My trope is Bucky Barnes. @drabblesandsnippets - Tumblr Blog

Permanent Residence

(standalone fic)

summary: (12.7k - yes, i know - it really got away from me lol) roommate!bucky x confident plus-size reader - standalone follow-up fic to this drabble - after a mail mishap and some light eavesdropping, you finally cross the line you’ve both been secretly staring at for months

tw: fluff, confession of feelings, mention of Bucky's past, sweet and soft Bucky, dual POV (internal thoughts), brief mention of masturbation and sex toys, brief alluding to reader's failed relationships, a bit of awkwardness and humor during intimacy, Bucky's all about consent, a brief shower, oral (f! receiving), fingering, very brief description of pubic hair, multiple orgasms, unprotected piv (reader is on birth control), aftercare

a/n: this started with the intention of a quick smutty oneshot and somehow turned into a sorta slow(ish)burn of character development and a bit of backstory and worldbuilding - with some spice/smut sprinkled in - I hope you love it as much as I do! more to come for these two 🩶

You didn't mean to open Bucky's mail. As soon as you realized your mistake, you tried to fix it. Carefully put the sex toy back in its box, taped it up, strategically placed it on the kitchen table with some of his other things.

You really did have every intention of leaving your roommate clueless. Even acted completely normal when he came home. Watched him hastily grab his mail, cheeks turning pink, and flee to his room like it was any other day. Like you hadn't spent the last 24 hours imagining him using the damn thing.

But when his door stays shut, when he doesn't immerge after several long minutes, your curiosity gets the better of you and you start finding one ridiculous excuse after another to inch closer and closer to his room.

The plants in the living room window could use some watering.

Books on the coffee table needed straightening.

A slightly (by millimeters) crooked picture near his door calling for adjustment.

At least it finally puts you close enough to hear something other than your own breathing. And the moment you do, your fingers freeze on the frame - an abstract painting of the Brooklyn Bridge you found at a flea market that Bucky went back to buy for you.

The memory of him handing it to you - blushing and rubbing the back of his neck - now superimposed with the slick noises coming from his room. Filthy, muffled groans sending waves of arousal flooding your core, thighs tensing, throat going dry.

Because you're standing there like a fucking idiot, mouth agape, wondering what exactly he's doing in there. Other than obviously fucking a pocket pussy.

And while you try to decipher any of the words filtering through the thin wood, your brain helps by supplying one image after another:

Bucky sitting on the edge of the bed, pumping his cock with the toy, probably pretending some woman is riding him. Bouncing on his lap while he talks dirty to her.

Him standing, one hand flexing against the wall, vibranium holding the toy steady while he fucks it. Panting about how good it feels.

Muscled back rippling as he kneels on the bed, hips thrusting-

The present suddenly rushes in when you hear your name. Broken and desperate. Heated words about your pussy growing louder. Soaking the fabric between your thighs and urging you closer until you're standing right against his door, hand hovering over the knob. Heart pounding in your chest.

You're tempted to just walk in, but you do actually have some decency - despite the current situation you've found yourself in. So you knock. Loud enough that it silences everything. His rough groans, the simulated sounds of sex, your own breathing. Even the relentless hum from the fridge seems muted.

As if the whole world is waiting.

"Bucky?" Soft. Throat working around subtle nerves. And, anticipation. Excitement.

Because you've been waiting for this. For some sort of sign to stop pretending you don't want him. That you haven't spent the last several months fantasizing about him every chance you could.

Not just because he's pretty and could throw you around like a ragdoll. Because you know him. Actually trust him. Somehow immediately felt safe living with him even with your experience of moving through this world as a woman.

Which is why it doesn't surprise you when there's no answer. Even when you wrap your fingers around the doorknob and throw out a warning that you're coming in, he stays quiet. Either completely frozen in fear. Terrified that you've caught him in the act.

Or.

He knows that you opened his mail. Knows you're still home. Knows that you could probably - definitely - overhear him. And now, he's letting you decide what you want to do. If you want to cross that line. Risk ruining the friendship, only half-way into the lease.

Considering you've accidentally interrupted him before - and had to listen to him panic and pretend he was just working out - it's safe to assume Bucky wants you to open the door. Maybe he even-

Finding it unlocked triggers an exhilarated rush that has you giggling and finally turning the knob. The slight creak of the hinges the only sound as you open it to reveal him kneeling at the foot of the bed. His side profile dimly lit by the bedside lamp - and the light now streaming in through his doorway.

His hair in disarray. Shirt wrinkled, jeans open and pushed down. Wide shoulders hiding the toy from view. Body slightly angled like he's worried about exposing himself.

You pause in the doorway, metal knob warming under your touch, your other fingers wrapped around the wood of the doorframe. Watching the tension build in his shoulders. Jaw clenching. Chest rising and falling with each unsteady breath.

"Hi," you whisper, silencing the doubt you know is forming, nipples tightening at the way his muscles instantly relax.

"Hey." Voice wrecked, sending another wave of heat straight to your core. Leaving you mess before anything's even happened.

"Didn't even think you knew about sex toys."

"Jesus." He drops to his forearms, chest covering the evidence on the bed. The blush along the back of his neck darkening.

"Sorry," you breathe, trying to reign in the familiar urge to tease him, unable to entirely wipe the grin from your face. "If it helps, it sounded really hot."

Muffled laughter fills the quiet space, his face pressed against the mattress, balled fists slowly relaxing.

"Yeah. Definitely helps."

"Was actually kinda hopin' for the visual experience, if we're bein' honest."

An actual shudder seems to run through him, the groan of your name urging you forward. Away from the doorway and closer to where he's leaning over the bed. As if seeking salvation.

Or maybe just the confidence to admit what he wants.

"You were thinkin' about me."

"Yeah." A barely audible grunt that makes your smile soften, and your stomach flutter.

"About fucking me."

His sharp inhale has you pausing near his trembling body. Vibranium slightly whirring when his fingers unfurl, both palms flattening against the covers. Creating divots where he slowly pushes himself up to reveal the toy, silicone glistening and -

Is that my shirt?

Bucky's interrupting your train of thought with a quick glance up at you. His nostrils flaring, mouth and chin wet. Answering for him before he has to utter a word.

"Wasn't-," he pauses, swallowing roughly and snatching the fake pussy off the bed. Shame creeping up uninvited.

"But you do," you offer gently, trying to catch his gaze. "Wanna fuck me."

"Wanna date you," he corrects, resting back on his heels, underwear adjusted, shirt pulled taut to cover himself. Toy shoved underneath his bed out of sight. "Wanna hold your hand. Kiss you. And yeah..." He finally tilts his head to meet your gaze. "Wanna fuck you."

A quick breath to try to steady yourself, his half-lidded stare and peek of wet tongue making it nearly impossible. Your thighs pressed together in search of friction as your walls pulse around nothing, forcing you to bite back a moan.

His infuriating grin tells you he knows exactly what he's doing to you. As does the obvious flare of his nostrils. Lashes fluttering as he breathes you in, bottom lip pulled between his teeth. A satisfied groan that almost has you breaking the distance. Ready to kiss him. Pounce on him.

Except he suddenly grunts something unintelligible. Eyes snapping open as he swipes the back of his hand across his mouth. His chin. Fingers becoming slick with what you now realize is lube as it leaves a shiny smear across his stubble.

"Shit," he hisses, reaching for the comforter to wipe himself clean. Movements jerky, embarrassed.

"Bucky."

The gentle way you assure him with just his name eases some of the worry and shame trying to encourage him to hide. His forehead finding purchase against the edge of the bed, fingers painfully twisting in the blanket to ground himself.

"I'm a mess," he mutters, desperate and hopeful that you'll keep showing him the way through. Like you always seem to.

"Me too," you promise, a little more breathless than you intend. "We can be a mess together."

A beat as you watch him come back to himself. Shoulders dropping. Soft laughter as he looks back at you, his grin matching yours.

"Could start with a shower," you suggest, playfully raising your eyebrows. Offering him a chance to clean up without making it into a big deal. Determined to show him he has nothing to be ashamed of. That you want this just as much as does.

"Yeah," he nods, taking advantage of the moment to blatantly check you out. Eyes slowly roaming down your collarbone, over your erect nipples visible through your thin shirt, the small sliver of soft skin peeking out above your leggings, all the way down to your aching thighs now nearly crossed.

Not moving an inch until he meets your gaze again, smirking when you roll your eyes and shake your head. Your hands resting on your hips turning him on even more. Intense stare darkening as he finally stands, pants resecured as if he's not about to strip naked.

A subtle show of dominance that catches you off guard and sends a thrill of excitement straight to your clit. Legs threatening to give out simply so you can kneel in front of him. Watch his expression change when you -

"After you," he grins, flesh hand gesturing towards his open door, the short walk through the apartment suddenly feeling like miles. Each step carrying you closer to the point of no return, passing all the spots you've only ever shared as roommates. As friends.

Debates on the couch over classic movies and reruns of your favorite shows.

Dinner in the kitchen while you pitted 1930's music against more modern songs.

Laughter filling the hallway when Bucky couldn't get the smoke detector to stop chirping.

And those initial moments of surprise when you realized he was keeping the bathroom stocked. Replacing items he didn't even use simply because he noticed you were running low.

Always finding ways to take care of you without expecting anything in return.

When your bare feet reach tile, you turn towards him, heart pounding, throat gone dry. A million thoughts rushing to one single focus. How wrung out he still looks. Wild and passionate. Like a loaded spring ready to break loose.

"You're gonna make me wait until -."

Bucky carefully pivots around you, interrupting you to do exactly what you're about to tease him over. Quick hands reaching for his toothbrush, digging through the cabinet for his toothpaste. A man on a mission if you've ever seen one, his efficient teeth-brushing encouraging you to start the shower, the spray covering your uncontrolled giggle.

You're so focused on getting everything ready - and thinking about what's about to happen - you miss the entire skincare routine he's performing at the sink. Scrubbing away all the evidence that he was getting off to the fantasy of eating you out.

Leaving him ready to make all of it a reality - starting with finding out what you really taste like.

The first brush of his hand across your back has you melting, fresh towels haphazardly hung so you can turn quicker, finding him smiling down at you. Looking at you like you've imagined a thousand different ways. Pulse stuttering when he cups your jaw, thumb memorizing the corner of your parted lips.

"Never thought I'd actually get a chance at this," he confesses, gaze flickering between your wide eyes and tempting mouth.

"Yeah?" Voice thick with desire. And a hint of teasing. "Well lucky for you, I'm willing to offer you multiple." Mouth upturned when you add, "ya know, in case you're rusty."

"Mmm," he growls with a grin of his own, leaning down until his minty breath ghosts across your lips, "'preciate that, doll. Don't think that's gonna be a problem, though."

His eyes flick back up to meet yours, radiating a bit of that Brooklyn confidence that never quite left him, even after all these years. Living with you drawing it out of him more than anything else ever could - reminding him of who he used to be. Who he could still be.

"Gonna kiss you now," he whispers, searching one last time for any trace of reluctance. Hesitation. Possible regret.

All Bucky finds is his same longing mirrored back, your chin lifting, body closing the last few inches of distance. Inviting him in to prove how much he wants you, sealing it with a confident, "You better."

A sinful lick of his lips and he meets you halfway, mouths fusing in a heated slow dance. Gentle, chaste kisses naturally melting into more the moment electricity arcs between you. Tongues exploring, teeth momentarily clashing as you find the right angle, hands roaming with more urgency.

His large palm cups your cheek, vibranium arm wrapped around you, clinging to you like you might disappear. Your own fingers grasping at his shirt, one hand combing through his damp strands, tugging a fistful and moaning into his mouth when he presses you up against the wall.

The door swings closed with a nudge of his foot, the hot spray of the shower creating a humid cocoon that leaves you dizzy. Aching. Desperate for more than just this incredibly perfect makeout session in your shared, cramped bathroom. Even if it is better than anything you could have ever imagined.

Your gasp of his name only spurs him on, flesh and metal cradling your face, tongue licking into your mouth. The bulk of him holding you hostage, tasting you with renewed purpose. Overwriting the last hour so all he can remember is you.

Soft curves molding against solid muscle, sweet little moans that he swallows down, your hypnotic smell unlocking something inside of him. Giving him permission to be something other than a man trying to atone for his past.

A man who gets to just be here with you. Focus on nothing but how warm you are. Plush hips calling for his hands. The arch of your back drawing his lips down. Peppering kisses along your jaw, teeth sucking a welcome bruise on your throat, your tight grip in his hair sending a shock of pleasure straight to his dick.

"Want you," he groans, nose nudging your ear. "'ve wanted you for so damn long."

"Me too," you confess, breath clawing its way out. A visible shudder rolling over him when your nails scrape bare skin, your free hand sneaking under the back of his shirt, pulling him against you, bodies rocking in time with heavy pants for more oxygen.

"Really wanted to do this right," he admits, kissing his way back to your mouth. Three innocent pecks before reluctantly pulling away so he can see you again. Intently watch you as he tells you, "You deserve romance, sweetheart. Deserve to be swept off your feet. Don't want you think this is just some..."

Brow furrows as he searches for the right word, his thumb caressing the apple of our cheek, gaze flitting to your kissable lips before he catches himself. Grinning like a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Tryin' to tell you I like you." A heartbeat to gather the courage. "More'n like you, but don't wanna risk scarin' you off."

"Think we're way past that now," you laugh, running your fingertips along his stubble. Gaze following the trail towards his mouth, lips shiny with your saliva. Calling you forward into another kiss. Twin moans barely audible over the shower wasting away, reminding you of all the possibilities.

You could keep making out right here, maybe end up on the floor with you straddling him. Watch his eyes rolls back as you sink down all the way.

Or you could shut off the shower and return to his room. Or yours. Take advantage of the bed. Or desk. Or any number of available surfaces.

But something about the water calls to you. Offers a neutral place - a sanctuary where only the two of you exist, learning how to take this leap together. Because as much as you want to just skip to the part where you're swallowing him down, he deserves romance just as much as you do.

"I like you too, ya know," you whisper in between kisses, fingers slowly guiding his shirt up. "More than like you."

Bucky swears his heart stops beating, trembling hands holding you like porcelain. Suddenly terrified of screwing this all up. Disappointing you somehow.

"Been a while," you confess with a soft laugh, cutting through the noise. "Not as long as you of course," you grin, lifting his shirt, encouraging him to raise his arms. Leaving him more exposed than he's ever felt. "But, long enough that I've had to replace a toy or two."

His huff of laughter fans across your face, strong hands pulling you flush against him, his strained erection digging into your belly. Forehead dropping to yours when your fingers map along his jaw. Down his bobbing throat. Fingertips ghosting over the chain of his dogtags, following the trail of his collarbones, dangerously close to wear flesh meets metal.

"Sweetheart."

An overwhelming ache for more leaves him breathless. Eyelids fluttering closed, tension building along nerves - vibranium plates subtly shifting, as if preparing for battle.

"It's okay," you breathe, left hand sliding along warm skin, up along his right shoulder, following the defined muscles down his arm. His lashes open to reveal twinkling blues when he flexes his bicep under your palm, showing off just to watch you giggle.

Because it helps him feel normal. Makes him feel safe enough to let you mirror your actions on his left side. Tears burning his eyes when you handle him with such care. Gentle touches over scar tissue, soft gaze watching for any sign that you might need to slow down. Like he's owed compassion.

"Didn't-," he pauses to swallow, eyes nearly rolling back, your thumb caressing a sensitive spot near his collarbone. "Feels good." More than he thought it ever could. More than he thought he deserved.

"Good," you exhale, carefully tracing the edges of his rough scars. Wishing you could change the horrors that created them, in complete awe of the strength it took for him to survive. "That's all I want - to make you feel good."

Bucky's grip on your waist tightens, fingers digging into supple flesh, an unexpected whimper tearing out of him before he can swallow it down. The rough groan of your name interrupting you before you can offer reassurance, his head dropping in shame, muscles rippling under your delicate touch.

But then he's surprising you all over again, laughter filling the scant space between you as he leans in, stubble grazing your cheek. "Didn't realize words could make me almost..."

Another breathless chuckle and he's kissing you again. Groaning against your mouth when your confident hands keep exploring him, leaving no part of him untouched. Warm fingertips skating down his chest. A sure palm learning the smooth metal of his arm. Treating every inch of him like he's sacred.

As much as he wants to just kneel at your alter and worship you in return, he can't seem to break away. Foreign selfishness wraps around him, amplifying his need to be seen, muting the guilt that usually eats away at him. Giving way for him to lean into you. Bask in your touch. Practically beg for time to stand still so he can't risk losing this.

As if reading his mind - or just reminding him how much he's let you in over the past six months - your hands slow. Taking even more time to map his skin. Find all the sensitive spots that have him shivering against you. Moaning. The heat building towards an inescapable inferno.

The catalyst comes in the form of your fingers dipping below his belly button, abs constricting at your feather-light touch. Throwing him off balance and helping him find his footing all in the same breath. One last filthy kiss and he's refocusing, hands reaching for the edge of your shirt.

"You are way too overdressed, sweetheart."

A small, appreciative laugh and you're raising your brow in a playful challenge, "Then you should probably do something about that."

His lingering grin adds fuel to the fire raging inside of you and he's lifting the soft cotton, obscuring your vision for one fleeting second before the fabric falls in a fell swoop. Joining Bucky's shirt on the bathroom rug while he never takes his eyes off you. Nipples immediately pebbling under his stare.

"God, you're gorgeous."

His quiet, reverent groan is enough to make you lose your mind. A sharp exhale and your eyes drift closed, head tilting back to thud against the cool wall. Hands dropping in surrender, back arching at his simple praise flooding your senses.

"Knew you were, but jesus, doll. Didn't-" his words halt, hands hovering over tempting flesh, fingers itching to peel the rest of your clothes off. But he makes you wait, warm breath fanning across your parted lips as he whispers, "Open your eyes for me, pretty girl."

That stubborn streak in you is nowhere to be found. His request eagerly met with obedience, goosebumps blooming across your skin as you meet his gaze. Your nerves humming, ready for him to lead. Craving this side of him.

"Need to see you," he explains, lips curving, reading you so easily that it stills leaves you breathless sometimes. And scares you a little - but he's cupping your jaw again, anchoring you right here with him. Refusing to let you hide behind quick wit and endless teasing.

"Can you do that for me? Keep lookin' at me while I touch you?" Bucky asks, voice barely audible over the shower still calling your name. Trapping you between speeding this up and letting him take all the fucking time he wants.

Your response gets lost in the haze of sensations. The cool metal cradling your chin deliciously contrasting with his warm fingers stroking an enticing trail between your bare breasts. His intense stare triggering the sudden realization that despite all your late-night fantasies, you are utterly unprepared for how thoroughly he's about to take you apart.

"Thought about this - about you - every single night," he admits, inhaling sharply when you tremble for him. Palm sliding up your waist, brushing the underside of your breast. "How you'd feel. What you'd sound like." Another shudder and he's cupping the heavy weight of you, thumb circling your nipple, watching the unexpected pleasure play out across your features. "None of it even compares to the real thing. My god."

That's it - he's hardly touched you and it's too much. Knees threatening to buckle. Hands reaching out to grab hold of him in hopes of steadying yourself. And yet your rushed exhale of words beg for more. The whine of his name, a whimpering please that he better not tease you over later.

Bucky wouldn't dare. Not when you're looking at him like that. All desperate and needy, like he's the only one that can soothe that ache building inside of you. A heavy breath, a quick glance at the shower, and he's dropping to a crouch, fingers hooking in the waistband of your leggings to help rid you of one last barrier.

All it takes is a subtle nod and he's helping you wiggle free, the material snagging around your ankle before he tugs it loose. Leaving you completely bare. Naked and vulnerable. Lungs barely moving oxygen, heart caught in your throat, tracking the way he's studying you.

Gentle fingertips following the curve of your calf, dancing along the back of your knee until your breath stutters and your fingers dig into his shoulder. Thighs instinctively parting when he glances up at you, his touch growing dangerously close to where you're dripping for him.

He almost gives in. Mouth watering as he skirts the edge of asking if he can taste you. Prop your leg over his shoulder and dive in. Drown in you like he's been dying to for months.

But, he's a man of his word, so he resists.

Barely.

Secure hands land on your hips, a lingering kiss placed on your soft belly, and he's standing to full height. Heart skipping a beat when you offer to help him with his pants, your fingers tangling with his in a messy dance that has you both laughing.

Lips meeting in a series of uncoordinated attempts to makeout while Bucky works to kick off his underwear and jeans. Nearly tripping over them in the process, pushing you up against the wall again, his freed erection leaving a wet trail across your skin.

He'd apologize if he weren't so focused on getting you in the shower before the hot water runs out, his vibranium arm - now warm against your back - pivots you towards the tub, his free hand pulling the curtain back. Providing just enough space for you to step in, his hands never leaving you. Ensuring you don't slip while he joins you.

The hot spray hitting your back elicits a satisfied sigh that has him twitching against your stomach, his arms banding around you to hold you closer. Noses bumping when he leans in for a kiss. Mouth hovering over yours for just a second when the temperature of the water registers, fingers flexing against your warm, wet skin.

"Jesus, doll," laughter exhaling against your lips, "That ain't too hot for you?"

A breathless giggle and you're kissing him properly, mumbling, "actually like it hotter than this." One hand tangled in his hair, the other toying with this dogtags, the clink of metal barely heard over the spray - and his groans. Teasing mutterings about enduring scalding showers for you.

"Showering alone will still be an option, ya know."

"No, no," he concedes, kissing the corner of your mouth. "Burning slowly is a price I'm willing to pay," a soft press of his lips to your jaw. "Especially if it means I get to see you like this." A kiss right below your ear. "Gettin' all wet for me."

"You shouldn't be so good at this," you whisper, trying - and failing - to bite back a whimper.

"Had a lot of practice," he reminds you, carefully turning you until your back hits the wall, the cool tile making you gasp. "Lotta nights imagining what I'd say to you." Metal fingers wrap around your hip, holding you still as he resists the urge to grind against you. "How you might let me touch you."

"What about how I might touch you?" you ask, palm flush against his chest, right over his heart, fingers covering his dogtags.

"Yeah," he smiles, lips curving along your throat, "thought about that too." A beat of vulnerability when he pulls back to see you, wet fingers leaving a trail of droplets along your jaw, bypassing your throat to rest between your breasts. Counting your heartbeats.

"Took me a while though," he confesses, eyes drifting down, watching the slow rise and fall of his hand with your deeper breath. "To let myself want... anything, really." Hesitant gaze meets yours before he melts against you, your fingers massaging the nape of his neck. "But that doesn't mean- you don't owe me anything, sweetheart."

His hands cradle your face, in awe at the glaring trust radiating back. Desire rolling off you in waves. "Not ever." His forehead drops to yours, gentle as snowfall. "Could spend the rest of my life just makin' you feel good - however you want - and I'd die a happy man."

Your inhales grow sharper, lashes blinking back the tears threatening to form. All because he's treating you like you deserve. Easily clearing the bar you were convinced you set way too high. Having long assumed all the good guys were either taken, or simply too good to be true.

It'd be easy to believe the latter about Bucky - at first glance he seemed like the conventional player. A heartbreaker. Someone who'd ghost you after you showed just a little too much interest.

You'd never been happier to be proven wrong. Even if you had no idea it'd end up here.

"I think about making you feel good all the time," you whisper, cupping his jaw, thumb stroking his stubble. Helping ease the tension starting to gather there. "Think about... touching you." Your free hand starts a slow trek down his chest, fingers teasing over his nipple.

A gasp tears out of him, long fingers encircling your wrist. Not stopping you. Or guiding. Just holding. Grounding himself against the sudden rush of need. Of longing. And the ever present anxiety starting to creep back up.

"Think about wrapping my hand around you," you whisper, your touch dipping lower, taking your time, patiently letting him adjust. Deciding to keep the surprises strictly verbal right now. "Stroking you. Taking you in my mouth."

"Oh god," he shudders, grip tightening around delicate bones, vibranium digging into your hip before he catches himself. "Need-," he shakes his head, nosing along your jaw, breathing you in. Cursing when he smells the earlier lube still matting his pubic hair. "Lemme... I gotta-."

"It's okay," you assure him, your hand never making contact. There's no disappointment though. You just smile, watch him step backwards into the spray, putting needed distance between you.

For a split second anyway - then he's lunging forward to kiss you. Smooch you loudly. Making you laugh and leaving you breathless all at once. Skin prickling with renewed want. But also an exhilarated sense of safety. Because even though this is the beginning of something incredibly scary and life-changing and exciting, you still get to have fun and play around in the inevitable awkwardness.

It's a breath of fresh air after - well, after experiences you'd much rather erase from your mind. Especially since you're getting to watch Bucky shower. Hands scrubbing soap-slick skin. Back rippling like he's giving you a visual performance to match the audio-only memory from his bedroom door.

"Did you plan to let me hear you?"

Your sudden question has his actions pausing, hands stilling in their efforts to rinse away any remaining soap.

"No," the sharp sound almost drowned out by the shower beating against skin. "Didn't- didn't have a plan, really." Routine movements resume, head turning slightly when he continues, "Was just gonna put it away, use it later... and then I realized that you had..."

"Potentially committed a felony?" you cheekily suggest.

Bucky laughs and turns around, now squeaky clean as he reaches for you to close the minimal distance once again. Bodies fitting together perfectly.

"It's only a felony if you meant to open my mail," he tells you, wet hands slipping around your waist like they've always belonged there. His lips hovering just out of reach while he asks, "You tryin' to tell me somethin', pretty girl?"

"No," you breathe, the nickname causing butterflies to take up permanent residence in your belly. "Definitely wouldn't have been mad if you had planned it, though."

He shakes his head, ocean blue eyes searching your fluttering gaze, "wouldn't'a done that. Not on purpose, anyway." A rueful chuckle and he's adding, "But, haven't exactly thought clearly since I met you, so maybe - yeah - it's possible - some part of me..." Your wide, hopeful eyes encourage him to finish the confession - the truth shall set you free, as they say. "Was hopin' you'd... want to hear me."

Your smile grows until you're laughing against his lips, your own secrets ready to spill out. The words get lost, his tongue coaxing yours into his mouth. The kiss turning hungry, more desperate. His already heavy cock growing harder against your stomach as you clutch at his shoulders.

"Can I- can I touch you?" He's panting against your lips, kisses turning sloppy. Water droplets dripping down to mix with his pre-cum smeared across your skin.

"Yeah." A heavy breath and quick nod that leaves you dizzy. "Yeah, please."

Bucky tamps down your greedy gasps, kissing you slow and sweet, fingers tracing your jaw. Eyes locking when he starts a slow path down your throat, the back of his fingers making you shiver.

"Wanna take my time," he whispers, licking his lips as you lean into him, drawing his touch lower. "Love watchin' you like this."

The first deliberate pass over your nipple has your back arching, his lips parting in awe at how responsive you are. Your reaction stealing his breath, carving out the last doubt that his hands couldn't cause someone else pleasure. Couldn't be used for good. Or selfish reasons.

Because fuck, you feel incredible. The weight of your breasts fitting perfectly in his palms, his cock twitching with each shuddering inhale you manage. Your eyes trying to close as he plays with your nipples, fingers gently pinching the buds to stiffer peaks that call for his mouth.

He's too busy watching you right now. Mesmerized by how hard you're fighting the pleasure pulling you under. Giving him the eye contact he was terrified of asking for. Because he needs the reminder that this is real. That he's not lost in some fantasy in the dark, taking something he doesn't deserve.

You're actually here. Begging for his touch. Begging for his hand to slip between your thighs, find you dripping for him, soft skin slick with need.

You moan his name, arms banding around his neck, clinging to him. Legs parting to give him better access. The cramped space making it nearly impossible. You start to lift your foot, aiming for the edge of the wet tub when Bucky steadies you. Vibranium arm slipping behind your back, his right hand leaving your inner thighs to secure your leg.

"Careful," he murmurs, refusing to risk letting you fall. Even if he's aching to feel you wrapped around him. Tight wet heat welcoming his fingers. His tongue. Eventually his cock, if he doesn't combust before then.

But none of that is possible like this. One wrong move and you could slip. Hurt yourself because of his impatience. He'd never forgive himself if that happened.

"Can I take you to bed?" he asks, kissing your forehead, stubble grazing your nose. "Lay you out. Get you comfortable." His thigh slips between yours, just shy of giving you the pressure you're craving. "Watch you come all over my fingers?"

A euphoric rush washes over you, core clenching, nipples aching. Fingers accidentally grabbing the chain around his neck before you're giggling. Apologizing. Nodding your head and kissing him. Once. Twice. Tongue teasing over the seam of his lips while you push him backwards.

Putting distance between you so you don't sink to your knees and show your appreciation. For caring about you. For proving you wrong once again - the myth of a good man turning out to be real.

Not that you had any doubts. But it's nice to have the proof.

To have a someone resist the urge to take advantage of the obvious green light simply to keep you safe. To take the time to help you out of the tub, methodically dry you off, map your skin with innocent kisses. Murmur adoring praise while he guides you out of the steamy bathroom and into the cool air of the apartment.

His growly whispers of, "God, you're so soft, sweetheart," and "everything about you is perfect," and, fuck, "you smell so good," spreading goosebumps across your heated flesh, eliciting noises you've only ever made on your own. Knees buckling, almost giving out over the short distance to your bedroom.

Not that he'd ever let that happen. Confident hands helping you towards your bed, the towel slung around his hips pressing against your ass. He doesn't dare push you down - he simply holds you, smiles against your shoulder when his stubble makes you shiver.

"This still okay?" he asks, kissing the back of your neck, lips lingering for a heartbeat.

"Mmhmm," you assure him, leaning back in the safety of his arms. Your towel coming loose, neither of you moving to stop it. "More than okay."

"You'll tell me if it's not?" Despite knowing you - knowing how hard you've worked to never put up with shit from anyone - he still has to ask. Has to know you won't feel obligated to keep going - or god forbid, scared to stop - just to spare his feelings.

You turn in his arms, damp towel falling to the floor, your hands reaching up to cradle his face. Providing absolution he didn't know he was seeking.

"I'll definitely tell you," you promise, holding his gaze. Chest rapidly rising and falling against his, bodies flush, his towel the only barrier separating you. "Even if my mouth's full, I'll figure out a way to let you know."

He loves the way catch him off guard. Help him navigate the modern world with humor. Illuminating the path that once felt too daunting. Just like you have since the beginning. Pushing him to go out. Experience things. Always offering to go with him, found ways to ground him when the chaos got too loud.

Of course it translates to this too. Your playful tug of his dogtags and he's following you down onto the bed, pressing you deeper into the soft covers, his towel getting trapped. Shared laughter following when it snags around his thigh, refusing to come loose until he pulls away from you.

Putting precious distance that feels like a chasm. Skin prickling to feel you under him again. Watch your eyes rolls back when the pleasure crests.

The thought of rushing this screams sacrilege to Bucky though. He spent so long believing he'd never have a chance at this - at happiness. At meeting a beautiful, intelligent woman who makes life worth living again. Makes it possible to wake up smiling. He'll be damned if he doesn't take his time.

Propped on an elbow to take in his favorite view, he relearns you all over again, free hand exploring every inch of you he can reach. Retracing spots that have you writhing and gasping. Whining his name like it belongs on your lips. Begging him to take pity on you.

Breathlessly reminding him of his promise to make you come. Enticing him with your thighs splayed wide, hips rolling, heels digging into the mattress. Shedding every last inhibition. Greedy little gasps spilling out unchecked, head lolling to find him watching you.

His hungry gaze tracking your tells, paying attention to what it takes to have you clutching at him. Nails digging into his skin when he alternates soft, teasing strokes along your inner thighs, dancing closer and closer to where you're dripping. Already leaving a mess on the towel he thought to place under you.

He whispers your name like a secret, asking how you like to be touched, refusing to assume. "Should I keep going slow?" he murmurs, dragging his fingers along the abundant wetness coating your thighs. "Tease you a little?" A quiet groan he makes no effort to hide. "Or are you tired of waiting, pretty girl? Need me to stretch you open with my fingers until you come?"

At some point you're going to ask him how he learned how to do this. How to know what to say without sounding like he took lessons from porn. All you care about right now though is telling him what you need. An unfamiliar tremble lacing your words as you teach him how to touch you.

His palm cupping your slick pussy, fingertips teasing your entrance, the heel of his hand grinding against your swollen clit. Slick noises quickly filling the air as Bucky eagerly follows your lead, using your cries and shuddering sighs to find the perfect pace.

Find that consistent rhythm to build you higher and higher - sharp, electric pulses that make your toes curl and your thighs shake. Supple flesh quivering when he leans closer, demanding nothing from you other than taking whatever you need from him.

"You're so wet, sweetheart," he groans, untouched cock leaking a steady flow of pre-cum. "Feel s'good like this. Soakin' me, pussy tryin' to swallow my fingers."

You cry out, grabbing hold of his waist, nails leaving crescent shapes, the pleasure spiking to new heights. Pushing you towards the edge - leaving you suspended, teetering for several long seconds until the crescendo suddenly peaks.

Triggered by his rough growl, "that's it. Let me see what you look like, comin' so pretty all over my hand."

Bucky's never seen anything so breathtaking. Nothing in his long life has ever, or will ever compare to the beautiful agony stealing your composure. Your head thrown back, mouth agape in a scream that fades to a squeak, strong thighs trying to clamp around his hand.

He nearly comes at the sight, cock throbbing, tears pricking his eyes, pleasure shooting up his spine. Leaving him trembling and having to fight through the overwhelming sensations so he can tend to you. Pull you back down to earth. Aftershocks rocking your body as he scoops you up.

Taking the cue when your limbs wrap around him, bodies becoming entangled as he peppers your dewy skin with lazy kisses. Lips lingering so you can catch your breath. Halfheartedly bat at his face. Pretend to complain about his hidden talents.

"Got plenty more where that came from," he teases, another kiss against your sweaty throat. Your chin. Landing at the perfect curve of your nose. "I took my research seriously."

"What if I just want you?" you whisper, hips tilting, his thick shaft trapped against your slick, swollen folds.

"God," he shudders, ignoring the sudden urge to sink into you. Fill you up in just a handful of strokes. Ending this before he even gets a chance to taste you. "Want that," he pants against your mouth. "Wanna feel you." A slow grind to watch your eyes roll back. "Promise I'll fuck you, sweetheart - however you want. Wherever. Whenever."

Bucky's forehead lands on yours, his hips having a mind of their own, setting a quicker pace that has his dogtags clinking against your chest, the head of his cock nudging your sensitive clit. "Can I taste you, first? Don't even gotta make you come again, just wanna-."

"Yeah," you laugh, grabbing his face, kissing him hard, sucking his tongue into your mouth. "Yeah - yes, definitely, absolutely." Your hands in his hair guide him down, letting him take the scenic route, teeth grazing your nipples, lips closing around each bud. Lavishing attention before finally diverting his path down.

Open wet kisses over your soft rolls, tickling the dip of your belly button, strong hands spreading your thighs wide in preparation. Blue eyes peek up to briefly check-in, one last glance so he can dive in without restraint. Inhaling lungfuls of your heady scent, leaving no room for anything but you. All his countless fantasies shredded to pieces to make way for something infinitely better.

Nose brushing the short, damp curls covering your mound, each glorious breath going straight to his dick, his shins hitting the floor so he can pull you to the edge of the bed. Push your knees back. Nearly lose his mind at your gorgeous, glistening pussy calling him forward to devour you. Lap at your folds, his eyes rolling back when the first taste of you explodes on his tongue.

Sweet and musky and something uniquely you that he's already addicted to. Igniting filthy groans against swollen flesh, tongue spearing deeper, drinking you down like a man stumbling upon an oasis. Your tightening grip of his hair showing him exactly how to lick you. His slick fingers spreading you wide, exposing your clit to his hungry mouth.

"Taste so fucking good, holy shit."

Slow, wet swirls of his tongue. Delicious, vibrating moans. Unrelenting firm circles that have you seeing stars. Walls pulsing, drenching his beard, your cries for more met with questioning suction around your clit. Finding the devastating pressure within seconds, another orgasm barreling down on you with lightning speed.

It's never been this easy for you. Sure, your own hands are more than capable of getting you off until you lose count - but you can't remember the last time you were able to just lay back and let it happen. Your incoherent pleas growing louder, fingers combing through his tangled strands, pussy growing wetter by the second.

"Please," you gasp, back arching. "I- oh my god, feels - I don't-." Harder suction and you're crying out, your quick, encouraging nods morphing into a lazy shake of your head. Body craving more, walls pulsing around nothing, aching to be filled. "Fuck... fuck- oh god, fuck me, please, need-"

Bucky almost loses control, hips twitching, balls drawing up tight. Nearly coming at how pretty you're begging for him. His muffled moans only making it worse - your sudden, fervent chant of his name forcing him to grab hold of his throbbing dick. Metal wrapping around the base, staving off his orgasm as he sinks a single finger inside of you.

Silky walls welcoming him home, digit curling like all the advice columns suggested. Brow furrowing as he searches for that spot that's guaranteed to make you soar. Tongue flicking across your clit, his greedy mouth following the quicker pace of your hips.

It takes everything in him not to start fucking his own fist, muscles locked, years of forced discipline his only saving grace right now. Because soon you're demanding more. Another finger stretching you open, slick sounds punctuating your breathless cries. An exquisite symphony of pleasure only he could orchestrate.

You open your mouth to warn him that you're close - to beg him not to stop, hope he doesn't suddenly switch up - but there's no point. He already knows. Anticipates every roll of your hips, uses his arsenal of skills to give you what you need. Fingers fucking you deep and hard, stroking your g-spot in tandem with his relentless mouth.

When your hips start to buck, his only option is to hold you down. Vibranium forearm pressing into your belly, metal palm cupping your mound, warm fingers spreading your folds so you don't lose the suction about to make you come.

The fleeting worry of hurting you with his left arm drowned out by a sudden gush of wetness. Your hand leaving his head to blindly grab at the blanket, knuckles trembling as you find the leverage you need to grind against him. Chase the heat sparking between your thighs.

It hits you harder than you expect. Sudden and hot. Intense pleasure radiating outwards, curling your toes, muscles constricting, his name getting lost along with all your senses. Eternity passing before the tension finally snaps. Your limbs giving out with a sobbing breath of relief.

"Oh fuck, sweetheart," Bucky curses, swiftly moving to his feet to check on you, gentle hands easing your thighs into a more comfortable position. "Are you okay?"

"No," you pant, arm thrown over your eyes, nearly giving him a heart attack before your laugh brings him back to life. "You definitely-"

"Jesus, don't do that," he growls, mouth curving despite himself.

"What?" you tease, your seemingly too-heavy limbs attempting to wiggle yourself further back onto your bed. "No crying during sex?"

His strong hands effortlessly take over, resettling you onto the pillows while you try to remember how to breathe.

"No," he chuckles, taking up root next to you, elbow propped to support his head, lips brushing yours in a sweet kiss. "Cryin' I can handle - maybe let's refrain from jokes about not being okay. 'Specially after-."

"Making me see god?" you finish for him, turning to rest a hand over his heart. "Ruining all other men for me?"

"Was gonna say after making you scream my name, but yeah - that works."

"Definitely did that too," you agree with a wag of your eyebrows, tangling your legs with his, lungs still searching for more oxygen. "More than once, if I remember correctly."

"Several times," he confirms, sliding his hand along the curve of your hip. "Committed 'em all to memory." His firm grip pulls you closer, evidence of his arousal trapped between you, neglected and angry. "Along with everything else about you."

There's no teasing quip this time. No joke about him learning you in order to seduce you. It dies before it can even form with the way he's staring at you. All tender-gazed and adoring. Taking you apart all over again. Body reacting as if he's still between your thighs.

"I like the way you talk." The vulnerable confession whispered against his stubble, fingers curling around his dogtags. Grounding yourself in the cool metal.

"Yeah?" Warm breath ghosts over your lips, his fingertips stroking along your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "I like the way you talk... I like everything about you." He doesn't close the distance yet, mouth teasing over yours, breathing in your exhales. "Even the parts you think bother me."

Your lashes flutter, words failing you, craving his praise more than you care to admit.

"Like when you talk my ear off at midnight," he tells you, noses bumping. Twin smiles nearly colliding. "And when you ask for space." He doesn't provide any this time, planning to close the distance after the necessary addition of, "And I really like when you get all grumpy."

Bucky quiets your expected retort with a press of his lips, several playful pecks that have you laughing. His cock jumping in response, making him forget himself. Groaning as he deepens the kiss. His shoulder nudging you back, helping you reclaim your spot against the pillows.

Somehow he resists the urge to settle between your parting thighs. Even when you arch up into him. Moan around his tongue. Drag your nails down his back until he's gasping for you. He uses it to force himself to relax. To remember what this is really about.

"I like that you feel safe enough to be yourself," he explains, adorning your throat with well placed kisses. "Loud and messy... Quiet and moody... Everything in between." A trail of kisses that has you sighing against his lips, hands flush against his lower back, a tempting thigh hooked over his hip. "Like that you ain't scared of me, pretty girl."

Emotion tightens your throat and tears prick your eyes when you look up at him. Shaking your head to loosen the words. "I could never be scared of you."

No buildup. No placating. Just a factual statement that begs to be sealed with a kiss. And another. Your hand working it's way to slip between your writhing bodies. Mouths parting long enough for you to ask, "this okay? Can I touch you?"

"Yeah." Rough. Desperate. "Yeah, s'okay." His hand grasps at the pillow near your head, vibranium elbow digging into the mattress, holding himself back so he doesn't rut against you. Cock growing painfully hard the closer you get.

In all the countless hours Bucky spent fantasizing about you, he unfortunately forgot to account for one minor issue.

He's a hundred-year-old touched-starved super-soldier.

Enhanced senses zone in on the back of your fingers teasing over his constricting abs, inches away from his steel-hard cock. Throbbing and begging for release. Just a little closer and you'll take him in your hand. Wrap your fingers around him. Stroke him-

"Wait." A pathetic groan and he's collapsing against you, heated face buried in the crook of your neck. An undignified shiver giving away how thoroughly wrecked he is. "Sorry, didn't-."

"It's okay," you instantly soothe. Understanding passing between you. Your shared history helping you see what this is doing to him - letting someone this close, after so long. "Got plenty of time to figure it out." Your teasing lilt unlocking his muscles. "Unless you decide this is one and done kinda deal."

"Oh." His incensed growl curls your toes, hips tilting in search of friction you're hopefully on the path of enticing. "You're really-." A heavy sigh and a slow shake of his head, strands of hair curtaining his intense stare. "I should make you wait. Wine and dine you first. Romance the hell outta ya-."

"What do you think you've been doing this whole time?" Cocked eyebrow driving home your point.

"The bare minimum."

Your sharp exhale is the only sound in the sudden quiet of the room. His response landing as a joke before you realize he's serious. Your furrowed brow being kissed away as you reach up to cradle his face. Gently demand the same eye contact he needed earlier.

"I'm not just talking about today."

You're talking about all the ways he's taken care of you since he moved in.

Pitching in on extra chores. Switching over your laundry when you forgot. Washing and refilling your water bottle every damn night.

Confusion wrinkles his forehead, "I wasn't - none o'that was about romance."

"No, I know-."

"Do it 'cause I want to. 'Cause it's the right thing to do. 'Cause-."

"I know," you smile, thumb tracing his lips. "You've been teachin' me what to expect for when you do 'romance the hell outta me.'" A kiss that he meets with a huff of laughter. "Even if you didn't know it."

"Oh, I've been holding back, sweetheart," he warns, kissing right below your jaw to dampen your amusement. "I'm serious." Lips and teeth suck a fresh mark, a possessive thrill shooting through him when you tug at his hair. "Gonna treat you like the queen you are."

Ignoring the roaring primal need to be inside you, his mouth follows a lazy trail back to your ear. "Maybe start with eating you out again." Cock twitching at the thought of having you ride his face. "Make you come on my tongue."

As much as you love seeing this wild and free side of Bucky, it only adds to the unbearable ache burning you from the inside. Needy, subtle rolls of your hips sending mixed signals when you shake your head. Whimpers turning frustrated, "No. Fuck, you're killin' me. I can't - how are you not dying to fuck me right now?"

He actually laughs. Locks eyes with you and scoffs. Completely offended and entirely confused. The evidence of how fucking badly he wants you twitching against your belly.

"I don't want this to be over."

It's your turn to be confused. "Why would it be over?"

He studies you for a long moment. Hopeful eyes searching yours. The world standing still long enough to give him time to shed this last bit of armor.

"'Cause I'm gonna come way too fast."

"Oh." You breathe through the sudden wave of arousal. Your nipples tightening. Walls pulsing. His deliberate inhale making things worse. "Stop smelling me like that."

"No."

You narrow your eyes at him, mouth twitching when he grins at you. Another deep lungful that ends with him letting you roll him over. Head hitting the pillows to take in his new favorite view of you kneeling next to him, curves on full display. Radiating an intoxicating blend of confidence and vulnerability.

"We don't have to stop just because you come."

Bucky blinks up at you, his large hand squeezing your thigh before reality crashes in. Thumb caressing your soft skin as his male-conditioning catches up to modern times. To you. This devastating woman who has far more patience than he'll ever deserve.

"I'm an idiot."

"Just means I get to help you learn," you grin, palms flush against his chest so you can lean down to kiss him. Break his brain all over again. His touch turning possessive, fingers gripping your ass.

"What'cha wanna tutor me in right now, pretty girl?"

"How wet I get when you call me that."

Vibranium curves around the nape of your neck, holding you steady while he deepens the kiss, devouring you, warm fingers slipping between your thighs to find you slick and hot. Dripping all over his hand, inviting him to fill you with two thick digits.

You cry out at the delicious stretch, nails biting into his chest, body wracked by a violent shudder.

"God," he groans, "you're perfect, ya know that?"

Maybe you respond. It's hard to tell - he feels too good. Fingers curling just right to make you sob. Head hung, hips shamelessly humping his hand.

"Yeah, that's it - show me what you like... show me how you like to be fucked, pretty girl."

Bucky feels it. Greedy walls milking his fingers, juices dripping down his wrist. His heart nearly seizing from the effect he has on you. It's dangerous and magnetic and he swears he'll never take advantage of it. Never use it for anything other than good. To bring you pleasure.

Watch your eyes roll back. Feel your thighs start to shake. Listen to you pant his name like he's the answer to all your prayers.

"You wanna come for me?" Always giving you the choice even when every gorgeous inch of you is screaming yes.

You do. You can feel the pressure building all over again. Promising relief that'll have you collapsing. Exhausted and barely coherent - not exactly the state you want to be in your first time with him.

"I want - oh god, I want your cock."

He almost comes untouched. Compartmentalization taking over to ignore the way he throbs, harder than he's ever been.

"Yeah?" Warm metal cupping your jaw, his fingers between your thighs slowing to a toe-curling grind. "You wanna ride me, doll?" Satisfaction blooming when you whine his name. "That's it, tell me what you need."

"Oh god," you laugh, overwhelmed and losing focus again. "You feel so good... fuck."

"I know," he pants, muscles tensing under your palms, "can feel you gettin' close." His free hand drifts down, vibranium skating over heated flesh to cup one of your swaying tits. Fingers seeking out your nipple. Sending sparks of pleasure straight to your clit. "Ya gotta tell me what you want... Please..."

The desperate way your name falls from his lips is what pulls you back. Helps you land on solid ground long enough to show him what you need. His fingers leaving you empty to help you straddle him, your whine from the loss rolling into a shuddering moan when your pussy traps his thick cock against his stomach.

"Holy shit," Bucky gasps, gripping your thighs hard enough to leave marks. His hips nearly bucking you off of him. "Shit - sorry - I didn't-."

"It's okay," you smile, stilling above him, letting him adjust. Nearly apologizing yourself when your body pulses, more wetness leaking out to coat his shaft and make him groan. All because of the way he's looking up at you. Like he can't believe you're here. Like you're some miracle - some dream come to life.

"Feel so good like this," he whispers, half-lidded gaze taking you in. Lingering where your soft thighs pillow his sides. Drawn to the way your breasts rise and fall quicker with each breath. Finally landing at his favorite destination to find you staring at him, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth. "God... can't believe this is - you're so beautiful, sweetheart."

Your skin instantly prickles, nipples pebbling under his praise, your core clenching as your back arches and you try so damn hard not to move. Because the last thing you want to do is rush him. Make him feel like he's doing anything wrong.

The only thing Bucky feels right now is gratitude. And an incessant pull to be connected with you in every way possible. His thumbs dipping into the crease where your belly meets your thighs, intent on worshiping every part of you he can touch.

"Should we - Do you -," he swallows, fingers flexing against supple flesh, tempting him to rock against you. "Do you have a condom?"

"Yeah - I can - do you want me to-," you gesture towards your nightstand, mentioning your birth control. "Not that I've been with anyone recently," you needlessly remind him. "But, we can still-."

"I'm not worried about any o'that," he murmurs, encouraging you to lift up for him. Give him just enough space so he reach between you and guide his cock to where you both need him. "Want you however you'll let me, okay?"

"Want you like this." Your breath hitching when his engorged head nudges your entrance, walls fluttering in anticipation.

"Want you like this too."

He still makes you wait. Gathers your wetness with the head of his cock, spreads it along your swollen folds until you relax, until your muscles ease and he can push in. Thick ridge catching before your body yields to allow silk heat to engulf him. Tighter and hotter and more overwhelming than he remembers. Than he thought was possible.

"Holy sh- f-feels-."

His guttural groan cuts out when you whine about how big he is, his hips already preparing to pull back - except then you're begging him not to stop. Moaning about how good he feels. Your hips tilting to take him deeper. Swallowing him a torturous inch at a time, crying out as he slowly stretches you open on his cock.

By the time you're seated, he's nearly lost the battle. Your pussy strangling him, all the blood rushing to where you're connected. Leaving him unable to focus on anything except how good you feel. How perfect you take him. The way your hands grasp at him, clinging to him so he can start to fuck you harder. Faster. Slick sounds filling the room along with incoherent exchanges passing between you.

He tries to praise you. Tell you all the things he loves about you. How good you feel. How he can't wait to prove to you just how much you mean to him.

But it becomes impossible. All he can do is grip your hips and hold you down, provide the pressure against your clit he quickly learned you need. His heels digging into the mattress so he can thrust up harder, listen to you sob his name and watch your body start to quake. Little tremors that leave you shaking. Gasping. Chasing the friction.

"Oh - oh, sweetheart, you're gonna-." His thighs tense, hips bucking up, balls drawing up tight. Signaling his doom before he can voice it allowed. "Oh, please - please, come for me, pretty girl, let me feel you - need - oh god-."

Intense heat builds at the base of his spine, his hands moving you faster, desperate to find the angle to get you there first. Watch the furrow of your brow deepen, your skin glistening with sweat, your lips parted in a permanent O, eyelids growing heavier with every second.

But it's too much. He can't hold back anymore. The endless hours spent imagining how this would go meaningless because nothing could have prepared him for this. For you. Writhing on top of him. The weight of you bouncing him, pressing him harder into the bed, hurling him past the edge of sanity.

If it wasn't for your sinful pleas telling him to let go, he might actually have a chance. But the moment you lean forward to kiss him and tell him it's okay - that you want him to come - feel him fill you up - the dam bursts.

Blinding. Deafening. Every nerve-ending alight with pleasure so profound that he sobs your name. Arms banded around you, holding onto you while his thrusts turn sloppy, his cum leaking out around his still hard cock. Catching you both off guard when he keeps fucking you.

"Oh god - don't wanna - you feel so good - can I-" He grunts harshly, teeth clashing when he starts to pick up speed again, metal hand coming up to cradle the back of your skull. Asking for permission to keep going. To hug you, hold you against him so he can fuck you harder. Deeper. Hitting all those spots inside of you that promise to shatter you.

Leaving you crying out again, chanting yes. His name. Whatever coherent word you can manage to beg him to keep going. Your sweaty face pressed into a pillow, fingers curling around the fabric, knuckles trembling from exertion.

You swear you can feel every vein, every ridge, every inch of his perfect cock splitting you apart. His cum letting him bottom out over and over, mixing with your own arousal, creating a lewd slap of skin that curls the spring tighter in your belly.

And then he starts fucking talking to you again.

"Oh there we go... gettin' so wet for me... takin' me so good... perfect pussy tryin' to me make me come again, huh?... squeezin' me like you - oh my god - don't wanna let go... feel like heaven, pretty girl, like you were made for me."

A couple more well-aimed thrusts and you fall apart. Walls tightening, nearly pushing him out as he fucks you through it. Prolonging the thundering waves until you collapse against him. Crying and laughing. Blissed out and utterly ruined by him.

By the only man you've ever truly felt safe with. A sense of peace washing over you as he helps you come back. Soothing praise, tender caresses, linger kisses everywhere he can reach.

Your ear. Your temple. Your cheek when you turn towards him, nose scrunching at the feeling returning to your limbs. Your sore muscles. Joints protesting the position. That he quickly rolls you out of, his softening cock slipping out in the process, his forehead bumping yours in hopes of mimicking the interrupted closeness.

"You okay?" Eyes searching yours, metal fingers soothing the furrow in your brow as you stretch out. His dogtags dragging across your sweaty chest when he reaches to massage your limbs, despite your assurance that you're fine.

"Better than," you promise, tongue slipping out to wet your dry lips. Most words still alluding you at the moment. But more than present enough to ask, "Are you?"

"Yeah," he breathes, lips brushing yours in a sweet kiss. "Better than." Smiling when you stroke his beard, lashes fluttering from the deepened intimacy. Cracking his chest wide open to make room for all the ways he's prepared to let you love him.

Because he's already learned how to love you. And now he gets to spend the rest of his life figuring out new ways. His heart skipping a beat at the thought. Lips curving against yours when he closes the distance. Kissing you slow and syrupy, committing every detail to memory in order to recall them later when he inevitably has to be away from you.

It's not something he has to worry about right now. Not with the way you wrap him in your arms and lay his head on your chest. Your fingers combing through his tangled strands, nails occasionally scratching his scalp, tethering him to the present.

"Feel like I should thank you," he murmurs, words slurred where he's pressed against your warm skin. His hand resting on the soft curve of your belly.

"Pretty sure that's my line," you half-tease. And deadly serious. Your body still buzzing.

Bucky laughs gently, chest rocking your side as he picks his head up. Eyelids fluttering when he presses back into your touch anchored in his hair. The image of him openly seeking out more affection turning your eyes glassy.

The tears on the verge of spilling when he tells you, "'m serious, sweetheart." His thumb reverently tracing the ridge of your brow. "Didn't think I'd ever get a chance at this again." A twinkling smile that reawakens those damn butterflies. "'Specially not with you."

"I know," you whisper, his solid weight pressing you deeper into the mountain of pillows he insisted on fluffing. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Always."

His intensity makes you laugh - a soft exhale really, but it still makes him smile. Gives you the courage to tell him, "I didn't think I would either... have this." Your eyes flicker to the furrow in his brow that you're tempted to kiss away like he did for you earlier.

You sigh instead, happy to continue playing with his hair, and offer the simple explanation of, "Haven't exactly had the best o' luck in that department." It's as much vulnerability you're willing to offer right now. On this subject anyway - not while you're still blissfully basking in the aftermath of having your brain rewired.

Bucky doesn't pry. Just like he never did when you'd make a passing comment or two during those nights when the conversations would border on too personal. Reading your body likes it's a second language.

"Well, then I should really be thanking you," he nods, each dip of his head bringing him closer. "For takin' a chance on a guy like me."

"Old?"

"Ohhh," he laughs, loud and addictive, mouth teasingly hovering to distract you. His fingers honing in on one of your most ticklish spots. Leaving you gasping and squirming.

The torture last a second or two - a warning, mostly - then he's kissing you. Mumbling something about your mouth being trouble. And giving you absolutely no chance at all to make the obvious joke. His strong arms roll you both over, pulling you halfway across his torso, your thigh instinctively curling over his. Careful to avoid anything sensitive.

Not that it matters, Bucky's body still responds. How could it not? You're so warm and soft, curling up against him. Toying with his dogtags, igniting a familiar fantasy of you wearing 'em while he fucks you nice and slow.

He lets it fade - focusing instead on learning the curve of your spine, fingers stroking a lazy pattern. A sense of peace threatening to pull him under - if he weren't so keen on making sure you never want for anything.

"How do you like to be taken care of, sweetheart?" His fingers dip lower, skirting the tempting globes of your ass. "You need space? Trip to the bathroom by yourself?" His touch travels back up to massage your shoulder, his lips brushing the top of your head as he asks, "Or you gonna let me help?"

The way Bucky asks makes it clear what he's hoping for. You're already imagining him cleaning you up after he fucks your brains out, giving you more time to lay there, maybe keep cuddling without his cum leaking out of you. Unfortunately, that ship has already sailed, your thighs slick and growing wetter by the second.

You opt for a shower - promising to take full advantage of his services next time. Your cheeky comment earning you a tickling pinch to your waist. And another kiss that melts you. Your shaky limbs grateful when he scoops you up, effortlessly carries you the few feet to the bathroom.

Refusing to set you down until he's sure you can stand on your own. Leaving you so he can start the shower, and give you a bit of privacy to help you avoid any UTIs - the spray drowning out any sounds you're not quite ready for him to overhear. As if his enhanced senses haven't given away most of your secrets anyway.

"Hey," you casually call out from your perch on the toilet, "you ever hear me masturbate before?"

"No," he calls back, "definitely want to, though."

You laugh and finish up your business, eager to join him. His hand engulfing yours as soon as you start to step in, holding you steady until he can pull you close. Kiss you hello. Turn you into the hot spray that makes your skin tingle.

Or maybe it's the way he's looking at you right now. Awe-struck and a bit possessive - with an overabundance of that Bucky protectiveness.

"Stop that," you tease with a pointed raise of your brow. "I told you, if you had done anything wrong-."

He melts a bit at the reminder, lips curving against your forehead, "I know. But... you weren't exactly capable of tellin' me much of anything at some points there."

Bright laughter bubbles out of you, pulling him in like a magnet, lips meeting in a playful kiss, "That's 'cause you weren't doing anything wrong."

"Fair enough," he grins, encouraging you to turn around, determined to get you cleaned up before the hot water runs out. "Maybe we can come up with a signal anyway."

"Like if my mouth is full?"

Bucky huffs against your shoulder, reaching for your body wash that he definitely hasn't smelled during lonely showers.

"Yeah, pretty girl, like if your mouth is full." His hand playfully squeezes your waist, holding back the tickling so you don't fall. And so you can hear his growl of, "Or like when I'm makin' you feel so good you can barely breathe. Let alone talk."

Your sharp inhale gives you away, despite your casual, "Mmm. Yeah. Good point."

Joint laughter fills the space seconds later, your hands working the soapy washcloth along your skin, ignoring the fresh wave of arousal settling low in your belly.

"I think a few taps would work, yeah?" he asks, fingers gently drumming against your back.

"What if I can't reach you?"

"Don't know of any position where you couldn't reach me, sweetheart."

"I mean," you chuckle softly, "my hands could be tied-."

The moment the words leave your mouth, the atmosphere in the shower shifts. Steam swirls around you, the spray rinsing away the last bit of the soap on your thighs. Right along with your easy confidence.

"Bucky - fuck, I'm sorry," you're turning before you even finish the sentence, the playful spark in your eyes replaced by a frantic sort of guilt. "I didn't-."

"It's okay," his firm hold on you tightens, ensuring you don't slip. "I-."

"It just came out, I wasn't-."

"It's okay," he urgently promises you, showing you the same grace you would him, his trembling hand smearing stray water droplets across your cheek. "I'm not upset, I get it." His lungs fully expand, helping to ease some of the tension radiating off you. "I might be old, doll, but I'm well-versed in fantasies."

A wet laugh escapes you and you bury your face against his chest, clinging to him in silent apology.

"Might not be something I can give you," he murmurs, long strokes down your spine to soothe away your guilt. "But I sure as hell don't want you to hide anything from me."

"I just don't want you to feel pressured," you whisper, words slightly muffled so you can keep breathing him in.

"I won't." Quick conviction that has you smiling. "Might use 'em to talk dirty to you though. That be okay?"

"Definitely." It comes out broken, emotional. Tears prick your eyes, but you still push through. Tilt your head to look up at him, find him giving you that irresistible grin you've always loved.

"Good." His lips land on yours for a lingering kiss. "Now let's get outta here before I break my own rule about no shower sex."

You don't fight him on it - other than a wag of your eyebrows that he lets slide this time. Fingers bypassing any ticklish spots to help you out, his heart near bursting at being the reason you're all relaxed and giggly again.

History happily repeats itself - Bucky kneeling to towel off any drops of water he finds on your skin. Taking extra time to worship you just because you're letting him. Repeatedly going out of his way to prove he's not like most guys.

"Such an overachiever." Your sincere compliment wrapped in a playful smile.

"For drying you off?" he laughs, unconvinced.

"And the three orgasms," you grin, watching him stand to full height. "Not to mention the fact that you kept going after you-."

"You told me it didn't have to be over."

"I meant you could use your fingers!" More giddy laughter follows when he wraps you in his embrace, spinning you in the small bathroom. "Maybe one of my toys."

"Definitely gonna remember that for next time," he states matter-of-factly, leading you out of the cramped space with a sure hand - and feet that almost falter.

Because Bucky realizes something. That these sudden bursts of confidence about his future with you no longer feel foreign. Or fleeting. Or like he's playing pretend.

He might never truly believe he deserves this, but at least he knows he can measure up and give you what you deserve. And that gives him all the peace he'll ever need.

(banners by @cafekitsune)

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My trope is Bucky Barnes.