Hard When Soft
Pairing: Bucky x fem!reader
Warning: sub!bucky, slight size kink, cowgirl style, Bucky restraining himself (yes that’s a warning), praise (toward Bucky), one use of James
Summary: Okay, here’s an idea guys… imagine you being soft to Bucky makes him hard. Hear me out! From his experience with hydra and all the fighting, he’s so used to people being rough with him so when he experiences that intimate softness it gets him whimpering and hard. Action!
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The late afternoon sun cast long, golden rectangles across the living room floor, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. Bucky was on the floor, meticulously folding laundry. He took an almost military precision to the task, creasing the towels into perfect, uniform squares. You watched him from the couch, a book forgotten in your lap, a warmth spreading through your chest that had nothing to do with the sunlight.
He finished the last towel and placed it in the neat stack before leaning back on his hands, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He looked so peaceful, so content in this simple, domestic moment.
You set your book aside and slid off the couch, moving to sit behind him. You wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing a kiss to the worn fabric of his t-shirt between his shoulder blades. He hummed, a low, contented sound, and leaned back into your embrace.
“You’re so good at that,” you murmured, your voice soft. “So patient with everything.”
You began to knead the tense muscles of his shoulders, your fingers working gently but firmly. He was always a little tight, a living monument to the stress he carried. He let his head fall forward, giving you better access, a silent surrender to your touch.
You pressed another soft kiss to his neck, right over his racing pulse. “I love taking care of you,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his skin. “Love seeing you so relaxed.”
He let out a shaky breath, and you saw it—just a glance over his shoulder where you could see his pants chubbing. You slide your hand down a little to experimentally brush against his bulge, making him let out a deep shudder.
A slow, dawning smile spread across your face. You pulled back just enough to look over his shoulder. His eyes were squeezed shut, his jaw tight, and a faint blush was creeping up his neck. He was trying to hide it, to will it away.
“James,” you said, your voice a gentle, teasing purr. You slid your hand down from his shoulder, over his chest, and down the hard plane of his stomach until your fingers rested just above the waistband of his jeans. “Is this for me?”
He let out a whimper, a broken, desperate sound that went straight to your core. He didn’t answer, but the way his hips twitched up into your touch was all the confirmation you needed.
“It’s okay,” you soothed, your fingers tracing the button of his fly. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. I love it. I love that I can make you feel this way just by being… soft.”
You popped the button of his jeans and slowly pulled down the zipper. His breath hitched, his hands clenching into fists on the floor. You could feel the barely restrained energy coiling in him, the primal instinct to take, to dominate, fighting against the overwhelming need to submit to your gentleness.
“Let me,” you whispered, coaxing him. “Let me take care of you. Just lie back and let me do all the work.”
He hesitated for a fraction of a second before giving a sharp, jerky nod. You helped him shift, guiding him to lie back on the soft rug. You tugged his jeans and boxers down his hips, freeing his cock. It was thick and flushed, curving up towards his stomach, already leaking at the tip. He was magnificent.
You quickly stripped off your own clothes before straddling his thighs. You looked down at him, at the raw vulnerability in his eyes. His metal arm was lying stiffly at his side, as if he were afraid to use it, afraid of what it might do.
You leaned forward, bracing your hands on his chest, and guided him to your entrance. You sank down on him slowly, savoring the way he stretched you, filled you completely. You both moaned in unison as you settled, your hips flush with his.
You began to move, a slow, deliberate roll of your hips that was pure, liquid pleasure. You watched his face, the way his mouth fell open, the way his brows furrowed in ecstasy.
“You feel so good inside me, Bucky,” you praised, your voice a low murmur. “So big. You fill me up perfectly.”
A shudder ran through him, and a high, broken whimper escaped his lips. His hands flew to your hips, his grip almost painfully tight. He was holding on, anchoring himself.
“Look at me,” you commanded softly.
His eyes fluttered open, locking with yours. The sight of him—this powerful, deadly soldier completely at your mercy, undone by your softness—was intoxicating.
“You’re being so good for me,” you told him, increasing your pace slightly. “Just taking it. Letting me make you feel good. I love it.”
His control was fraying. You could see it in the desperate way he was panting, in the flex of his muscles as he fought to keep still. His hips began to twitch up to meet yours, a small, involuntary movement of a man who was used to taking charge.
“Shh, no,” you cooed, slowing your pace, bringing him back from the edge. “Not yet. Stay with me. Let me have this.”
He let out a ragged groan, his head falling back against the floor. He was fighting a battle with himself, and you were determined to win it for him. You reached down and took his metal hand, guiding it to your breast. The cool plates were a shocking, thrilling sensation against your heated skin.
“You can touch me,” you whispered. “Gently. Just feel.”
His fingers twitched, and then he was cupping you, his touch hesitant, reverent. The sight of his deadly, metal hand holding you with such care was your undoing.
You began to ride him in earnest, your movements becoming more fluid, more confident. You praised him with every roll of your hips, every bounce of your breasts. “That’s it, Bucky. You’re doing so well. So good for me.”
The combination of your soft voice, the praise, and the relentless pleasure was too much. With a strangled cry, his control finally snapped. His hips surged up to meet yours, his thrusts becoming hard and deep. But it wasn't feral; it was desperate. He was chasing his release, completely undone.
“Come for me, Bucky,” you gasped, your own orgasm coiling tight in your belly. “Let go. It’s okay.”
Your permission was the last straw. He drove into you one last time, a deep, powerful thrust, and came with a hoarse shout of your name, his body arching off the floor. The feeling of him pulsing inside you sent you over the edge, and you shattered around him, crying out his name as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you.
He collapsed back onto the rug, his chest heaving, his eyes closed. You slumped against him, boneless and sated. For a long while, you just lay there, the only sound your mingled breathing.
After a moment, he shifted, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you flush against his chest. He buried his face in your hair, his body trembling slightly.
“I love you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “More than anything.”
You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his chest, right over his heart. “I love you too, Bucky. More than anything.”