clenches. “Yes?”

His head dropped forward, breath ragged. “Please… please tell me what to do.”

Oh. 

Oh, fuck.

I smile, slow and knowing, letting the moment stretch, letting him feel the weight of what he's just asked for.

“I’ll show you.” I say, and I find my voice firm. Commanding.

His breath stutters, his entire body tensing, every muscle coiled tight with restraint, with hesitation. He’s fighting it, clinging to the instinct to resist—until I lean in, my mouth brushing over the shell of his ear.

 “If you'll be a good boy for me.”

The sound he makes—soft, broken, fucking relieved—rips through me like a shockwave. My core tightens, ignites, burns, a volcano threatening to erupt at the sheer power of it. 

Bucky Barnes is submissive. For me. 

"Follow me," I say, and as if I freed him from an invisible curse, he makes his way after me.

All at once, every doubt I ever had—about myself, about us—disintegrates. How did I not see this before? How could I have been so blind? He doesn’t need distance. He doesn’t need time. He just needs me. Me in control. Me guiding him. Me telling him exactly what to do.

And fuck, if that isn’t the most intoxicating realization of all, I don't know what is.

I may not be the most experienced woman alive, but that doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that he needs me to be present. He needs me to take this. Own this. There’s no room for doubt, no room to shy away, when he trusts me to take care of him.

I release him just to check his expression, searching for even the slightest hint of hesitation, but to my surprise, I find none. Not a single trace. His eyes track my every movement, locked onto me like a soldier awaiting an order.

And it shouldn't turn me on the way it does.

"Do you want me right now?" My voice is steady, even as I close the space between us, just by one step. 

His gaze sweeps over me, dragging from my lips, to my throat, to my body before he gives a sharp, assured nod.

 "Then take off my dress." 

He moves instantly, without hesitation—like he’s been waiting for this since the moment he met me. His fingers find the hem of my dress; his touch cautious, reverent, like he’s afraid I might pull away at any second. Like he can’t quite believe this is happening.

The contrast of his warm, flesh hand on one thigh, and his ice-cold vibranium fingers on the other, sends a shiver tearing down my spine. Slowly, deliberately, he lifts the fabric over my head, the brush of his knuckles against my skin leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

Once I’m bare before him, he takes a small step back—just to look. His lips part slightly, his breathing uneven, chest rising and falling faster, deeper. His eyes—piercing, devastating—roam every inch of me, burning me from the inside out.

And then, he moves.

He throws the dress across the room without looking, never once taking his eyes off of me. His entire body is vibrating, like he’s barely holding himself together, barely restraining the need thrumming beneath his skin.

The sight of him is stealing every breath I have left.

“Can I take your shirt off?” I break the silence, my own voice softer now.

“Please,” he begs.

I waste no time. I step in, close enough for his ragged breath to ghost over my skin, and strip him bare. It’s a summer night, so he’s only wearing a thin, black V-neck, already clinging to the sweat on his chest–or at least, he was. With one fluid motion, I pull it over his head and let it drop to the floor.

I take a moment, just a few seconds, to admire him.

His body is all strength, broad shoulders and sculpted muscle carved by battle and time. Scars litter his skin, testaments to wars fought and survived, and yet, under the soft glow of the moonlight, he looks like something untouchable. Ethereal. Unreal.

I swallow hard, licking my lips as my gaze travels downward, over his defined abs, the way they tense under my attention, down to the dark trail of hair that disappears beneath the waistband of his boxers. I feel it then—the heat pooling low, the unbearable pulse between my thighs. And he’s just standing there, watching me, eyes so dark they’re nearly black.

I’m already so wet for him, it’s almost embarrassing.

"Undress me," I whisper. 

His breath catches, eyes flash with hunger, the way they always do when he wants but won’t take. But this time, he moves.

With careful fingers, he reaches behind me for the clasp of my bra, hesitant yet desperate. This is as far as we’ve ever gone. Four months of waiting, of skirting the edge, of Bucky refusing to let himself see me without clothes. Back then, I thought it was because he didn’t want me, because I wasn’t enough.

But now? Now I know the truth. He wouldn’t have known what to do. He was afraid to ruin this. Afraid to ruin me.

I snap out of my thoughts as I feel the cold air of the AC dance on my bare torso. My nipples instantly harden as a result, and Bucky notices it just as quickly. His lips are apart, and he's staring at them like an animal on his prey. The way he wants me fills me with every ounce of confidence I’ve ever needed.

"You can touch them," I whisper, not sure he even heard me, but then he takes two steps towards, putting his flesh hand on my waist.

I gasp, the breath catching in my throat as his warm, steady touch trails up my skin. His movements are slow—painfully, torturously slow—like he’s memorizing me with his hands, drinking me in through touch alone. He reaches my left breast and he cups it, his thumb immediately finding my hard nipple. His breath shudders, sharp and heavy, his chest rising with a strained inhale as he circles my achingly hard peak with his thumb, teasing, testing, learning me.

I struggle to hold in my moan, my teeth sinking into my lip as he pinches it, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight between my legs. And fuck, he’s watching. His vibranium arm remains stiff at his side, fingers curled into a tight, trembling fist, his jaw slightly slack, his lips parted as he watches himself touch me.

He’s fascinated. Hypnotized. Like this is the first time he’s ever allowed himself to truly want something.

"Both hands, please." My voice is barely a whisper, barely a sound, just a needy, broken plea. His head snaps up, and for the first time in what feels like forever, his eyes meet mine.

His metal hand, still clenched in restraint, relaxes. With slow, careful hesitation, he brings it up, inch by inch, his fingertips skimming my ribs before finally—finally—he touches me. A shiver rips through me, my body instinctively arching into the icy contrast of metal against my heated skin. I don’t pull away; if anything, I lean into him, chasing the sensation, craving more.

"You're being so good for me," I praise, my voice low.

Bucky fucking breaks.

His entire body stutters, trembles; his breath hitching, his knees nearly buckling beneath him as a wrecked, desperate whimper falls from his lips.

Fuck. That has to be the sexiest sound in the world.

“Can I—” His voice cracks, his fingers flexing against my skin. “Can I please kiss you?”

He is pleading, over and over, his voice shaky, utterly undone.

“Please, I need it. Please.”

His words shoot straight to my core, the need in his voice a direct pulse between my legs. I want him so much, I might sublime from the heat he ignites inside me.

I don’t hesitate. I grab his arm, pulling him against me, forcing his bare chest to crash into mine. He melts against me, his body burning, muscles taut, already trembling with restraint. And then, I kiss him. Or maybe he kisses me. Either way, the moment our lips meet, Bucky loses himself.

He kisses me like he’s starving, like he’s drowning and I’m his only air. His mouth is hungry, relentless, desperate, lips crashing into mine as he’s trying to devour me whole.

And fuck, his hands.

They roam everywhere, one gripping the small of my back, the other skimming just beneath my panties, teasing, taunting me, and just when I think it couldn't get any better, his metal hand clamps around my ass, gripping tight, keeping me steady. Feeling the cool vibranium pressing into my heated skin, I moan straight into his mouth, my body shuddering in his hold.

“Put me on the bed. Now.”

The words leave me in a command, and Bucky moves before I can even take another breath. With one arm, just one, he lifts me with ease, like I weigh nothing to him. He lays me down, gentle but firm, already moving to cover me with his body—but I stop him.

“Not yet.”

I shake my head, and he immediately halts, his breathing labored, controlled. He looks wrecked, like he's using every bit of self control to keep himself away from me. Still kneeling between my legs, still so fucking obedient, and yet—his eyes. His fucking eyes, they’re eating me alive.

“Take it off,” I order, nodding toward his jeans.

Bucky keeps his eyes locked on mine, hands trailing down, slow and deliberate as he reaches for the button of his jeans. With a quick flick of his fingers, they’re undone. His piercing gaze never leaves me, his eyes dragging over every inch of my body, devouring, worshipping.

I don't have much time before he stands up and slowly pushes his jeans down. I gasp when I see the thin, black material of his boxers that do nothing to hide him. The thick, heavy outline of him, pressing against the fabric, takes my breath away.

I’ve never seen him like this before. Not even close. I’ve felt him—hard, pressing against me on nights where he’d let himself have just a little. But then he would stop and shut it down. I couldn't understand why, not until now, and I don't have one second to think about it, because he pushes his boxers down. His cock is finally bared to me in full, and Jesus fucking Christ.

He is huge. How is that gonna fit?

“Please,” I hear a small plea towards him, and I shot my eyes back to his face. 

His breath is wild, erratic, chest heaving like he can’t get enough air, like he’s on the edge of breaking. His flesh hand is poised, ready to touch himself, to relieve even an ounce of the pressure, but he doesn't. Not without my word. I bite my lip, reveling in the power of it, in the way his entire body trembles under restraint.

“Take this off, too,” I instruct, gesturing to the lace panties that I’d bought months ago—back when I thought he’d see them then.  Back when I thought we’d be here so much sooner. 

But I don’t have a single complaint left in my body, because when Bucky finally moves—he rips them off. The thin fabric tears from me in one sharp pull, and for a split second, I wonder if he just ripped them in half.

His eyes drag over me, drinking in every inch of bare skin, mapping the places he’s never let himself truly look at before. I feel just how wet I am, now that there’s nothing to soak up the slick. I can feel it all pooling between my thighs, proof of just how badly I want him.

A flicker of  shyness grips me—how did I get this lucky? How did I end up with him, undone and starving, in front of me? But I don’t let myself hide; instead, I sit up slowly, deliberately, my movements calculated, letting myself kneel on the soft mattress.

I look up at him, like I could devour him with a single breath. The six-foot-tall ex-assassin is towering over me, radiating pure heat, his entire body coiled tight like a predator barely holding back.

And then, soft as a prayer, I say, “I want you.”

As if I’ve broken a curse, Bucky snaps. His fingers clamp around my throat, his mouth slamming into mine, the sheer force of it knocking me back onto the bed. He pins me down, all of his weight pressing into me, heavy, suffocating, absolutely fucking perfect. The way he kisses me makes me crazy; he's hungry, possessive, and so filthy, I can only moan as a response.

His cock, thick and heavy, sliding between my soaking slit, his length gliding right over my clit with each slow, torturous grind.

“Fuck—” I moan straight into his mouth, my hips instinctively tilting up, chasing every ounce of friction he gives me.

I lose every bit of control I had left. Overcome with greed, I grab at him, pull at him, take as much as I can. My fingers tangle in his long hair, keeping him locked to me, refusing to let him break the kiss for even a second. 

I let my other hand wander; I trace the sharp lines of his back, trailing lower, until my palm finds his ass. I squeeze, hard, forcing him to rock against me even harder, dragging his cock rougher, deeper through my slick folds. My breathing is a wreck, my body moving instinctively, clinging to him, needing more, more, more.

I want him. All over me. Inside me. Taking me apart.

“Can I—” His voice shatters, breathless. He pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, his eyes wrecked with need.

“Can I please put it in?”

And fuck, he looks at me like a puppy, wide-eyed, begging.

“Please, I’ll make you feel so good,” he purrs against my neck, teeth grazing my skin, lips pressing open-mouthed kisses.

“God, yes,” I groan.

Bucky grabs himself, his fingers shaking with need as he positions his cock right at my entrance. He could thrust in immediately, take what we both want without hesitation, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pauses; his eyes flick back up to mine, searching, waiting, needing something more.

And I know exactly what he wants.

“Be a good boy and fuck me, Bucky.”

I'm way past hesitation or shame. All I want is him taking over me, claiming me, pressing me into himself. The words shatter something inside him; his mouth parts, his pupils blown wide, and then—without ever breaking eye contact—he slides inside.

A broken moan leaves my lips as my spine arches, my body opening for him, stretching around him, and fuck, he fills me.

Completely. Entirely. Devastatingly.

I’ve been aching for this moment for months. I’ve fantasized about him taking me, and now he’s finally inside me. A deep pressure builds low in my belly, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as he pushes deeper and deeper, until I feel the blunt tip of his cock press against my cervix.

He’s so fucking hard. I can feel him throbbing inside me, feel the pulse of his cock against my walls, and it drives me insane. I wait for him to finally move, but after a few seconds of stillness, I open my eyes.

Bucky is watching me so carefully, his eyes flicking over my face, searching for even the slightest sign of discomfort. His arms shake violently, his knuckles white from gripping the sheets beside my head. He’s breathing fast, erratic, his small, shaky breaths cold against my ear. And he’s moving too slowly, like he’s terrified of losing control.

“Relax, baby. You can let go.”

I lift my hand, gently stroking his beautiful face, my voice barely a whisper. His eyes soften, then immediately darken.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he rasps, his voice hoarse, ruined.

“You can’t,” I assure him. “I can take it. I want to take it.”

The sound that escapes him—a helpless whimper, like he’s been waiting his entire life to hear those words. His body trembles, his control hanging by a thread, his cock twitching inside me at the sheer relief of it.

He might be above me, but he is completely at my mercy.

“You’re doing so good,” I murmur, just inches from his lips, my breath fanning over his skin. “Don’t stop.”

The second I say it, he melts.

Raw, desperate need unleashes from him so suddenly, it knocks the breath from my lungs. I wheeze in surprise, barely able to keep up before he grabs the bedframe above my head with his vibranium arm and picks up the pace—hard. The deep, wrecked moan that rips from his throat sets me on fire; a wildfire raging low and uncontrollable, consuming every last of my coherent thoughts. All I know is him—the way he moves, the way he fills me, the way every precise thrust hits where I need him most.

I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, and he collapses into me, his mouth claiming mine in a sloppy, desperate kiss. His thrusts are relentless, shaking the entire goddamn bed, and I have to grip his vibranium arm for dear life just to keep myself in place.

Somewhere in his haze, even now, he thinks to protect me—his flesh hand cradling the top of my head, shielding me from the bedframe. My chest tightens at the gesture, and I let my lips trail down his sweat-slicked neck in silent gratitude, my teeth grazing over his skin.

Something inside me snaps as I feel his salty skin on my tounge. My nails rake down his back, digging into the hard muscle, desperate to leave my mark. My teeth sink into his shoulder, biting, scratching, taking him. We’re sliding against each other, slick with sweat, the heat of the summer night making everything feel even filthier, more raw, more real.

And Bucky is falling apart.

He’s moaning, breaking, unraveling against me, the sounds deep and ragged, each one rougher than the last. If I didn’t know better—if I didn’t know how utterly overwhelmed with pleasure he is—I’d think he was in pure agony from the helpless little cries slipping from his lips.

“Tell me I’m good for you,” he whispers, almost afraid to ask, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

“You’re such a good boy for me, Bucky.” 

The words fall from my lips like a promise, and fuck, the sharp, broken gasp he lets out shreds me to pieces. It’s high and desperate, so fucking needy, and it goes straight to my core.

He kisses me, hard and possessive.

“I’ve been waiting…” His voice is unraveling, barely understandable.

”… for so fucking long.”

Then suddenly—

Thrust.

“And you—”

Thrust.

“Feel—”

Thrust.

“So—”

Thrust.

“Good.”

His voice rasps in pure, guttural pleasure. I’m nothing but a puddle beneath him, completely ruined, and somehow, he’s not finished.

His rhythm snaps, his thrusts turning harder, rougher, deeper, more possessive.

“Mine,” he snarls, his voice low, primal. He slams into me, hard, forcing me to take it.

“Mine, you understand?”

I can’t speak. Can’t think. There’s no rational thought left, no words, just pure, consuming pleasure. So instead, I match his pace, my hips rolling up to meet every devastating thrust. The way his words set me on fire, I let the flames consume me. My orgasm builds dangerously fast, and I’m hanging by a fucking thread, barely holding on under the brutal precision of his movements.

“Bucky—God—”

His name falls from my lips like a prayer, breathless and desperate.

“I’m—”

Judging by his increased pace, he knows exactly what I'm trying to say. He lifts himself, just enough to look me in the eyes, and I’m trying so hard not to let my eyes roll back, not to completely lose myself in him.

“Please.”

His voice shatters, breaking apart in my ear, pleading.

“Please cum on my cock. Please, baby, please—”

This is all I need to spiral. The coil inside me snaps violently, my entire body arching, shattering as a scream tears from my throat. I crash into pleasure, drowning in it, my walls clenching tight around him, milking him, pulling him deeper.

“Oh, fuck—” Bucky’s voice breaks, his hips stuttering, his rhythm completely unraveling as he feels me fall apart around him.

“That’s it—fuck—that’s my girl.”

His praise sends a violent aftershock through me, my body trembling, shaking, completely spent. I gasp for air, trying to regulate myself after the most devastating orgasm of my life, but I don't stand a chance. Bucky's not finished, not yet.

“I—I can’t—”

Bucky’s voice isn’t even human anymore. It’s a shattered, breathless little whimper, choked between desperate gasps, his body trembling like he’s about to break. His hips falter, his cock twitching so agressively inside me I swear I can feel it in my throat.

But he won’t let go. Not yet.

Not without permission.

“Please—”

The word falls apart in his throat, barely even understandable.

“Please, baby, please—please let me cum, I need it, I need you, I can’t hold it, I can’t—”

He’s whining, his breath is gone, his voice is gone, his body is gone; he is completely, utterly mine.

“Release it, baby.” My fingers tighten in his hair, dragging him deeper inside me. “Be a good boy and give it to me.”

And that’s it; he doesn’t just fall apart—he disintegrates.

His hips slam forward, burying himself so fucking deep inside me, holding us together, his muscles locking up, convulsing. And if this wasn't enough, he whimpers.

“Ohhh—fuck, fuck, fuck—”

His cock twitches and throbs uncontrollably, and I feel everything. The first violent, overwhelming pulse. The hot, thick flood of him spilling deep inside me. His hips keep jerking, his muscles keep locking up, his whimpers keep breaking apart into desperate, breathless sobs.

“Baby, baby—please, please, oh my God, I—I can’t—”

His hands claw at my waist, face burrowed into my neck, his breath a gasping mess. His voice cracks, completely breaking apart, and then a single, desperate sob escapes from him.

He cries. Bucky Barnes cries when he cums.

His body shakes uncontrollably, his hips rocking forward on their own, like he’s trying to push it even deeper, like he’s chasing something he’ll never be able to reach.

“Baby, baby—please hold me, please—fuck, I love you, I love you so much—”

His voice is cracking, completely gone, and I gasp as I feel another orgasm building inside me. Another slow, rolling wave, ignited by his moans, his desperate little whimpers, the way he’s still trembling inside me.

“Bucky—oh, fuck—”

The second he realizes what’s happening, it destroys him all over again.

“Baby, you’re gonna— Fuck, fuck, fuck—please, baby, please—”

His hips snap forward as a last burst of desperate energy, his hands gripping my waist so tightly I feel the bruises forming.

“Oh, baby—please, please cum on my cock again, I wanna feel it—please, baby, please, please—”

The filth of it, the raw need in his voice immedately shatters me. I scream his name, my body convulsing around him, my walls tightening, pulsing, taking him deeper, squeezing him so hard he sobs.

“Oh—oh fuck, baby, I’m still cumming—”

His cock throbs again, another weak, helpless little spill, and he whimpers so high and wrecked he sounds like he’s dying.

“I can’t stop—baby, I can’t stop, I can’t stop—”

His breath is gone, tears spilling onto my skin, his voice a trembling, begging mess, pleading for the final release. Not a moment later, he collapses.

His body slumps into mine; arms useless, his breathing erratic and broken. His tears still fall, his entire body shivering, overstimulated, still whimpering, still sobbing.

He’s still inside me, throbbing. Utterly gone from this world.

His hands stay locked firmly around me, fingers clutching, shaking, gripping, like he’ll die if I let go. And on top of that, he just won't stop crying. Soft, helpless little sobs hide into my skin, as he's holding onto me for dear life.

“Baby,” he whispers, his voice so broken and small.

“Baby, please don’t let go—please don’t go.”

My heart shatters to a million pieces in a matter of seconds. It becomes evidently clear that he's not here right now. He’s somewhere else, somewhere dark, somewhere cold, somewhere where he had nothing and no one. I feel it in the way he clings to me and his hands shake as they grip my waist. The way his face tucks into my throat, burrowing, searching, nuzzling like he’s trying to disappear into me; like he’s afraid this isn’t real.

"Shhh, Bucky,” I murmur, kissing his damp temple. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Even though I wanted my words to soothe him, he breaks even more instead. His breath catches on a sob, his entire body curling into me, fingers fisting in the sheets, in my hair, in anything he can hold onto. 

“You’re so good to me,” he gasps, his voice shaking. “So perfect, so soft, I—fuck, I don’t deserve this—”

His lips quiver against my skin, hands tightening around me, pulling me closer. The realization that he’s not just crying from overstimulation, hits me like a brick. He’s crying because he’s never felt this before.

Never felt this safe. Never felt this loved. Never felt this cherished, taken care of. 

“Bucky,” I whisper, cupping his tear-streaked face, making him look at me.

His blue eyes are glassy and vulnerable, still wet with tears. God, he looks so much younger like this. Like a little boy, back in the ‘40s, nineteen years old, held too many responsibilities, never got held in return.

I immediately want to fix every bad thing that's ever happened to him.

“You deserve all of this, my sweet boy,” I whisper, pressing my lips to his forehead. “You deserve every single second of love. You deserve to be taken care of.”

He lets out a tiny little sob that slits my heart in half, like a butcher knife.

“But I—” His voice cracks, his fingers digging into my waist. “I don’t—I don’t know how to do this. I don’t—”

His breath hitches, his chest rising, falling too fast. I know him enough to realize he’s panicking, his brain is fighting him, pushing against the comfort, trying to tell him he doesn’t deserve this.

I also know how to shut it down. I pull him into me, wrap my arms so tightly around him that he has no choice but to believe that this is real. I'm real.

“It’s okay, baby,” I say gently, stroking his hair, feeling his body relax against mine. “You don’t have to know how. Just let me love you.”

He immediately eases into me, his breath slowing, his shaking finally dying down. He doesn't know, but he's holding my own broken pieces together too, since I've never felt a love so consuming before. 

“If I fall asleep,” he whispers, as if he is about to say something unthinkable, “will you be here when I wake up?”

My dear God. 

"Of course, Bucky. I'll be right here, always," I promise, my voice firm, not leaving any space for doubts in his broken mind.