#winter solider

“You’re not the most forthcoming person! Shit, I think you’ve spoken more in the last two minutes than in the three months I’ve known you! Jesus, fuck, I’ve gotta get rid of this smell. I’m so fucking hot,” your voice gets smaller as you speak. You can’t think straight but head towards the bathroom, unzipping your tac suit and pulling it from your arms as you go. You slam the door and lock it. You turn the cold water on full blast and nearly fall over in your haste to get your suit off. The frigid spray helps for a few moments and you revel in it, but soon another type of heat begins to take over. Your clit throbs and when you place your hand between your legs, your wetness coats your fingers. The shower stops bringing relief and instead, the water coursing down your body seems to only make you hornier. You give in to the need that takes hold and circle your clit. It feels amazing and it takes only a couple of minutes for your orgasm to break over you. You  bite your lip to hold in the moans, not wanting the asshat on the other side of the door to hear you. 

Your body has a moment of relief but then the heat builds again, even quicker this time. You dip your fingers inside of you in a desperate attempt to stop it. The second orgasm you managed to pull did little to help your body and your fingers keep working furiously to bring another in hope of relief. Your moans are spilling from your lips without a care now. You just need to get this to stop. You’re disturbed when the door rattles and a fist bangs loudly. 

“Open the door! I need to get in there,” Bucky bellows. 

You wanted to scream at him to go away but you could barely form words. You hated the stupid supersoldier from the moment you met him. He questioned your every turn. Whether it was about your skill, experience, or motives. He never lets you get through a single conversation without making you feel like a lesser part of the team. 

“Goddamnit, let me in!” He yells more loudly. 

Nothing your hand was doing was helping any longer. You couldn’t think straight and, before you can make a move or form a thought, the door splinters open from a kick. A very naked Bucky comes through the door and your eyes widen as you see his cock standing at attention. He steps into the spray of the cold shower and growls. His hand works his cock furiously while his other rests on the tiles. His head falls forward as he lets the cold water fall down his back. You stand behind him, your hand still between your legs. 

“Fuck, what’s happening to us?” you whimper as you lean your feverish forehead onto his back. The cool water does nothing to help but where your skin touches his tingles with relief. Abandoning all pride, you press your entire body to his and the fever seems to cool wherever you touch but your clit throbs even harder. Your cunt weeps, begging for attention.You rub yourself against him, your nipples pebbling at the contact with his back. 

With a growl, Bucky turns around and you quickly back up to press your back against the wall of the shower. He stares at you, breathing hard. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble in your haze, “I don’t know what’s happening. I’m so hot and-” 

You gasp as Bucky bends down, grabs your legs, and drags you up the tiles. You squeal and reach for any handhold as he puts your legs over his shoulders and attacks your clit with his tongue. 

“Oh, fuck!” You scream as one hand lands on the ceiling to help you balance and the other buries in his hair. His tongue swirls over your clit expertly. His hands squeeze your ass as he gorges himself on you. It doesn’t take long for you to buck your hips as you come all over his face. As he sets you down, you squeeze your thighs together but your body simply screams that it wants more. You stare at each other, breathing heavily. “It’s not working. Nothing helps,” you whimper, tears forming. It’s obvious by watching him that this is affecting him almost as much as you. His supersoldier serum must be helping him but he was burning just the same. 

Bucky sighs as he steps closer to you. He presses his forehead to yours with his eyes closed and whispers, “I think there’s only one thing that’s going to help.”

You put your arms around his neck, “Just do it!” You wrap a leg around his to encourage him and he lifts you up. He presses your back into the wall as he lines himself up with your entrance. He paused there for a second as if he was fighting himself. “Please, Barnes, please! I need it!” You can’t believe you’re begging the man you hate to fuck you but your body was demanding it and if he didn’t you were sure you would burn to death. If you had been thinking straight, you would probably prefer to burn but, at this moment, you wanted nothing more than to be filled. 

“Goddamnit,” he whispers as he presses in. Your body bows with pleasure. 

“Yes! Yes!” Your voice reverberates off the tile walls as you shout with relief. He begins to pump and your body trembles with each motion of his cock. He grabs your ass as he pounds into you and you know he’s as lost in the meeting of your bodies as you are. Your cunt flutters around him, pulling him in, begging for him to come inside of you. Your rational mind has gone completely silent and you are filled with only carnal lust. Every motion of his hips takes you higher and it’s all you want. “Don’t stop,” you grip his shoulders harder. 

“Fuck,” Bucky grunts. He couldn’t stop if he wanted to and, truth was, this was the best thing he’d felt in a long time.

“Oh, God, oh, God, I’m- yes!” You release a long, high-pitched moan as you come. Your pussy grips his cock as his hips stutter. He comes with a long moan that makes you clench around him more firmly. You stay there for a few moments, catching your breath, and blessedly your body finally starts to cool. You release your legs from around his waist and he gently sets you down. You can’t look at him and instead maneuver yourself back under the cold spray. You rinse off quickly and step out of the shower. Wrapping yourself in a towel, you exit the bathroom to find your pack and some clothes. While you rifle through your pack, you feel your temperature creeping up again and then you double over from the intense wave that rolls over you. “No, no, not again,” you whisper to yourself. You look over to the broken bathroom door where Bucky still is and consider your options. Sex had given you the relief you needed but it was short lived. Your mind runs amuck with questions. What the hell was that powder? What was it doing to you? How long would this last? How many times would it take to stop this heat from trying to burn you alive? Was sex really the only relief you would find? Another pang hit and knocked the breath from your body. You were gasping in pain when an arm picked you up around your middle. 

He was still wet from the shower and hadn’t bothered to dry off. The pains had hit him and he went to the only place he knew he could find relief. He carried you to the small bed in the house and set you down on your hands and knees. He grips your hips tightly and pauses for a moment as another rush of heat spreads over him, “I need-”

“Just do it,” your words come out in a rush, pressing back into him. 

He enters you without preamble. Pulling you back to meet each motion of his hips, his moans give evidence of the pleasure and relief that the connection brings. You reach under you to play with your clit, trying to bring your orgasm on more quickly. Each of Bucky’s swift thrusts has you crying out with pleasure and he moves your hand away to bring you to orgasm himself. He wanted to feel you clench around him as you had before. 

“Oh, fuck, just like that,” you whine, “Just like that, don’t- don’t stop, oh, fuck.”

Bucky moans as he feels your cunt flutter around his cock with your orgasm. The sounds you release are a hit straight to his cock and he comes hard, thrusting with each spurt into you. Breathing heavily, you both collapse on the bed. You lay on your side facing away from him while taking stock of your body. The relief you felt with your orgasm was short lived as heat began to build again after only a few minutes. 

You feel like crying as your body radiates waves of heat. You turn over to face Bucky. He is lying on his back, his metal arm slung over his eyes, and his right hand fisting his hard cock. You make your decision quickly. Pulling his hand away, you straddle him and guide his cock inside of you. You move your hips slowly, hoping that perhaps if you stretched out the sex, it would keep the pain at bay longer. His hands grip your thighs as you rock slowly, his head is thrown back with eyes tightly closed. You looked at him for a moment and still couldn't believe that of all the teammates this could happen with, it had to be this asshole. When you first met him, you thought he was hot as fuck but as his personality (or lack there of) reared it’s ugly head you found him less and less attractive. Your anger at the situation grew as you rode him and you found yourself leaning forward, chasing your orgasm to just get this over with. 

“Oh, fuck,” Bucky bucks up into you, causing you to cry out. He repeats the motion over and over again until your body spasms around him. He comes with a grunt as he watches your face contort with pleasure. You collapse on his chest without looking at him. You wondered if keeping your bodies connected would keep the heat from returning. 

“Are you okay?” Bucky asks softly. 

You sigh weakly as you felt the now familiar warmth beginning to spread, “I was hoping…” You let out a frustrated grunt, “I was hoping if we stayed touching it would be enough. But it’s starting again.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Bucky acknowledges his own heat building. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“You don’t know that. You can’t know that,” you grouse.

“I think… I think this might be a pheromone or something Hydra created to force procreation. I heard of the experiments but they abandoned it when it didn’t produce the results they wanted.”

“Which was?” You ask as your hips make slow circles. You can feel his cock quickly hardening inside of you. 

“Naturally born supersoldiers,” Bucky strains out the words. 

“So, we’re gonna have sex until we die or what?”

“Usually wore off in a few hours but until then…” he trails off as he gots lost in the sensations. 

“Fuck,” you groan, partially out of frustration, partially from the pleasure his thick cock was producing. 

“Basically,” Bucky says and you surprise yourself by laughing at the droll comment. You are even more surprised a second later when Bucky rolls you under him. He buries his face in your neck as he pulls your leg up higher and thrusts. You throw your head back as the pleasure begins to build again. 

“Harder,” you whimper. 

Bucky complies immediately and you whimper with each stroke. Grabbing onto him, you get lost in the feeling of his cock pounding into you sharply. You were glad that he at least was decent at this. Or was it that whatever the damn contaminant was made everything feel amazing? You were getting close with the steady way he fucked you and words started to pour out of your mouth. You were usually quite vocal in bed but hadn’t wanted to give Bucky the satisfaction. Now, you couldn’t stop yourself. 

“Oh, god, it’s so good. Don’t stop, right there. It’s so fucking good. Oh, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna- fuck!” You let out a loud moan as you come hard and Bucky’s hips work even faster as he nears his own end. When he comes on a broken cry, your body revels in the feeling of him emptying himself in you.

The rational side of your brain sounded far away but was still screaming at the situation. In a moment of it managing to take hold, you push Bucky off of you and roll away from him. Breathing heavily, you pray that this is over. Surely, this was enough to satisfy anything. You will yourself to stay cool, to not allow the heat to return, to hold onto any shred of sanity you can find, but despite it all, the heat built again. You felt like screaming but you knew that nothing you did would help. You turn back to Bucky and say frustratedly, “Ready for another round?” You can’t meet his eyes but you knew neither of you could handle the pain and heat. You needed each other. 

Bucky turns to you, “Hey.” He waits, wanting you to look him in the eyes but you just stare at his chest. “Hey.”

“What?” You say waspishly, still refusing to meet his gaze.

“Never mind,” he says as he grabs you and pulls your back against his chest. His cock nudges you from behind and you maneuver your hips to allow him entry. His thrusts are quick and sharp but his fingers on your clit are pure magic. He’s learned your body quickly but instead of leading you straight to orgasm this time, he works you to the precipice and then backs off repeatedly. You understood what he was trying to do. He was trying to prolong the sex in hopes of not having to come inside you any more than he already had but it was as if your body only got angrier with each denial. 

“It’s not working! Just let me come!” You finally cry out, your frustration having reached its breaking point.

“Say it,” Bucky growls.

You wrack your muddled brain trying to grasp what he wants and latch on to the only word you can find, “Please!”

“No, say my name.”

You would normally reel angrily at a command from him but the effects this powder had on you makes you compliant from need. You stutter as your tongue tries to cooperate, “B- Barnes.”

“No,” he says darkly, “Say it.”

“Bucky,” you grind the word out through your teeth. You had never once called him that. It had always been some variant of his last name. You felt even more vulnerable now.

Bucky doesn’t utter a word but he moves his hips faster and his fingers do their job. When you finally come, your whole body spasms and you scream. The sound was foreign to your ears but the orgasm just kept going. You fluttered around Bucky’s cock, milking him of cum. You stay in that position for the next two rounds of sex. Then you got on top again to give Bucky a break but this time you faced away from him. You couldn’t look at him. When you had rode him to two orgasms and yourself to utter exhaustion, he turned you on your stomach to fuck you again. You lost count of the number of times you had sex. More orgasms than you’d ever had in your life were accomplished and you didn’t have any clue how many times he came. You fucked until you both passed out. 

Waking up fourteen hours later, you felt as if you had the worst hangover you’d ever experienced. You glance at the spot Bucky had been in but he was gone. On the table by the bed was a couple of bottles of water, a protein bar, and a bottle of pain reliever. You raised your eyebrow at the items but just shrugged as you tore into all of them. You notice your pack is by the bed and you get up to put clothes on. The first thing you notice is the soreness between your legs but really your whole body hurts. You listen for a moment but don’t hear anything in the house. Peeking out the door, you see the empty living room and slip into the bathroom. You shower quickly, trying not to remember what happened in the small space just yesterday. 

You jump when a knock sounds while you are dressing. You call out, “Yes?”

“Exfil will be here in five minutes,” Bucky says through the broken door. 

“I’ll be right out,” you say. Your stomach is in knots. You can’t imagine facing him after everything. Would he act like nothing happened or gloat like the asshole he is? You wonder if you will ever be able to look him in the face again. You look at yourself, surprised that you still look the same as you did yesterday because you know you’ll never be the same again. But you didn’t have time to dwell on that. Now, you had a jet to catch.

Part 2

Updates and taglist: Due to the unreliable nature of tags, I no longer keep a taglist. Updates for series will be made on Sundays Central Time Zone. Please follow my sideblog @tuiccimfanfiction and turn on notifications for updates. All series and new stories will be reblogged to it. You will only receive notifications when a new part or story is out! Nothing else will be blogged to the page. I can’t thank you enough for your support!

Blurred Lines (❤❅✘✧): when choosing a female agent to send back in time to gain young Sergeant Barnes's trust, everyone's in agreement that it should be Sharon. Until Bucky, the man that you barely get along with, speaks up and lets everyone know that it could only be you. (@ellemj)

Closer (✘): you’d never felt like this before, it was like some primal instinct deep down inside of you. You just needed to be close to him. The only problem was that you were already wrapped in his arms and it still didn’t feel close enough. (@tom-holland-parker)

Water Proof (✘): Bucky Barnes is pretty sure that his arm is water proof. He'd been in water with it before. Turns out his arm can handle water, but not p*ssy juice. (@vivwritesfics)

Book Boyfriend (✘): Bucky is better than any book boyfriend. You'll prove it to him. (@navybrat817)

In Your Arms I'm Born Again (❤✘): you want to find out exactly how many times is too many times for the super soldier. (@bonky-n-steeb)

What Are Friends For (✘): when you threaten to swear off men for good after your last bad date, your neighbour and friend offers to help change your mind. (@gogolucky13)

Down Bad (✘): Bucky using his metal hand as a vibrator. (@flowersforbucky)

I Hate You (✘): after ending up on SHIELD's radar, you're moved into the tower against your will. Of course, you can't stand the one man that you have the most in common with. (@ellemj)

Play Pretend (✘): when Bucky is injected with a substance that leaves him desperate for release, you offer your help. (@wkemeup) (warning: sex pollen trope, i.e., dub-con)

A Quiet Escape (✘): during a holiday stay at Clint Barton’s home, you’ve been desperately trying to steal a moment alone with Bucky—your super-soldier boyfriend—but the Avengers are constantly interrupting. Between Clint’s kids, Steve’s “bromantic” grocery runs, and Nat pulling Bucky into sparring sessions, it feels like you’re constantly fighting for his attention. Frustration finally boils over when you confront Bucky about your lack of privacy, only to discover he’s just as eager for some alone time as you are - and willing to do anything to get it. (@thebarneschronicles)

Revenge Sweeter Than Honey (✘): when Bucky’s professor unfairly grades his college assignment, ruining his perfect GPA, he finds a way to get revenge — And doesn’t his sweet little wife look delicious? (@thevillainswhore)

Caught Myself A Cute Little Doll (✘): the Winter Soldier caught himself a cute little doll. (@sergeantbarnessdoll)

Pretty Little Thing (✘): your long-time crush, Bucky Barnes, is a regular at the bar where you work, and tonight, it’s impossible to avoid serving him for the first time. (@marvelouslizzie)

Now or Never (✘): based off the prompts "You know my door is always open for you, right?" and "You're already wet sweetheart." (@fandoms-writings)

Touch Starved (✘): this was inspired by a tweet and his gif I saw on twitter. You accidentally walk in on Bucky touching himself when he thinks he is alone. Turns out he is thinking about you. (@mrsbuckybarnes1917)

I Don't Want You Like A Best Friend (❅✘): Bucky can't decide if the universe loves him or hates him. Maybe it loves to hate him. Maybe it's mischievous. Because he’s in love. He’s madly, deeply, painfully in love with a girl that he knows he’ll never have. Because the heavens created arguably the most perfect creature in their repertoire, dangled you in front of him for his entire life, and chose to rip you away before he had the chance to tell you how he felt. (@brunchable)

↪︎ Part Two (❤✘): it's only been a few hours since you've become official and Bucky want to show you just how much you mean to him.

All's Well That Ends Well To End Up With You (❤✘): Bucky isn't going to let an extended mission, a severe thunderstorm, and a delayed flight ruin your first valentine's day together. (@flowersforbucky)

Stay For A Fortnight (✘): “yes, ground rules,” you sighed, forcing your eyes to rest on anything but him, “it’s just you and me here for two whole weeks, so we’ll need to come up with a plan.” (@thyme-in-a-bubble)

Devil's In The Backseat (✘): a night at coney island with your friends turns out much differently than expected, or getting fucked in front of a mirror. (@flowersforbucky)

Sesame & The Sweetheart (❤✘): you've been on a few dates with Bucky now, and the sexual tension is at an all-time high. After another cute date, you realize you can't keep your hands off him for very much longer. (@kinanabinks)

Heartwood (❤✘): after Sam’s party, Bucky begins to navigate uncharted territory as he works to balance his growing feelings and lingering insecurities in his blooming relationship. - lumberjack!bucky (@vunblr)

New Tricks (❤✘): after your brother has to cancel movie night, you’re ready to resign yourself to an uneventful evening back at your dorm, alone and dejected. But what you didn’t count on, is your brother’s best friend and roommate, bursting through the door and asking you to stay; to spend the night with him. Instead, what unfolds, however, while you spend time with the star football player, both shocks and astounds you — one confession in particular. Bucky Barnes, the Prince Charming of campus, the man you have been crushing on for an eternity, is a virgin. (@thevillainswhore)

Computer Chair Smut (❅✘): after weeks of arguing, you thought your relationship with Bucky was near the end. That was until you held something positive in your hand. (@crowsofdarkness)

Restraint (✘): you rush to Bucky's side when he's hit with a a super serum booster out in the field so that you can...take care...of him. (@mrs-elsie-barnes) (warning: sex-pollen trope (ish), i.e., dub-con)

Desperate Measures (✘): when you encounter a mysterious substance during a mission, it forces you and your mission partner to get closer. (@simplyholl) (warning: sex-pollen trope, i.e., dub-con)

Beach Day (✘): beach day with some of the Avengers turns into a little private time with Bucky. (@crowsofdarkness)

In The Night (✘): you're finding it difficult to sleep in your new home. Bucky knows how to fix it. (@neptunecaptains)

Enlivened Mornings (❤✘): consensual free-use pass + corruption kink. (@mercurial-chuckles)

The Sunday Regular (✘): you’re a waitress working at some shitty run-down diner in the middle of nowhere. and every sunday you see the same person at the same time walk through the doors. the pair of you forming a bond over time. though today, he doesn’t at his usual time and you begin to worry that you’ll have to wait another week to see him. the regular then finds out some information about you that he didn’t wish to know, and in turn, information you didn’t wish to share. (@little-miss-dilf-lover)

new! Late (❤✘): Bucky has recently moved in with you and is turning your strict morning routine upside down, making you constantly late because he’s too tempting in the mornings, wearing that sleepy grin, stealing your toothbrush, and cuddling you back into bed every time you try to get up. (@whitedarkmoonflower)

new! It's Nice To Have A Friend (✘): you're having the worst period you've had in a long time. bucky is determined to help you feel better. (@flowersforbucky)

new! This is (Not) Fine (❅✘✧): personal assistant rules: don’t crush on bucky barnes. definitely don’t misinterpret a flower purchase and spiral into silent heartbreak, and absolutely never ever get stuck alone with him in an elevator. (@artficlly)

new! A Night from the Past (✘): you take bucky to 40s’ themed bar. (@barnesonly)

new! Still Yours (❅✘✧): bucky lets his relationship slip into the background for the sake of duty and public image. but when the distance starts to break them, he realizes he’ll do anything to fight for the love he almost lost. (@danysdaughter) (warning: mentions of mental health/trauma)

new! Touch-Starved (❤✘): safe house, during a storm. after a long mission, you’re stuck sharing a room with bucky. you’ve always assumed he keeps his distance because of his past. but when the storm knocks out the power and you curl up on the couch, cold and shivering, he finally opens up — and his hands, calloused and careful, don’t stop at comfort. (@lowrisemiller)

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.

The apartment in Brooklyn always felt too big when Bucky was gone. You’d lived here together for almost two years now, but the moment he left for a mission the walls seemed to stretch, the silence thickened, and every creak of the old floorboards made your heart stutter with hope that it was him coming home early. Tonight was no different. Three weeks. Twenty-one days of radio silence because SHIELD missions didn’t allow check-ins, not even for the girlfriend who knew every scar on his body and every nightmare that still woke him at 3 a.m.

You paced the living room in one of his old henleys, the hem brushing your thighs, sleeves rolled up because your hands needed something to do. The city lights flickered through the rain-streaked windows, painting silver streaks across the hardwood. His favorite mug— the chipped black one with the tiny American flag he pretended not to love—sat untouched on the counter. You’d made coffee at midnight just to feel closer to him, but the mug had gone cold hours ago.

Memories kept surfacing like they always did when the worry gnawed too deep. The first time he’d brought you here, shy and awkward, metal arm hidden in a leather jacket even though it was summer. The way he’d blushed when you kissed the jagged scar on his shoulder and whispered that every part of him was beautiful. The lazy Sundays when he’d cook breakfast shirtless, metal fingers flipping pancakes with impossible precision while his flesh hand rested possessively on your hip. The nights he came back from missions haunted, crawling into bed and burying his face in your neck like you were the only safe place left in the world.

You checked your phone again. Nothing. Of course there was nothing. You set it face-down on the coffee table and rubbed your temples. The mission was supposed to be recon only— in and out— but Bucky’s missions had a habit of turning into something bloodier. You hated the not-knowing. Hated the phantom chill that settled in your bones every time the sun went down without him.

A hot shower. That was what you needed. Something to scrub the anxiety off your skin and loosen the knot between your shoulder blades. You padded down the short hallway, flipping on the bathroom light. The small room smelled faintly of his cedarwood soap and the eucalyptus shampoo he pretended he didn’t steal from your side of the shelf. You stripped slowly, letting his henley drop to the floor, then your panties. The mirror was already fogging from the steam you hadn’t even turned on yet; that was how badly you needed this.

You stepped into the stall and twisted the knob. The water hit like a benediction— scalding, just the way you both liked it. You stood under the spray for a long minute, eyes closed, letting it pound against your scalp and cascade down your back. The heat seeped into your muscles, but it couldn’t quite reach the cold worry lodged under your ribs. You reached for the soap, lathering it between your palms until the scent of him filled the air. You washed methodically: arms, shoulders, breasts, the curve of your stomach, between your legs. Every inch reminded you of his hands. How he’d trace the same paths with calloused fingers and cool metal, murmuring filthy praise against your throat.

You remembered the last night before he left. He’d taken you apart slowly on this very bed, metal arm pinning your wrists above your head while his mouth worshipped every inch of you. “Gonna think about this every night I’m gone, doll,” he’d growled, voice wrecked. “Gonna come home and bury myself so deep you’ll feel me for days.” The memory sent heat pooling low in your belly even now. You rinsed the soap away, tilting your face into the spray, letting the water mingle with the single frustrated tear that escaped.

You were almost done. Just one more pass through your hair with the shampoo, fingers massaging your scalp, when you heard it— the soft click of the front door. Your heart slammed against your ribs. Footsteps. Heavy, deliberate, familiar. The bathroom door opened a second later.

The water was a scalding, perfect punishment, and you were lost in it, trying to scrub the phantom chill of worry from your own skin when the shower door slid open with a metallic groan.

“Move over, baby doll.”

The voice was a low, graveled rumble that cut through the steam and the drumming water, a sound you’d been aching for. Bucky Barnes filled the space, his massive frame blocking the light, his skin a canvas of fresh bruises, smears of grime, and the dark, coppery stain of blood that wasn’t his. The sight of him, whole and here, punched the air from your lungs.

“Bucky,” you breathed, the word swallowed by the shower’s roar.

He stepped in, the hot spray instantly plastering his dark hair to his skull, tracing the thick cords of his neck, his shoulders. He didn’t wait, didn’t speak. His flesh hand came up, calloused and warm, and cupped your cheek. His thumb swept over your bottom lip, and then his mouth was on yours.

It wasn’t a hello kiss. It was a claiming. A reclamation. His lips were chapped, demanding, and you opened for him without thought. His tongue swept in, tasting of sweat and ozone and him, that familiar, addictive flavor that was just Bucky. Your hands flew to his chest, slick and solid under your palms, and you felt the powerful thump of his heart against your fingers. The kiss was deep, wet, sloppy with need. He groaned into your mouth, a raw, hungry sound, and his metal arm—cool even under the hot water—wrapped around your waist, hauling you flush against him. You could feel every ridge of his abdomen, the hard line of his cock already pressing insistently against your lower belly.

You broke the kiss, gasping. “Bucky, you’re hurt, let me—”

“Shhhh,” he murmured against your lips, his breath hot. His metal fingers traced your spine, a shiver-inducing contrast. “Let me play with you. I missed you. I fucking missed this.”

His hands were everywhere at once. The flesh one slid from your cheek, down your neck, over your collarbone, and palmed your breast. His thumb found your nipple, circling it through the slickness until it peaked into a hard, aching point. A sharp, sweet sensation shot straight to your core. His other hand roamed lower, over the curve of your ass, squeezing possessively before sliding around to your front.

“Look at you,” he growled, his blue eyes dark as a stormy sea, fixed on yours. “So fucking perfect. All clean for me.” His fingers dipped through your pussy, finding the heat of you. “So wet already. Is this all for me, baby?”

You could only nod, your head falling back as his middle finger slid through your folds, gathering your slickness. He made a satisfied noise, a low hum in his chest, and then he was circling your clit with a precision that stole your breath. It wasn’t gentle. It was focused, relentless. His gaze never left your face as he worked you, watching every flicker of pleasure that crossed your features.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, his voice a velvet-rough command. “Let me feel you.”

He added a second finger, pushing slowly inside you. The stretch was exquisite, the fullness immediate. He curled them, searching, and when he found that sweet, spongy spot inside you, he pressed. A broken cry tore from your throat. Your knees buckled, but his metal arm held you up, an unyielding band of steel.

“Bucky—”

“I know,” he breathed, his own control fraying. He began to fuck you with his fingers, a steady, driving rhythm, his thumb still working tight, maddening circles on your clit. The dual assault was overwhelming. The water beat down on you both, the steam thickening the air you struggled to draw into your lungs. All you could feel was his hand on you, in you, the hard planes of his body against yours, the raw, possessive hunger in his eyes.

“You take my fingers so fucking good,” he grunted, his forehead dropping to yours. “So tight and hot. Think about this cunt every time I’m out there. Dream about it.”

His words, filthy and perfect, coiled the tension in your belly tighter. You reached between your bodies, your own hand sliding through the water and soap-slick hair to find his cock. He was huge, thick and heavy in your hand, the skin like hot silk over iron. You wrapped your fingers around him, stroking from root to tip, feeling him jump and thicken further.

“Fuck, yes,” he hissed, his hips jerking into your touch. “Just like that. Work my cock, baby. Show me how much you missed it.”

You stroked him, matching the rhythm of his fingers inside you. It was a frantic, wet, messy tangle of limbs and need under the spray. The world narrowed to this shower stall, to the smell of his skin and cheap soap, to the sound of slapping water and ragged breathing. The pressure built inside you, a screaming, white-hot coil. His fingers drove deeper, his thumb pressed harder, and his voice was in your ear, a continuous, gritty mantra.

“Cum for me. I need to see it. Need to taste it. Let go, baby doll, give it to me. Give me that pretty fucking cum.”

It broke over you like the shower spray had turned to lightning. Your body locked, a silent scream on your lips as the orgasm ripped through you, wave after wave of intense, clenching pleasure that made you see stars behind your eyelids. You convulsed around his fingers, your hand stilling on his cock as you rode it out, helpless.

Bucky watched you, his expression one of fierce, rapt devotion. As the last tremors subsided, he slowly withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his lips without breaking eye contact. He sucked them clean, his tongue swirling around each digit, a low groan of appreciation vibrating in his throat. “Perfect,” he rasped. “Always so fucking perfect.”

He turned you around, your back to his front, his metal arm banding across your chest, holding you up. His other hand guided his cock to your entrance, the broad, slick head nudging against you.

“Bucky, wait—” you gasped, still sensitive, still trembling.

“I’ve waited,” he ground out, his voice thick with pent-up need. “Weeks. I need to be inside you. Now.”

He pushed, and he filled you, an inexorable, breathtaking stretch that made you cry out. He was so big, and you were so sensitized, the feeling was almost too much. He held still, buried to the hilt, his face buried in the wet crook of your neck, his breathing ragged.

“Christ,” he muttered. “You feel… god, you feel like fucking heaven.”

Then he began to move. Slow, at first. Agonizingly slow, dragging almost all the way out before sliding back in with a deep, rolling thrust that made your toes curl against the wet tile. Each stroke was deliberate, a worshipful reconnection. His flesh hand slid down your belly, fingers finding your clit again, already swollen and oversensitive. You jerked in his arms, a sob catching in your throat.

“Too much?” he murmured, but he didn’t stop. His fingers kept circling, lighter now, a teasing counterpoint to the deep, claiming thrusts.

“No,” you managed. “Don’t stop. Please.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

His pace began to quicken. The slow, deep rolls became harder, more urgent. The metal arm tightened across your ribs, holding you immobile as he fucked into you from behind. The sound of skin slapping against wet skin joined the symphony of the shower. His breaths became ragged grunts in your ear.

“You take my cock so good,” he panted. “This sweet, tight cunt was made for me. Fuck. Missed this. Missed you.”

He was hitting a spot deep inside you with every thrust, a spot that made your vision blur. His fingers on your clit were relentless, and a second, sharper orgasm began to build, different from the first, deeper, more consuming.

“Gonna cum again for me?” he demanded, his voice rough with strain. “Do it. I wanna feel you milk my cock. I’m gonna fill you up. Gonna pump you so full of my cum you’ll feel it for days.”

The filthy promise, the sheer physical mastery of him, tipped you over. You came with a shattered scream, your inner walls clamping down on him in rhythmic, pulsing waves. The intensity pulled his own release from him. With a guttural roar that was half your name, half a curse, he slammed into you one final time, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself deep inside you. You felt the hot rush of his cum, the throbbing pulse of his cock as he held himself there, buried to the root, both of you trembling and spent under the cascading water.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of water and harsh breathing. He stayed inside you, his forehead resting on your shoulder, his arms like vices around you. Slowly, he softened, and carefully, he pulled out. A warm trickle followed, a visceral reminder of his claim. He turned you gently to face him. His eyes were softer now, the storm abated, leaving only a deep, weary affection.

He reached past you and turned off the water. The sudden silence was deafening. Steam billowed around you.

“Bed,” he said, his voice hoarse. It wasn’t a question.

He stepped out, water sheeting off his magnificent body, and grabbed a towel. He didn’t use it on himself. He wrapped it around you, rubbing your arms briskly before patting you dry with a tenderness that contrasted wildly with the animalistic fucking of moments before. He led you, dripping and still buzzing, into the bedroom. The air was cool on your wet skin.

He laid you back on the comforter, your bodies still glistening with moisture. He knelt between your legs, his eyes raking over you with a hunger that was already rekindling.

“I’m not done,” he stated, his voice a low thrum. “I need to taste you. Need my mouth on this perfect pussy.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. He hooked your legs over his shoulders, the super-soldier strength making the move effortless, bending you in half. The sight was obscenely beautiful—your body open to him, his chiseled abdomen flexing as he leaned down, the dark trail of hair leading to his still-half-hard cock. And then his mouth was on you.

His tongue was flat and hot, laving through your folds, cleaning away the mixed evidence of your pleasure and his. He groaned, the vibration making you jolt. “Fuck, you taste even better like this. With me inside you.”

He ate you with a single-minded devotion that stole the air from the room. His tongue circled your clit, flicked it, then plunged inside you, fucking you with it. His metal hand came up, two cool fingers sliding into you alongside his tongue, crooking to stroke that same deep spot. The sensation was unbelievable—the wet, hot suction of his mouth, the clever thrust of his tongue, the firm, unyielding penetration of his fingers.

“Bucky!” you cried out, your hands fisting in his damp hair.

He looked up, his chin glistening, his eyes blazing. “Cum in my mouth,” he ordered, his voice muffled against you. “I want to drink every fucking drop.”

He redoubled his efforts, his tongue and fingers working in a synchronized, devastating rhythm. You came again, harder than before, your back arching off the bed as you screamed, your thighs clamping around his head. He rode it out, swallowing every pulse, lapping at you until you were twitching and oversensitive, pushing weakly at his shoulders.

He finally pulled back, breathing heavily, a look of pure, male satisfaction on his face. He crawled up your body, his weight settling over you, his cock, fully hard again, nudging at your entrance. He was insatiable.

“One more time,” he whispered, kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips. “I need to fuck you in this bed. Need to feel you under me.”

He pushed inside in one smooth, deep stroke. The wetness—from the shower, from his mouth, from your own arousal—made the slide effortless. He set a brutal pace immediately, no slow build this time. He was pent up, all the tension and violence of his mission channeling into this, into you. Each thrust drove the breath from your lungs. You wrapped your legs high around his waist, your heels digging into the hard muscles of his ass, trying to pull him deeper.

“Look at me,” he gritted out.

You forced your eyes open, meeting his. The intensity there was staggering. Love, lust, desperation, devotion—all of it, raw and unmasked.

“You’re mine,” he stated, each word punctuated by a driving thrust. “This cunt is mine. This body. All of it.”

“Yours,” you gasped, the admission tearing from you. “Always yours.”

He fucked you like he was trying to brand himself into your very bones. The bed rocked, the headboard knocking a steady rhythm against the wall. You could see every muscle in his abdomen clenching and releasing, a mesmerizing display of power held in check just for you. Your legs slid up to his shoulders, and he took the new angle, plunging even deeper, hitting a place that made you see white.

“I’m gonna cum,” he warned, his voice strangled. “Gonna fill you up again. You want that? You want my fucking cum?”

“Yes!” you screamed, your own climax coiling, ready to snap. “Please, Bucky, give it to me!”

With a final, shuddering roar, he slammed home and held, his body locking as he poured into you for the second time. The hot, endless flood triggered your own release, a crashing, full-body wave that left you boneless and sobbing his name into the sweat-damp skin of his shoulder.

He collapsed, his full weight pressing you into the mattress, but you welcomed it. The solid, real weight of him. Alive. Here. His breathing slowly evened out. After a long moment, he shifted just enough to slide out of you, a fresh, warm trickle following. He gathered you against his side, your wet hair mingling with his on the pillow.

“Missed you,” he mumbled into your hair, his voice already thick with sleep.

You stayed like that for a while, hearts slowing in tandem, the city rain tapping softly against the window like a lullaby. Eventually the chill in the air made you both shiver. Bucky reached down without opening his eyes, tugged the thick comforter up and over your naked bodies, cocooning you both in soft darkness and shared warmth. Skin to skin, nothing between you but the faint scent of sex and cedarwood soap.

His metal arm curled around your waist, cool fingers splaying possessively over the small of your back. His flesh hand found yours, lacing your fingers together on his chest. You could feel the steady thump of his heart under your palm—real, alive, home.

“You’re really here,” you whispered, voice hoarse from screaming his name.

“Wouldn’t be anywhere else, doll.” His lips brushed your forehead, tender now, all the earlier ferocity banked into something quieter, deeper. “Told you I’d come back. Always do.”

You tilted your face up. In the dim glow of the streetlights filtering through the blinds, his eyes were half-lidded, sleepy, but still burning with that endless affection that had always undone you. You leaned in first this time, slow and deliberate, and caught his mouth in a kiss that had none of the frantic hunger from the shower and everything of the love that had survived three weeks of silence.

It was lazy, unhurried. Lips sliding, parting, tongues brushing in gentle strokes. Your free hand roamed up his chest, tracing the raised lines of old scars, the fresh bruise blooming over his ribs, the strong column of his throat. His flesh hand mirrored you, sliding down the curve of your waist, over the swell of your hip, fingertips drawing idle patterns on your thigh like he was memorizing you all over again.

He sighed into the kiss, a contented sound that vibrated through your joined mouths. His metal fingers flexed against your back, cool and grounding, pulling you impossibly closer until there wasn’t a single inch of space left between your bodies. You felt his heartbeat against yours, the slow rise and fall of his chest, the faint tremor in his thigh where it pressed between yours.

The kiss deepened by degrees—still soft, still languid, but richer now. Tongues stroking, lips tugging, little hums of pleasure escaping whenever one of you found a particularly sensitive spot. Your hand wandered lower, palm gliding over the firm curve of his ass, then back up to thread through the damp strands at the nape of his neck. His flesh hand cupped your breast gently, thumb brushing the nipple in a feather-light circle that made you arch into him with a quiet gasp.

No rush. No goal. Just the two of you, naked and tangled under the covers, mouths moving in perfect sync while your hands explored every familiar inch of skin like it was the first time and the thousandth all at once. The rain kept falling outside. Inside, the only sounds were soft sighs, the rustle of sheets, and the quiet, steady rhythm of two hearts finally at rest.

Bucky pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, eyes closed, a small smile curving his lips. “Love you,” he breathed, so quietly you felt it more than heard it.

You answered by kissing him again—slow, sweet, endless—hands still roaming, bodies still pressed together, the world outside forgotten.

This was home.