I love a misunderstanding where you kiss your friend on the cheek and he gets all serious and goes, "You shouldn't have done that." And you feel awful believing you overstepped a boundary, but he's internally spiraling because the sensation went straight to his cock and he'll be up all night thinking about it.
warnings::I mean...girl, it's somno and the winter soldier lol.18+ It's dark. Dubcon
Drabbles | WINTER SOLDIER X READER
The apartment door slammed shut, heavy enough to shake the frame, and his heavy boots hit the floorboards like sudden gunshots. His shoulders were rigid, the metal arm whirring faintly as he flexed his fingers.
The mission was a disaster—he had blood on his hands that didn't belong to him, and bad orders that left a bitter, sour taste on his tongue. He was tired of being America’s favorite ghost, tired of the heavy weight of being used as a deadly weapon. He didn't want the war anymore. He needed something soft and warm to ground him—something gentle that wouldn’t fight back in the dark.
You were already asleep when he stepped into the bedroom, curled on your side under the thin sheet while your slow, even breathing filled the quiet room. The sight of you just like that—completely vulnerable, beautifully unaware—sent a dark, thrilling rush straight through his veins.
He stripped out of his heavy tactical gear in silence, the black shirt and cargo pants landing in a ruined heap on the floorboards. His body was still buzzing from the dangerous adrenaline coursing through him. His cock was already half-hard, thick and heavy between his legs.
The soldier climbed onto the mattress behind you without a single word. The bed dipped under his weight, but you didn’t stir from your dream. He pressed his warm chest right against your bare back, the cool metal of his left arm sliding slowly over your waist to pull you flush against his heartbeat.
His flesh hand slipped right under the hem of your soft sleep shirt. That calloused palm glided up your stomach to cup your breast, gentle at first, like he was holding something holy. Then his thumb began to circle your nipple, until it stiffened under his touch.
You murmured something incoherent in your sleep, shifting your weight just a little, but you didn’t wake from the dream. That only encouraged him. His rough hand traveled lower in the dark, fingers dipping between your thighs to find you bare and warm under the covers.
He stroked along your slit with two long fingers, parting your soft folds, feeling the very first hint of slick starting to gather. He began to rub slow circles over your clit, his blue eyes watching your face in the moonlight for any sign of waking. But there was nothing. Just your soft breaths and the occasional, breathless twitch of your hips against him.
Satisfied, he shifted lower on the bed, hooking one of your legs over his to spread you open. His cock throbbed against your ass, the head already leaking. He lined himself up and pushed in with one steady thrust, burying half his length inside your pussy in a single motion. The tight heat clenched around him, and he groaned low in his throat, forehead pressed to the back of your neck.
He didn’t rush. Each thrust was deliberate, sinking deeper until he was fully seated, balls pressed against you. His metal fingers gripped your hip hard enough to bruise while his other hand stayed between your legs, rubbing your clit in time with his slow, deep strokes. The wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out filled the quiet room, punctuated by his heavy breathing.
You stirred again, a soft whimper escaping as your body responded on its own. Your pussy fluttered around him, growing wetter with every push. Bucky leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “That’s it,” he whispered, voice rough. “Take it. Just like that.” He picked up the pace slightly, hips snapping forward, the head of his cock dragging against that sensitive spot inside you.
Your eyelashes fluttered in the dark, but you didn't quite wake up. Your body just arched back into his frame instinctively, chasing that dangerous warmth. Bucky took full advantage of your surrender, rolling you onto your stomach without ever pulling out. He covered you completely, chest to your back, metal arm braced beside your head. From this angle he could drive in harder and deeper.
He fucked you steadily, using your sleeping body for his own relief after the hellish day. Sweat beaded on his brow as he chased his release, grunting with each thrust. His flesh hand slid under your hips to keep rubbing your clit, determined to pull an orgasm from you even in your unconscious state. Your walls started to tighten, pulsing around his cock as your body tipped over the edge. Slick gushed around him, coating his length and dripping down your thighs.
Bucky groaned, burying himself to the hilt as he came. Hot spurts of cum flooded your pussy, filling you until it leaked out around his cock with every shallow thrust. He stayed inside you, breathing hard, the tension in his shoulders finally easing. After a moment he pulled out slowly, watching his seed trickle from your well-used hole.
He rolled you gently onto your back and spread your legs again. His tongue dragged through the mess between your thighs, licking up the mixture of your juices and his cum. He sucked on your clit softly, cleaning you with long strokes until your hips twitched in your sleep.
Only then did he crawl up beside you in the aftermath, pulling the thin sheet over both of you. The storm inside him had finally passed. His metal arm wrapped around your waist once more, pulling you flush against his chest, holding you close as his breath finally evened out.
The cruel, rough day faded away into the background, replaced entirely by the quiet comfort of your body pressed flush against his. He pressed one soft, lingering kiss to your bare shoulder, his blue eyes finally closing as sleep claimed him too.
✦Bucky Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Read on aO3!✦
✦summary: you fell for bucky a long, long while ago. and you think about him, every day and every night. if only you knew that he thought about you too.✦
✦warnings/tags: bucky barnes x female!reader, friends to lovers, light emotional angst, everyone's bad at feelings, fluff, smut, plot and porn mix (dirty talk, use of sex toys , fingering, pussy eating like crazy, fantasization, praise kink, manhandling, perfectly "appropriate" use of bucky's metal arm, nipple play, dumbification, semi-public sex, dry humping, sensitive reader, finger sucking, masturbation, bucky gets nasty, body worship, overstimulation, mean!bucky, oral m!recieving, praise kink, monster dick bucky, he fucks like a machine), no use of y/n, no descrption of reader✦
✦wc: 7.5k✦
✦Author's Note: request! who wouldn't fantasize about bucky barnes?✦
You think you might be a freak.
Compared to everyone else in the building, you’re perfectly normal. On the outside. Where everyone can see. You don’t have any powers, and you’ve never been shot up with serums or infinity stones. You’re a human, with a sharp tongue and shaper brain, pretty features and a charming smile, and absolutely no desire to be anything else.
Tony even asked you once. If you’d consider it. The whole hero thing. You’d laughed and shaken your head. You told him that you’re not that kind of brave. That you prefer to stay behind the scenes, helping with the tech and med services. Tony had laughed with you, and remarked causally that you’d be good at it.
You’d smiled and waved him off. But he was wrong. Because you can’t be normal about anything.
You’re not casual. You’re obsessive, and quietly insane. You don’t become the top of your field like this while being anything else. It’s easy to contain yourself in this kind of work, in it’s order and chaos all at once. There are rules that you to follow, then break, and everyone praises you and you glow like a diamond catching sunlight.
Not absorbing it. Because it passes right through, and it’s never enough, and you get addicted to it. The praise, from these living gods. They all love you, and you bask in it, and then you look at him.
Bucky.
The only one who doesn’t praise you. Who doesn’t treat you like a good dog, bringing them treats and newspapers. When you met him, he barely treated you like anything at all. Tony had introduced you, he’d looked you up and down, shaken your hand, and walked away.
But you.
You’d been a fucking goner.
Bucky’s handsome in the way you used to only see in movies. Your exact type, from the hair to the eyes to the way he carries himself. Silent and in control, kind but not overly nice, polite without expectation. You’d made it two years without developing a crush on anyone. Somehow, surrounded by some of the world’s most handsome men, you’d maintained that tiny sliver of your sanity.
Then there was Bucky. And you lost yourself.
You’re not weird around him. You’re not a stalker, and you’re not that kind of insane. You’re perverted in the privacy of your head, drooling over his massive hands and muscles, but swallowing it before it leaks out of your lips. You don’t react when Tony says his name, save for a traitorous pulse in your cunt.
“You ready to look at his arm?” Tony asks, and you hum.
“Think so. Just maintenance?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Tony sighs. “I’d work on Terminator myself, but Cap says I spend the whole time looking like I want to throat chop him. So,” he shrugs. “Don’t look like you wanna throat chop him.”
You laugh softly, and grab the tools off the bench. It’s not a big deal. You’re the only person besides Tony, in the whole building, who’s qualified to work on Bucky’s arm.
But that means you get to be close to him. Just the thought of it makes your skin hot, your heart buzzing more than thumping, your fingers fidgeting with the straps of your toolkit as you restlessly wait.
Bucky says your name, and your head shoots up. He’s there. He’s right there, and watching you with those careful, beautiful eyes.
“Hi,” you say, and it sounds so pathetically breathless.
Bucky tilts his head. His hair looks soft. You want to run your fingers through it, to pull on it, to feel it tickling over your face as he ruts into your drooling pussy-
He’s staring at you. He must’ve said something that you didn’t hear. Fuck.
“What?”
His lips twitch. Just the smallest movement up, almost impossible to catch. Your heart skips, and you almost miss his words again.
“You the one workin’ on me today?” His voice is low. It rolls through the air like thunder.
You wonder, if there’s any part of him that isn’t addictive.
You’re here for a job. You’re here to give him medical treatment. You plaster a sweet smile on your face, and gesture to the chair. You can be normal about this.
“Tony has bad bedside manner,” you say smoothly, and Bucky chuckles.
God, that’s worse than the smile. It echoes through your chest, and you almost choke on it. How fucking bad you want him.
“He does call me Schwarzeneggerevery time I’m here,” he mutters, crossing the room. “Don’t even know what that means.”
You hum, pretending to look at your tools. He’s sitting down next to you. Your knees are bumping. You’re normal. “Arnold Schwartzinagor. Actor who played the Terminator.”
“Ah.” Bucky pauses. “Sam calls me that, too. It a good movie?”
“It’s fine.” You shrug. “If you like stuff from the 80s.”
“I don’t know things from the 80s.”
You laugh softly, and look up with an apology on your tongue. You find Bucky staring at you, and your breath catches in your throat.
His eyes are so intense, you think they can see right through you. To the lust, pounding in your bloodstream. You have to open your mouth to breathe. Bucky’s eyes flick down. Just tracking a movement. Nothing about you.
You kick yourself internally, and push the casual smile back into place.
“I think you’d like some of it.” You reach for his arm, and Bucky turns it palm up, still staring at you. “I mean, any decade will have it’s ups and downs.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You run your fingers over the plates of metal, and for a second, forget all about the Bucky attached to them. It’s a beautiful artwork of technology. Overlapping, gold-inlaid, smooth under your fingers. You turn the wrist slowly, and there’s only a faint whir. No clicks. Shuri must be using a muffler, or some kind of fluid that moves the wires instead of gears-
“You want me to go?”
Your head shoots up, a panicked flush spreading over your cheeks. “No- No- I- I’m just-“
Bucky raises his brows, light amusement dancing in his eyes. Your words falter. He’s fucking with you.
“Shut up,” you roll your eyes, and Bucky chuckles again.
God, that sound. It’s going to be the death of you.
“It’s just- It’s amazing technology.” You mumble defensively, and Bucky shrugs.
“I can tell, from the way you’re eye fuckin’ it.”
“Eye fucking.” You shake your head, biting back your smile. “How do you even know what that means?”
“Too much time with Sam.”
“Hm,” you grab your screwdriver, running your hands up the mock muscle—he should be thanking Shuri even more, she didn’t have to give him biceps—looking for a panel. “Tony told me you weren’t going to talk.”
“Tony’s got that bad bedside manner,” Bucky shrugs with his good arm. “You gonna be nicer to me, doll?”
You just hum, ducking your head to hide your flush. Doll. He called you doll.
And Bucky huffs an amused laugh, at your non-answer. But he keeps talking to you. He tells you what Sam’s already gotten him to watch, and what Steve’s trying to get him to watch next, and what Steve’s saving so they can look at it together.
“Is Star Wars any good?” He asks, and you snort.
“Do you like cowboys?”
“I’m neutral.”
“Do you like space?”
“Yeah,” he pauses, then mutters, “I wanted to go to the moon. When I was a kid.”
You look up, and find a faraway look, etched over his handsome features. Your smile softens, and you lower your voice to a whisper, because this feels like a secret. “Yeah?”
Bucky nods, his eyes finding yours again. “I heard we got up there eventually.”
“We did. A few times.” It’s hard to hold his gaze. An unbearable ache is staring to pool between your thighs. “But now there are aliens on earth, so the final frontier is less… Coveted.”
Bucky’s lips twitch. It seems to be the closest he really gets to smiling. You want to see it over, and over, and over again.
“I think you’d like Star Wars.” You’re still whispering. You don’t know why.
“Alright,” Bucky says. And that’s it. He just… Trusts your words.
He asks for you again, next week. Tony claps you on the shoulder and thanks you, because Christ, he stares at me and I feel like I’m under surveillance. You roll your eyes and don’t respond. It doesn’t feel like that when Bucky stares at you, but he also does stare at everyone. So you’re not special. You’re just another person in his line of sight.
“I tried those donuts you were talkin’ about,” he tells you one afternoon, and you hum.
It’s the new routine. Bucky comes for you to work on his arm. You’re normal about it. You talk like people, and his lips twitch, and you feel something press on top of your chest, trying to gnaw your heart right open.
“Liked them,” he adds, staring at you. As always.
You hum, looking at him under your lashes. “Did you have the cookies and cream?”
He nods. “Just like you told me to.”
You smile despite yourself. It’s those small confirmations that he thinks about you, which get you the most. It means you mean something to him. It drives you insane.
“Sam says there are all kinds of ice cream flavors now, too.”
“Sam’s right.”
Bucky sighs. “Hate it when that happens.”
You laugh, a bubbly, pathetic sound that only Bucky pulls out of you. His fingers twitch under your hand, and you glance up.
It would be wise, if you stopped doing that. Every time you find him staring at you, you feel fucking insane.
“You should try cotton candy ice cream,” you murmur. “It’s fucking crazy.”
“That is my favorite kind of thing.”
“I know.”
Bucky’s lips twitch, and your heart almost bursts. “You got a good place? For ice cream?”
You shrug. “The grocery store?”
Bucky grunts, and his fingers twitch again. You focus back on his hand, because you don’t understand why they keep doing that. The rest of the session passes, and Bucky smiles at you before he goes, and you hold onto it like he just handed you a pearl-strung noose. Clutched between your teeth and priceless, but making your breathing short.
The rest of the day always passes in a daze, after you see Bucky. The seconds rush past you in an avalanche, and then you’re in your room, and you let it take over.
How much you want him. How much you need him.
You lay, flat on your back in bed, and let your thoughts run wild. Bucky’s massive hands, one cool and one burning hand, would wander up your thighs. He’d shove your knees open, and kiss over the sensitive, hidden patches of skin. The stubble he’s been growing would scrape and tickle, as he kissed over your weeping pussy.
“All for me?” He’d murmur, and you’d nod helplessly. “You just walk around, pussy leakin’ because of how bad you need it?”
And you’d whimper. You do. There’s nothing you can do to help it, but save that desire for locked doors and hot, tangled sheets. Your fingers—smaller than Bucky’s, but all you have—rub over the swollen lips of your pussy, spreading your arousal as you picture that it’s Bucky instead. You push one finger in slowly, then a second one because you need them to stretch you like Bucky’s would.
“Messy girl,” he’d coo in your ear, and your back arches. You start to fuck yourself, slow and tentative as your thoughts run wild.
This is what just one of his fingers would feel like. Pumping in and out of you, his palm grinding down on you clit until you’re trembling beneath him. You’d try to push up into his hand, but he’d shove you right back down and kiss over your throat. Licking and nipping and driving you out of your fucking mind.
“Buckyyyy...” You moan at the air, and when you squeeze your eyes shut you can almost feel him.
“There you go, babydoll,” he’d kiss under your ear, his body pressing over yours. Warm and massive, pinning you to the bed, forcing you to just take it. “That’s it. You like that, don’t you. Like fallin’ apart on my fingers.”
You whimper and grab at the sheets. Your wrist aches, and you can’t hit that gooey, wet spot inside you, but god you just need to cum.
“I know,” Bucky would hit deeper. Wet, lewd sounds would fill the room, as he pounded his fingers into you at an unforgiving pace. “I know, sweet girl. C’mon, show me how pretty you are when you cum.”
Your back arches off the bed. Your hand shoots over your mouth as you moan and cry out his name, your thighs shaking and pussy squeezing down on your fingers. You lay there for a while after you’re done, holding the sheets in a vague form of Bucky.
Tomorrow, you’re going to see him again. Maybe just over breakfast, or passing in the hall. But you’ll see him. And you’ll have to look him in the eyes, and pray that he can’t see it just under your features. That all he’d ever need to do it touch your head, and you’d fall to your knees.
You’re devoted to him. He thinks of you as a friend, and he’s not your boss, but he’s boss adject, and there’s nothing about him that’s accessible. There’s no world where this ever goes beyond fantasy.
But god, you’re going to fantasize. You can’t hurt anyone, by just fantasizing.
That’s what you’ll tell yourself over and over, to avoid the guilt.
It’s all just a fantasy.
You‘re perfectly professional about it. It’s not Bucky’s fault that he’s so handsome it feels like you shouldn’t be allowed to look at him. You can keep your desire bottled up, keep in the warmest, wettest pits of your stomach. It can seep out between your thighs when it becomes too much to bare. It can breed into itself and spread up into your heart, festering in the dark. But Bucky will never see it. You’ll be good, and you’ll act sane, and that will be it.
He’s been through too much already, to add your insatiable, ardors devotion to his list of problems.
You’ve developed an easy friendship. That’s all you’ll allow yourself to have, all you let yourself think about in his presence. When you’re working on his arm, you don’t think about those big, cold fingers being buried in your pussy until you’re alone in your room. All your daydreams are trapped in your sheets, and your moans absorbed and locked in your pillowcase.
You think about Bucky pinning you down with a warm, splayed hand on your abdomen. About his smirk, as he bullies three metal fingers into your pussy, forcing a perfect stretch before fucking you like a toy. His cold thumb swiping over your clit, sending shivers through your body. His eyes gleaming and attention burning, as he drags out orgasm after orgasm.
That hand would be like having a personal fuck machine, and he’d act like it until the very end. All taunting and teasing until you were spent and limp below him. Then he’d kiss the corner of your mouth, your cheek, the space between your eyes. He’d coo about what a good girl you were for him, and you’d whimper, your voice lost from screaming his name.
“What’re you thinking about?” Bucky says, sitting next to you at the kitchen counter.
You swallow, and shrug meekly. You never feel small around anyone but him, but you’ve never been this lost in anyone but him. It’s a miracle no one’s noticed, how Bucky shows up and suddenly you’re all flushed cheeks and girly giggles. You might as well be twirling your hair and kicking your feet. It’s pathetic. You can’t stop.
“Nothing?” Bucky pushes a little, and you give him a close-lipped, full smile.
“Nope.”
“You looked like you were thinkin’ about something.”
“I wasn’t.” You look back to the sandwich you’d been working on. Bucky keeps staring at you. He always does. “Nothing going on up here, Barnes.”
Bucky’s lips twitch.
The whole world seems brighter, like he’s just like some holy kind of candle.
“I don’t believe that,” he murmurs, and you shrug.
“You don’t have to.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“Good for you.”
“It is, isn’t it,” he chuckles. “I’m gonna love being right.”
You blink, shooting his a sideways look. “Being… Right?”
“I know you’re thinkin’ about something.” He shrugs. “I’ll figure out what.”
Oh. Under no circumstances can he find out what you’re thinking about. “It’s not anything interesting,” you try lamely, and Bucky smirks.
“Ah. So it’s something.”
“I- That’s-“ You sputter. “Why do you even care-“
“I like knowin’ what you’re thinking,” he shrug. “It’s always interesting.”
You blink at him. For some reason, that makes your throat close up, your eyes burning with embarrassing tears. Your knees are wobbling, and you’re sitting down. You grunt and look back to your sandwich, and Bucky chuckles.
“C’mon. Tell me.” He leans closer. There’s a gravity, from his heat, and it makes you want to just collapse over his chest.
You look at him from the corner of your eye, and you won’t tell him. That’s against the rules. It defeats the purpose.
But god, he’s looking at you. Really looking at you. You can count each shade of blue in his eyes. If you move just an inch, your noses might bump.
“I’m hungry,” you whisper, and Bucky’s brow knits.
He looks down to your sandwich. Then back to you. Adorable confusion flashes over his face. “You should… Uh- Eat.”
You nod, and he clears his throat, leaning back. You wish you could grab the collar of his shirt, and drag him back.
“You ever seen this thing called the Princess Bride?” He asks, not touching any food himself.
Just sitting there. With you. You try not to think about it too much.
You nod, chewing on your sandwich with puffed out cheeks. “’S a really good movie-“
“Chew then swallow, doll.” Bucky’s lips twitch, and you flush and obey.
“It’s a good movie,” you mumble, giving him a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”
Bucky shrugs, his gaze dropping to your mouth. Your breath hitches. You go perfectly still, afraid that if you shift, he’ll look away.
His tongue darts over his lips. He tips his head, his forearm flexes as he curls his fingers, and your breathing gets shallow. Something electric has shifted in the air, and it’s making you dizzy. Bucky reaches up slowly, and if you weren’t rooting in place, you think you’d fall out of your chair.
His thumb wipes the spot right above your lips, and a shock rushes through your body. His nostrils flare, his eyes lock onto yours, and his touch lingers.
When he pulls back, the movement is slow. Controlled. Your tongue flicks out, to lick where his thumb had been. Bucky’s nostrils flare.
There’s something on his thumb. Tiny little breadcrumbs that must’ve been stuck to your cheek from the sauce. Bucky brings the finger up to his mouth, holding your gaze, and sucks the crumbs away. Heat pools in your tummy, and your thighs press together.
Bucky stares at you. You grab the edge of your seat with white knuckles, trying to keep yourself from falling off.
“Crumbs,” he mutters, and you nod.
“Yeah.”
“I- Uh-“ He coughs, and looks away. Disappointment sinks like a boulder into your stomach.
You don’t know what you expected. Hell, you’ve told yourself what to expect. You’re not allowed to be disappointed by him. You’re not allowed to want anything from him, except for what your head can offer.
“Sam’s been tryin’ to make me watch it,” he mutters, and you blink.
“What?”
“Princess Bride.”
“Oh.” You’re still a little drunk on his proximity. He smells like something rich and spicy, and it’s fogging up your brain. “Cool.”
Bucky nods. “We’re gonna watch it next Friday. In that common room, where Stark makes us do game nights.” He gives you a sideways look. “I never see you at those.”
You shrug. “I’m not an Avenger.”
“Stark says you get invited.”
You do. But that would be a night of drinking and laughing and being closer to Bucky than you can handle, so you usually lock yourself in your room and pretend he’s fucking you stupid.
“You’re invited to movie night, too.” He adds casually, and you swallow.
Movie night. Where Bucky would be near you. In the dark. You can’t go there. You’ll lose your mind.
But he’s looking at you with such dim, cautious light in his eyes. There’s no expectations. Just hope. And it pulls the words out of you before you can stop them.
“Oh- Okay.”
Bucky beams, and that makes it worth it. The risk, that he might brush your hand in the dark and you’ll moan loud enough for everyone to hear.
He reaches up, and wipes a few more breadcrumbs from your cheeks. Time seems to stop, when he touches you. It’s dangerous, and you barely manage not to fall all over him before he pulls away.
“You get messy,” he mutters, and oh, God.
You shouldn’t have said yes. Why the fuck did you say yes. Now you’re going to have to sit next to him, after that.
You get messy. He has no idea.
That night, you end up back in your bed with a vibrator pressed over your panties. It makes the feeling stronger, with the friction of the fabric, and you toss your head back. It’s easier and easier to get lost in the fantasy, lately. The better you know him, the clearer it gets.
You can almost feel his hands, mapping over the curves and soft dips of your body. You can almost smell him.
He mouths at your breast, pinching and rolls your nipple between metal fingers. You make a broken, pathetic sound, and he smirks.
“I know, doll. Too much, isn’t it?”
You whimper, pressing the vibrator down. Bucky hums, his hand wrapping around yours, and your hips jerk when he angles it to shove right against your clit.
“Too much,” he coos, making out with the softness of your breast. “I’m barely even touchin’, and you’re already about to fuckin’ fall apart for me.”
Your eyes roll back, as Bucky starts to guide the vibrator up and down. Your mouth falls open in a long moan, as he grabs your hips and pushes them higher, further exposing your pussy. He bites at your nipple, then turns his attention to the neglected one. You writhe in the sheets, gasping his name, and he smiles.
“Dirty girl.” He pushes your hand back, just enough for him to rip away your panties, exposing your cunt to the cold air. “Look at that, pretty little pussy fuckin’ shining for me.”
You grind down, trying to find friction on the sheets. Bucky pushes the vibrator against your bare pussy, and your eyes roll back in your head. He starts kissing all over your chest, pawing at your breasts and swirling his tongue around you nipples, sending electric shock through your body. He licks the sensitive buds the same way he licked his thumb. Your hips start to roll mindlessly, as the coil in your stomach threatens to snap.
When you cum, it’s with a cry of his name. The coil snaps, and heat floods out of your pussy, all over the vibrator and your hand. Your body convulses with the sheer force of it, and Bucky kisses down. Over your abdomen, your hips, your inner thighs.
“What a mess, baby.” He mocks, before pressing the sweetest kiss to your clit.
You sob, trembling in the sheets, and grab at his hair.
But your hand finds nothing.
Because it’s just another fantasy, kept in the confines of your mind.
Movie night was a bigger mistake than you could’ve ever imagined.
You show up, and it’s just Bucky and Sam. Sitting on opposite ends of the couch, because men are strange creatures.
“Stevie’s on a mission,” Bucky says, staring at you like he’s seeing an angel. Like he didn’t invite you.
There’s an odd rasp to his voice, too. Maybe he’s just tired.
Sam says your name, that signature, I know something that everyone else doesn’t smirk on his face. You don’t think much if it. He always has it, even when he doesn’t know shit.
“Buck told me you’d be comin’. I didn’t believe him.”
“Sam.” Bucky grunts, and Sam shrugs.
“What? I didn’t.” He grins at you. “You never leave your lab-“
“She leaves her lab.” Bucky gives you an apologetic look, but you just laugh.
“No, he’s right. I really don’t.”
Bucky sighs, rolls his eyes, and pats the seat next to him. You smile to yourself, taking a long breath before you move. You’re going to be normal about this. Very, incredibly normal. So normal, they’ll think something’s wrong, because no one’s ever been this normal in history.
You last ten minutes.
The movie starts. You’ve seen it before, but you try to pay attention to every, tiny detail. The only other option is paying attention to Bucky. To the weight of him at your side, the way his knee brushes against yours and his arm is slung over the back of the couch. You’ve never seen him so relaxed and tense, all at once. He’s sunken into the cushions, but whenever you look over, his jaw is tight.
You could swear you catch his gaze, once or twice. If you do, he looks away immediately. And you feel it, that buzzing heat over your skin. But you’re supposed to be watching the movie. He’s supposed to be watching the movie. So you really, really try not to look over.
Bucky’s knee pushes against yours, and you swallow. His fingers trail near your shoulder, and you wrap your arms around your stomach to suppress the shiver. He’s warm. So fucking warm you can feel it, blooming in your core. You shift in your seat, and you’re already wet.
The movie isn’t even a third of the way done.
Bucky’s fingers rest on your shoulder. It’s so light, so casual, you’re not even sure he knows he’s doing it. You take the risk, and turn to fully look at him. He’s gotten even more relaxed, the knit of his brows loosened, pretty pink lips parted as he watches the TV. You want to reach up, and trace the stubble of his jaw. Maybe kiss up the column of his throat, dig your nails into his pecs and make out with that full, perfect mouth.
You let out a tiny sigh. Bucky doesn’t react to it. Too lost in the movie. Not paying you any mind.
And you should look away. You’re not here to Bucky watch.
You turn your head for three whole seconds, before your eyes start to ache. As if they can’t stand not to look at him. You try to resist it, but it plays over and over, on a loop in your brain. The image of him in the dark. The heat from him, almost penetrating under your skin and making you rise up like a balloon. Your head is in the clouds. You have to look at him.
You close your eyes, trying to fight it. Bucky’s hand drops from your shoulder, down to your upper arm, and your breath hitches.
Your eyes shoot open, and Bucky’s right there. Staring at you, with the same intense, focused need that’s clawing at your ribs and up your throat.
He grabs your chin, between strong but gentle fingers. You swallow, letting your gaze trail down his body. His massive chest, torso that looks perfect to hook your legs around, his thick thighs and his crotch.
The bulge, pushing through his sweats. It looks thick. Long and thick, demanding some attention. You look back to Bucky with your best, doe-eyed pout. He smirks, and leans down to kiss you. It’s slow and deep, his tongue swiping over your lower lip before pushing into your mouth. You moan, and Bucky weaves his hair through your hair, tugging slightly. Your second moan is downright pathetic. You grab his thigh, letting your nails brush against the outline of his cock.
Bucky hisses against your lips, and pulls back. You bat your lashes at him, and his lips twitch.
“Messy girl,” he mutters, before pressing a sweeter, mocking kiss to your lips.
He pulls away too quickly, but before you can give chase, you’re lost in a daze. Bucky’s pulling down his pants, taking his boxers with him. His cock springs free, thick and veiny, massive even in his own hand. He strokes himself slowly, giving you a prompting, amused look. You swallow, licking your lips.
“C’mon, doll,” he beckons. “Show me what you can do.”
Almost in a trance, you nod. Bucky’s eyes darken, as you crawl over his lap. You move his hand away, and fist his cock in one hand. He grabs the back of your neck, not to push, but for balance. A low, guttural sound rolls through his chest as you start to pump him, and you smile to yourself.
He really is perfect. A heavy, certain weight in your hand, jumping slightly whenever you squeeze him near the base. You shift back on your knees, using your other hand to massage his balls. He hisses, his grip tightening on your neck, and you smile.
When you look at him, there’s nothing but pure devotion in his gaze. You squeeze again, then pick up your pace, and he groans out your name.
You kiss him, pushing his head back against the couch cushions. He grunts, but lets you guide him. As if he knows that it’s all just a show, before you let him fuck your face like an animal.
“Relax, baby,” you breathe against his lips.
Bucky lets out a deep, rough laugh. “Little hard to do that right now.”
You giggle, swiping your thumb over the slit of his cock. “Is it? Hard?”
Bucky groans, and deepens the kiss. You slide off of him, before he can just grab your hips, pick you up, and sit you on his dick.
You move back, lowering down to your stomach so you’re eye level with his dick. He’s pulsing in your hands, trying to hold himself back. You don’t want him to. You want him to cum everywhere. Down your throat and over your face and tits, claiming you in one of the most primal ways possible.
“Doll…” Bucky rasps, and you look up at him under hooded eyes. He’s a wrecked. Bulging muscles and sweat, slicking on his brow. “Don’t tease- Jesus-“
You wrap your mouth around him, and take him as deep as you can go. He bumps against the back of your throat, but you suppress your gag reflex, relaxing to try and get even more. Your nose brushes against the hair at base of him. Your tongue presses flat against Bucky’s shaft, your fingers still working his balls, and he fists his hand in your hair.
“So- So fuckin’ warm-“ He chokes out. “Holy- You’re somethin’, sweetheart- God-“
You hum, and Bucky’s hips jerk up. He stutters out an apology, but you just moan again. He tries to pull you off, muttering more apologies, and you dig your nails into his thigh. You want it. You want him to use you.
He gets it, after a moment. His grip on your hair tightens. He starts slow, jerking his hips up as he pushes you a little further down, before yanking you back. You moan around his cock, drool falling from your swallow lips. Your eyes roll back. He’s using you, god, he’s using you, and it’s the best fucking thing in the world.
Bucky fucks your face like a fleshlight, and you grind your ass up against nothing. He hits the back of your throat, over and over, salty and heavy on your tongue. The sounds he makes are beautiful and sinful, and-
“Something on my face, doll?”
You blink, and Bucky’s cock isn’t in your mouth anymore. You smack your lips, trying to find it. Bucky frowns at you, the light of the movie making him even more, impossibly handsome. Sam ignores you both, popcorn stuffed in his mouth.
Bucky looks worried. He said something.
“Hm?”
“You were, you were- Uh-“ He clears his throat, then shakes his head. “Never mind.”
He looks back to the TV, and your face burns. His thigh is pressed right against yours. You can swear, when you lick your lips, you can still taste his dick.
You’re so, so fucked.
It only gets worse.
Eating breakfast becomes a trial, because Bucky is always there, and you’re always thinking about his fingers while he eats. How they’d feel stuffed down your throat, gripping your hips, scissoring deep inside of you. He wipes cream cheese off your cheek, and you almost moan.
“You feelin’ alright?” Bucky says, always so caring and worried, and you nod weakly.
“Yeah. Just- Just tired.”
He looks at you like he doesn’t believe you, but lets it go. If you were smarter, you’d be avoiding him. But you’re not. And you still have to work with him, anyway. It makes avoiding him rather impossible.
For a while you cling onto the idea that work would be sacred. That while Bucky’s in your office and you’re examining his arm, it’s purely professional. Not a single dirty thought.
You last about a week, with that one. Bucky startles you walking in. You trip, and he catches you around your waist.
“Careful,” he smiles down at you, all handsome and stupid.
“Uh huh,” you breathe out, and you could’ve sworn a flood gushed out between your legs.
Bucky’s nostrils had flared, and he’d helped you up to your seat. You’d already had the new fantasy, blooming in your mind like the little fucking pervert that you were. You’d tried to shove it down, swaying in the middle of the room, but then you’d looked at him. Sitting with his legs spread in your chair. And you’d been lost.
You imagined climbing into his lap. His arm wrapping around you as you sat down on his cock, grinding slowly, lashes flutters as he kneaded and pulled at your hips and breasts. He’d stand up, taking you with him like you weighed nothing, and pin you to the wall. One arm would stay around you, holding you in place as his mouth started to explore your dripping cunt.
His tongue would work you open, pushing in and out of your pussy. He would’ve already cum inside of you, and every stroke of his tongue would send a wave of your mixed arousals over his beard. You’d watch him, moaning his name, and his thumb would bully and flick and tease your clit, until your were dazed and gasping for air and-
Bucky says your name, and you could slap yourself. This is getting out of hand.
“Sorry,” you mumble, sitting next to him. He smiles at you, so kind.
Always so kind.
“You’ve been kinda out of it, lately.” His words are casual. You still daydream about shooting yourself and running away.
“Just getting lost in thought,” you murmur, and he hums.
“Anything I can help with?”
You shake your head, because if you speak you’ll start begging. Please, please, please, he’s the only one who can help you, you’re going insane with how much you need him, and he could save you, he could really save you-
“Movin’ usually helps me.” He offers softly. You almost don’t hear him. “Y’know. Using my body. Remembering that it’s mine.”
“Yeah?” You say softly, cleaning the panel near his shoulder. He looks at you, and you risk looking back.
You can’t read that expression. You’re not sure you want to.
“Yeah,” he mutters. His gaze might flick down to your lips, but you don’t trust your own mind anymore. “You wanna try it with me? I head to that gym in the basement every night. It ain’t bad.”
And you should say no, but you can’t help it. You nod, and Bucky’s lips twitch, and God, what you won’t do just so he smiles.
You will torture yourself, apparently. Bucky’s too hot to be allowed in a gym. Wearing a tank top that shows off his massive arms, smiling at you all lazy, in the way that’s more of a guard than the slip that you always crave, but a smile all the same.
First, you try walking on the treadmill and just watching him the mirror. He’s lifting weights, and his arms, they should be classified as weapons. You want those biceps keeping you in a head lock, against his chest or at his side. Keeping you still, while his cock pounds relentlessly into your pussy.
Bucky meets your gaze in the mirror. His lips twitch, and you look away, face burning.
You feel him, more than you see him coming over. The gravity of his presence, you think you’d be able to feel him blindfolded and dropped in a crowd of a million people.
“Come on,” he offers you a hand. “Lemme show you something.”
And you can’t say no to him. You really should learn how.
Because the something is training. Wrestling. Throwing fucking punches and trying to get the other down.
“Bucky, I can’t-“
“Yeah, you can.” He raises his fists, nodding to your own. “Up, doll.”
You sigh, raising them slowly. “You’re going to kick my ass-“
“I am. And then you’re going to get better.”
You scoff—he’s ridiculous—but listen. Bucky smirks, and lunges. You yelp and try to scramble away, but he’s too fast. You’re pinned under him in seconds, whacking at his arms and wiggling.
“Bucky- Get off-“
He laughs, standing up with a proud grin. You’ve never seen him so relaxed, so confident. It makes you hornier than you ever could’ve imagined.
He’d been over you. Everywhere over you. Pinning you down and manhandling you, and- Oh God-‘
“Up,” he beckons, and you swallow.
“I- I don’t know-“
“Yeah, you do.” He gives you a playful smile. “Get up.”
You sigh, and scramble to your feet. Bucky raises his fists again. You narrow your eyes, and match.
He chuckles. “Getting competitive?”
You shrug. “You wanted me to.”
Something flashes in his eyes. You’re not sure how to read into it.
“Damn right I do,” his voice is lower. You’re not imagining that.
You don’t get time to think about it, before he’s moving again. You hold your own exactly a second longer than before, but it ends the exact same way. You, pinned under Bucky’s broad, strong body. His face is pressed near your breasts, his fingers digging into your hips, his legs shoving yours apart to stop you from flailing around.
It goes on longer than it shoulder. This strange game that you like playing more than you should. Bucky starts trying to properly get you to throw a punch, but he gives up fast. Soon you’re more play wrestling than doing anything else. You’re giggly and dazed, charging at him like a bull, and he acts as bored and collected as always, but you can see the amusement dancing in his eyes, every time you try to climb him like a tree.
Then something shifts.
He gets you beneath him, and you try to shove at his chest. He catches your wrists and pins them up over your head. Your breath hitches, and he blinks. His hips drop against yours, and you can feel it. The bulge of his cock, pressing into your core.
He’s hard.
Not fully, but enough. Enough that you can imagine every ridged and curve of him, sliding between the puffy lips of your pussy. Your thighs clench, and Bucky grunts, rutting forward.
You both freeze, and your eyes lock. It’s one of those seconds, where you just stare hopelessly at each other. You almost apologize, but your tongue is limp. Bucky’s face is redder than you’ve ever seen it. His cock twitches in his pants.
And this isn’t a dream or fantasy. Bucky mutters your name, and it’s so real you think your heart might pound of your chest.
Bucky moves first. He clears his throat and moves to his feet.
“Better.” He offers you a hand. “That was…”
He trails off. You stare at each other, lost for words.
Bucky turns, and leaves without another word. You sway in the center of the room, breathing shallow, head spinning.
What the fuck just happened.
Bucky kisses up your spine, his mouth hot and possessive. His tongue flicks against your neck, and his fingers dig into your hips. He drags your ass up in the air and you mewl, pressing your face into the sheets.
“Ah,” he scolds, slapping your soaked, swollen pussy. “Lemme hear you, doll.”
You turn your head, moaning loud and shamelessly. Bucky chuckles, kissing a soft spot on your neck.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, notching his cock against your entrance. “Good girl.”
You coo like a baby bird, flushed and dazed. He’s big, so big that it almost hurts. He doubles over you with a groan, pressing his face into your shoulder as he slowly pushes every inch inside of you. The stretch burns in the best way, and you clench down around him.
“No,” Bucky leans down, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Nothin’ to apologize for. Just gotta relax, babydoll. Lemme do the rest.”
You hum, and take a deep breath. You’re grounded, in the feeling of Bucky everywhere. His warmer arm wraps around your neck, forcing you up enough for his lips to trail open kisses over your face.
“That’s my girl,” he mutters against your ear, bottoming fully out. “That’s it. Just take it for me, just like that.”
You mewl, pushing your ass back up, then crying out with delight as Bucky pulls out, and slams back in. He’s met with no resistance, from how your pussy is gushing out with every thrust, every touch, every hot kiss.
But there’s nothing else to be expected. Not with how Bucky’s using you, how worshipful his every touch and kiss is, all while he fucks into you so hard you think the bed is going to break. His breath is hot on your back, the head of his cock drill against that one, gooey spot deep inside you. His cold arm locks around your middle, and his fingers tease and graze over your clit. Rubbing in tight little circles, making your eyes roll back in your head.
Bucky grunts, hauling you up so you’re pressed against his chest. You’re pinned down on his cock now, wet and warm and tight. So fucking tight that it pulls a low, rumbling moan from his chest. His hips slam up in a barely controlled rhythm, chasing more of your heat. You’re limp in his arms. Dazed and smiling like you’re drunk. Bucky uses his arm around your neck to push your head further back, and you have the nerve to fucking giggle.
You’re so beautiful like this that he almost cums right there. Fluttering lashes and the sweetest sounds, you pussy milking him like a machine. He kisses you because he can’t help it, and you hum happily, grinding your ass down into him.
He needs you to cum first. He gropes at your clit, letting his fingers fumble for a second to work you up into a teased, messy frenzy, before he pushes down and rubs in a steady, unyielding rhythm. You cry out his name, squeezing down so hard on his cock, and Bucky buries his face in your neck.
He cums, so hard that his vision goes white. Thick ropes of cum spurt over his hand, squeezing hard at the base of his cock.
It’s not as warm as you’d be, he thinks.
And he thinks. All the time, Bucky just thinks about you. About how you’d feel, molding around him. About how you’d sound right in his ear, how you’d get smiley and drool, and he’s feed you his fingers just so you have something to do with that pretty mouth. You’d moan around them, and he’d thrust up into you so hard he’d knock the damn worries out of your head.
It’s his favorite time of the day, this. Your rooms are closer than you seem to think, or you just forget how good his hearing is.
And every night, right before bed, he gets to settle into the mattress and beat his cock into his hand, listening to you moan and call his name. He’d never tell you. You deserve better, than a broken robot like him. He counts himself lucky he even gets to be your friend, because he’s a man well practiced at restraint. At not getting what he wants.
But this space, where no one can see, he allows himself things. He allows himself you.
But only ever in his head.
✦End note: this might be one of my fave bucky fics i just got to be soooo horny with it✦
✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦
him cumming too soon the first time you give him a handjob after being married because he looks at the big shiny ring on your finger and remembers you’re his wife
perfect night for lovemaking, letting the windows open to have the cool night air kiss your hot and sweaty skins. lips smacking, hands holding tightly to one another, the creak of the bed at every sweet and deep thrust. his eyes scanning your body and softening when they meet yours, him kissing your salty skin and biting to leave marks to remind you in the morning of how much he loves you, praises whispered in between kisses, next to the shell of your ear so that only you and the night breeze will hear
sex with a nerd who looks up at you star-dazed as you ride them. pupils blown out wide, their hands trembling as they rest on your thighs because they don't know where else to put them (until you guide them where you want to feel them). their hips involuntarily twitching upwards and rutting into you when you tease to pull out early, the stammered love confession when all you asked them to do is beg. their head thrown back and the half-pleading, half-feral groan when you trail kisses down their exposed neck during the aftermath. how easily they flip you around to bury themselves inside of you again and again and again
knight who is on the verge of breaking his vow when he submits and allows his lady to completely undress before him and grind on his lap, watching her get herself off over the bulge in his pants, and who is absolutely stressing over it.
Note This is porn without plot. Which is weird because I am not that much into writing smut because I can be awkward as hell but some things happened and now here we are. This was gonna be something that was pretended to be at 1k words, a blowjob little thing but then... yes. Expect some Bucky whimpering. On a couch. Lovely. Still, smut might not be my thing but my thing surely is making them so nauseous because they're so in love.
You and Bucky started your evening by watching a movie. ‘Revenge Of The Sith’, Bucky picked this time and groaned a bit when you started fawning over Anakin. By the end of it, you two were just talking, about the movie, a mission that tired you both the week before and even if Bucky liked that new dish soap he picked last time you went for groceries. Your voice a low, familiar hum that calm him as you curled into his side on the too-small couch in his Brooklyn apartment. The one he’d picked because it forced you close. You’d always suspected that.
Once Bucky realized there was no more popcorn, he stood up, walking towards the kitchen for more and in that moment, you sat on the floor, loving the way the rug he bought a couple months ago felt on your knees. He came back and his grin made you feel your cheeks warm. He didn’t say a thing and only sat back down, sprawled across the couch, all six feet of super-soldier taking up every inch of the cushions like a very large, very dangerous housecat claiming a sunbeam.
The only light in his living room is the blue-white glow of the city through the window, catching on the sharp line of his jaw, the metal glint of his left hand resting on the back of the couch. He’s warm. Solid. A wall of muscle and quiet tension that only ever seems to unspool completely when it’s just the two of you. He’d been sharing the popcorn with you, feeding you from the bowl in his hands while you sat down, facing him.
After a few minutes, you realized that Bucky hadn’t said a word for a while, only humming when you say something and the truth is that he’d been watching you. Watching the way your hair fell over your shoulder, the way you bit your lip when you told a particular fascinating story that happened on your trip with Wanda, the way you shifted occasionally to get more comfortable on the floor until eventually you’d leaned back against the couch between his legs.
That was when you’d felt it.
Not intentionally—God, not intentionally at first. You’d just been trying to find a position that didn’t make your neck hurt, so you’d tilted your head back, let it rest against the inside of his thigh, and blinked up at him for no reason other than to check if he was still awake.
He was awake. He was very, painfully, obviously awake.
The bulge in his jeans was impossible to miss from this angle. You could see the thick curve of it, heavy and half-hard, pressed against the rough fabric like it was trying to escape. And there was something about the way he was looking at you—bottom lip caught between his teeth, pupils blown wide despite the dim lighting, chest barely moving like he was afraid to breathe too loud and break whatever spell had fallen over the room—that made you want to be very, very still.
His left leg is bouncing—a nervous tic he’s never quite shaken despite the century of life behind him. You press your palm flat against his shin, stilling the motion, and the muscle immediately goes soft under your touch.
“Sweetheart.” His voice is a low rumble, already frayed at the edges. “What are you really doing down there?”
You don't answer with words. You just turn around on your knees and shift closer, nudging his knees apart with your shoulders until you can slot yourself perfectly back into the vee of his legs. His thighs are thick, solid as oak trees, and when you let the weight of your head fall against the inside of his right thigh, you feel the immediate, violent tremor that runs through him. The bowl drops, the popcorn making a disaster that neither you or Bucky pay attention to. His flesh hand comes up to hover uselessly over your hair, not quite touching, like he’s afraid you’re a hallucination.
“This okay?” you murmur, but you know it’s more than okay. You can feel the answer pressed against the curve of your cheek, hidden beneath the worn dark blue jeans he’d pulled on after his shower. It’s not subtle. It’s a heavy, thick shape, half-hard and twitching with every exhale you deliberately push through your nose against the sensitive seam of his thigh.
Bucky swallows so loud you hear it click. “You’re gonna kill me,” he whispers, and it sounds like a prayer.
That’s when you look up.
You take your time, letting your lashes drag against the coarse fabric of his jeans as you tilt your chin. First, you see the white-knuckle grip he has on the arm of the couch—his flesh hand, veins standing out like rivers. Then his stomach, the muscles jumping beneath his thin henley. And finally, his face.
Oh, his face.
Your man looks utterly wrecked and you haven’t even touched him yet. His jaw is slack, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, and his eyes—those impossibly blue, ocean-deep eyes—are blown so wide with want that the pupil has swallowed nearly all the iris. He’s staring down at you like you’re the last source of light in a universe going dark.
You blink up at him, slow and syrupy sweet. Innocent. The picture of placid devotion. “What?” you ask, your voice a featherlight thing. “I’m just sitting here.”
A broken sound catches in his throat. Not a groan, not a sigh—something higher, more desperate. A whimper. You’ve heard him roar in battle, heard him snarl at threats, heard him laugh that rare, beautiful laugh. But this. This small, punched-out noise of pure, unraveling need? It goes straight between your own legs like a live wire.
“You know,” he grits out, finally letting his hand fall to cup the back of your skull. He doesn’t push. He just holds, his thumb stroking a frantic rhythm behind your ear. “You know exactly what you’re fucking doing.”
You turn your head, just a fraction, just enough to press your open mouth to the inside of his thigh. You only taste the cloth but still, there’s his essence there and when you drag your tongue in a wet, slow stripe over the fabric, his hips jerk off the couch. His cock bumps against your cheekbone, a hot, heavy brand even through the layers, and you feel a gush of slickness soak through your own underwear.
“Bucky,” you say, and it’s the first real thing you’ve said. Not a question. A promise.
His metal hand comes up to cover his own mouth, the cold vibranium stark against his flushed lips. “Don’t,” he begs, but he doesn’t know what he’s begging for. Don’t stop? Don’t look at him like that? Don’t make him come apart before you’ve even gotten his jeans off?
Then his hand came up to cup your cheek, the vibranium somehow warm against your skin, and he said your name like it was the only word he had left. “What do you want?” he asked, and his voice was so soft, so careful, so achingly tender that you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “Tell me what you want and it’s yours. Anything. Everything. Just tell me.”
You turned your head just enough to press a kiss to his palm, then his wrist. “I want to make you feel good,” you said. “I want to take care of you. I want to watch you fall apart because of me. Can I do that, James? Can I be good for you?”
His answer was to pull you forward by the back of your neck and kiss you like he was drowning.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft. It was desperate, hungry, all teeth and tongue and the kind of wanting that came from years of deprivation. He kissed you like he was trying to crawl inside your skin, like he needed to taste every corner of your mouth to convince himself you were real.
When he finally pulled back, you were both breathing hard. His lips were kiss-swollen, his eyes half-lidded, and the bulge in his jeans had gone from noticeable to obscene.
“Floor,” he said, and his voice was wrecked. “You want to be on the floor, sweetheart? Then stay on the floor. But if you’re going to kneel there looking like that, you’d better put that pretty mouth to use.”
The command in his voice made your stomach flip. You’d seen Bucky be soft, had held him through nightmares and panic attacks and the kind of grief that came from losing seventy years of your life. But this Bucky—the one who looked at you like he wanted to devour you, the one whose chest was heaving with the effort of restraint—this Bucky made your thighs press together.
You’re merciless. You nuzzle closer, letting your nose trace the prominent line of his erection through the dark denim. He’s thick, so fucking thick, and when you breathe in, you can smell him—musk and heat and something uniquely Bucky that makes your mouth water. He watches your fingers work on his belt, work the leather free, the metal buckle clinking softly. His breath is coming in short, sharp pants. His thighs are trembling under your hands, the muscles jumping like live wires. You take your time, dragging the zipper down tooth by tooth, and you feel the tension in him ratchet higher with every click. Your fingers hook into the waistband of his jeans, and he lifts his hips before you even have to ask, a man desperate to give you anything, everything.
You blink again. Sweeter this time and pull them down just past his thighs, just enough. His cock springs free, slapping against his lower belly with a wet sound, the tip already glistening, flushed a deep, angry red. He’s beautiful. All of him is beautiful, but this—the vulnerability of him, the way he’s trembling like a leaf in a storm while you’re still fully clothed—is a different kind of gorgeous. Thick enough to stretch your jaw, long enough to make your mouth water, curving slightly towards his stomach. You’ve had it in every way imaginable, but seeing it like this—inches from your face, twitching under your gaze—never gets old.
“Look at me,” you command softly, and his gaze snaps down to yours. There are tears clinging to his lashes. Actual tears. He is so far gone for you, so utterly, pathetically down bad, that just the sight of you kneeling between his thighs has him on the verge of sobbing. “Buck,” you murmur, your voice a soft, sleepy thing. “You’re all tense.”
He makes a sound. A strangled, low thing that rumbles up from the back of his throat. His right hand comes up, hovering in the air like he doesn’t know what to do with it—touch you, push you away, fist it in his own hair. His pupils are blown wide, swallowing the grey of his iruses until they’re almost black.
“Fuck,” you breathed, and it wasn’t performative. It was genuine awe. “You’re so big, Buck. How is this going to fit?”
His head fell back against the couch cushion with a thud. “Don’t. Don’t say things like that. I’m already—“ He groaned as you wrapped your hand around the base, feeling the weight of him in your palm. “I’m not going to last. You know I’m not going to last. You’re too much. You’re too fucking much, and I love you, and I can’t—“
Bucky makes another sound. A desperate, keening little whimper that would embarrass him if he had any blood left in his brain. “Stop looking at it like that,” he begs.
“Like what?”
“Like it’s a—a popsicle. Like you’re about to—fuck, sweetheart, your mouth. I can feel you thinking about it.”
You grin, wide and sharp, and finally, finally, you wrap your hand around the base. He’s hot. Velvet over steel. He jerks in your grip, and a bead of precum wells up at the tip, pearly and glistening in the low light.
You lean in, slow, and you don’t break eye contact. You let your tongue dart out, just the very tip, and you lick it away.
Bucky’s entire body seizes. His metal hand slams down on the couch arm, leaving dents in the leather. His right hand flies to your hair, not pushing, just… holding. Anchoring. His fingers twist into the strands, and he’s shaking.
“Oh, God,” he whispers. “Oh, God. Please. Please, baby. I need—I need you to—”
“You need me to what?” you ask, and you kiss the head of his cock. Soft. Chaste. A peck. Like you’re saying goodnight.
He sobs. Actually sobs, a wet, broken sound that goes straight between your legs. “Don’t make me say it.”
“Say it.”
“Suck it,” he gasps, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Please suck my cock. Please. I’ve been good. I’ve been so good all day, I did the dishes, I didn’t complain about the traffic, I—please, sweetheart, just—I need your mouth. I need it so bad I can’t think.” He whines a bit, making your thighs clench. “I’m not gonna last,” he warns, his voice cracking on the last syllable. “Baby, please, I can’t—you waited too long, you were down there looking so pretty, I already almost—“
You cut him off by leaning forward and dragging the flat of your tongue from the base of his shaft to the very tip.
The sound he makes is inhuman. A deep, guttural keen that vibrates through the floorboards. His back arches off the couch, his metal hand scrabbling for purchase on the cushion, tearing a small hole in the fabric. His hips buck again, and you let him, letting the head of his cock bump against your lips, your chin, smearing precome across your skin like a gloss.
“Please,” he sobs, and it’s not a controlled plea. It’s a wrecked, animal noise. “Please, sweetheart, I need your mouth, I need—fuck, I need.”
You take pity on him. You’re not cruel, not really. You just like him like this—wrecked and begging and so full of want it spills out of every word.
You wrap your lips around the head and sink down.
The sound he made was inhuman. It was a sob and a moan and a prayer all rolled into one, and it vibrated through the room like a physical force. His hips bucked involuntarily, pushing himself deeper into your throat, and you had to brace your hands on his thighs to keep from gagging.
“Sorry—shit, sorry, I’m sorry—” He was already apologizing, already trying to pull back, but you held on. You looked up at him through wet lashes, tears already forming at the corners of your eyes from the stretch, and you saw the exact moment he broke.
“Oh, god. Oh, fuck. Baby. Baby, please.”
You couldn’t answer with your mouth full, so you showed him instead. You relaxed your throat, took him deeper, let the tip press against the back of your palate until your eyes watered and your nose pressed against the thatch of dark hair at his base. You held there for a moment, feeling him pulse against your tongue, tasting the salt of his precome spreading across your taste buds.
His hands fly to your head, both of them now, flesh and metal tangling in your hair. He doesn’t push. He holds, his grip desperate but reverent, as if you’re something holy he’s terrified of breaking. You take him deeper, relaxing your throat, letting him feel the wet, silky clutch of it. His hips stutter, barely controlled, and he starts to babble.
“Oh my god. Oh my god, that’s—you’re so good, you’re so fucking good, how are you this good—I love you, I love you, I’m sorry for swearing, I’m sorry, fuck, fuck—“
You pull off with a wet pop, just to look at him. Just to watch the devastation on his face. His chest is heaving, his hair is plastered to his forehead, and his eyes are glazed, unfocused, like he’s already floating somewhere above his body.
“You apologize right now, honey?” you ask and smirk, licking your lips slowly, deliberately.
He chokes on a laugh that turns into a moan. “You make me—ah—you make me crazy, I can’t think straight, everything’s just—please put it back, I was so close, baby, I was so fucking close—“
You oblige. But this time, you don’t tease. You swallow him down to the root, and you stay there. Your throat works around him, your tongue pressing flat against the thick vein on the underside, and you feel the exact moment he shatters.
You hum around him, a low vibration, and his hand tightens in your hair. “Fuck. Fuck, baby, that’s—that’s it. Just like that. Oh, Jesus.”
You take him deeper, inch by aching inch. You let your tongue press flat against the vein on the underside. You let your saliva pool and drip, messy and wet, because you know he likes it sloppy. You know he likes the sounds—the wet, obscene gluck of your mouth working him, the way you gag just a little when he hits the back of your throat.
He’s babbling now. A stream of consciousness, raw and unfiltered.
“So good. So fucking good at this. Look at you—look at my pretty girl with her mouth full of my cock. You’re so—oh—you’re so beautiful like this. On your knees for me. Blinking up at me with those pretty fucking eyes.”
You moan in answer, and the vibration makes his whole body shudder.
When you finally pulled back, a string of saliva connected your bottom lip to the head of his cock. You wiped it away with the back of your hand and smiled up at him.
“Good?”
Bucky looked like he was having a religious experience. His mouth was open, his eyes were glassy, and his chest was heaving like he’d just run a marathon. His metal hand was gripping the couch cushion so hard that you could hear the fabric starting to tear.
“Good,” he repeated, and then laughed, a broken, breathless sound. “Good. Yeah. That was—you’re trying to kill me. You’re literally trying to murder me, and I’m going to let you, because I can’t—I can’t fucking think when you look at me like that.”
“Then don’t think,” you said again, and went back down.
You built a rhythm this time, slow and deliberate. You wanted to savor him, wanted to learn every sound he made, every twitch of his hips, every tremor in his thighs. You found that he was vocal—god, was he vocal—and that every time you hummed around him, he made this desperate little whimper that went straight to your core.
“Please,” he kept saying, like a mantra. “Please, please, please—“
You weren’t sure what he was asking for. More? Less? Permission to come? Permission to grab your hair and fuck your throat the way you could tell he wanted to? It didn’t matter. You knew what you wanted to give him.
You pull off slowly, dragging your lips up the length of him, and you let the tip pop out of your mouth with a wet sound. A string of spit connects you to him, and you break it with a flick of your tongue.
“More,” you say, your voice hoarse. “Tell me more.”
He looks down at you, and his eyes are glazed, his mouth open, his chest heaving. He looks like a man who’s been drowning and just found air.
“I think about this all the time,” he confesses, and his voice is a whisper now, raw and honest. “When I’m on missions. When we’re in meetings with the team and they won’t shut up and then you’re there writing whatever in your book in those old sweatpants and you look do hot it makes me so hard. When I’m trying to sleep. I think about you on your knees. I think about the way you look up at me. Like I’m—like I’m something worth kneeling for.”
You feel a hot, sharp ache bloom in your chest. It’s not just the words. It’s the way he says them. Like a secret. Like a prayer.
“You are,” you say, and you mean it. “You’re everything worth kneeling for.”
You take him back again into your mouth. You sink down until your throat spasms around him, until tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You stay there for a count of three, four, five, your nails digging into his thighs. Your head kept bobbing up and down, your hand working on the base when you were too busy sucking and licking at his head.
It starts with a whimper—high, thin, desperate. Then his whole body seizes, his thighs clamping around your ribs like a vise, his hands yanking your hair hard enough to sting. He screams. A muffled, desperate thing, bitten off behind his fist. His whole body arches off the couch, and his hips jerk, and this time he doesn’t stop them. He thrusts up into your throat, shallow and frantic, and you let him. You take it. You fucking love it.
“I’m gonna—baby, I’m gonna come,” he warns, his voice cracking. “You have to—if you don’t want—fuck, you have to stop—”
You double down. You suck harder, hollow your cheeks, bob your head in a fast, filthy rhythm. You reach up and cup his balls, heavy and tight, and you roll them gently in your palm and just like that, he comes apart.
He comes with a broken wail, a broken shout of your name his hips pumping up into your mouth, his release hitting the back of your throat in hot, thick pulses. You swallow everything, greedy for it, and you keep sucking, keep milking him, moaning around him as the vibrations draw out every last shudder from his frame, until he’s whimpering.
He goes limp like a marionette with cut strings.
You stay where you are, mouth soft around his softening length, until his fingers loosen in your hair and start stroking, gentle now, soothing and pushing at your head, too sensitive to take any more. Only then you pull off slowly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Your lips are swollen, your chin wet, your eyes still glassy with tears. You look up at him, and he’s crying.
Tears stream silently down his temples, disappearing into his hairline. His lips are parted, panting, and he’s staring at the ceiling like he’s just seen the face of God. You press a kiss to the inside of his thigh, then his knee, then crawl up his body until you’re straddling his lap, your forehead pressed to his.
“Hey,” you whisper, cupping his stubbled jaw. “You okay?”
He blinks. His eyes focus on your face, and a smile breaks across his tear-stained cheeks—wobbly, radiant, so full of love it makes your own chest ache. He pulls you into his chest, wrapping both arms around you so tightly you can’t move, burying his face in your neck.
“I love you so much,” he mumbles into your skin, voice wrecked and hoarse. “I love you. I can’t words. I forgot how to words.”
You laugh, soft and fond, and kiss the side of his head. “That’s okay. I love you too.”
He’s a disaster. Sprawled across the couch, his jeans around his knees, his chest heaving. His face is flushed, his eyes are wet, and he’s staring at you like you’ve hung the moon.
“Come here,” he rasps, and he hauls you against his chest, burying his face in your neck. His arms wrap around you, tight and desperate, flesh hand and metal hand both clutching at your back like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
“I love you,” he mumbles into your skin. “I love you so much. That was—fuck. That was—”
“Good?” you offer, running your fingers through his sweaty hair.
“I blacked out for a second,” he admits. “Like, actually blacked out. Saw the light. Met God and he just said, ‘Tell your girlfriend she’s a menace.’”
You laugh, a bright, startled sound, and he lifts his head just enough to look at you. There’s so much warmth in his eyes. So much softness. The kind of love that doesn’t need words, that lives in the curve of his smile and the way his thumb is tracing circles on your spine.
“I’m not done with you,” you say, and you feel him stir again beneath you. Already. The supersoldier serum is a gift.
His eyebrows shoot up. “You want—now?”
“I want to ride you,” you say, plain and simple. “I want to be on top. I want to watch your face while I fuck myself on your cock.”
His hands tighten on your hips. His pupils dilate again, swallowing the grey. “Yeah,” he breathes, licking his bottom lip while watching your face. “Yeah, okay. Yeah, I want that. I want that so bad.”
You don’t bother with stripping. You just reach down and shove your own shorts and underwear to the side, just enough to bare yourself. You’re soaked, slick and ready, and when you line him up and sink down onto him in one slow, steady motion, you both groan.
He’s thick inside you, stretching you open, filling you up. You pause when he’s fully seated, just breathing, just feeling. His head falls forward to rest against your collarbone, and his hands are shaking on your waist.
“So tight,” he whispers. “So warm. Fuck, sweetheart. You feel like coming home even when I fucked you this morning. Oh shit.”
You start to move.
Slow at first. A gentle roll of your hips, a lazy grind that makes his eyes flutter shut. You brace your hands on his shoulders, feeling the hard muscle flex under your palms, and you find a rhythm. Up and down. Rocking and circling. Every drag of his cock against your walls sends sparks up your spine.
He’s watching you. His eyes are open now, dark and hungry, tracking every shift of your expression. Your bitten lips. Your flushed cheeks. The way your head falls back when you find the right angle.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, and his voice is low and rough and so full of awe. “That’s my girl. Take what you need. Use me. I’m yours. I’m so fucking yours.”
You speed up. The couch creaks under you, the springs groaning in protest. Your thighs are burning, but you don’t care. You chase the feeling building low in your belly, the tight coil of pleasure that’s winding tighter with every thrust.
Bucky’s hands roam. Up your sides, under your shirt, across your stomach. His metal fingers are cool against your heated skin, a delicious contrast. He palms your breasts, thumbs your nipples, and you moan, loud and wanton.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says, and his voice is breaking again. “Look at you. Riding me like you were made for it. Like you were made for me.”
“I was,” you gasp. “I was made for you, Bucky. Only you.”
His hips buck up to meet yours, and the new angle makes you see stars. You cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders, and he does it again. And again. A relentless, perfect rhythm that has you teetering on the edge.
“Come for me,” he begs, and his hands are gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “Please, baby. I want to feel you come around my cock. I want you to—fuck—I want you to soak me. Let go. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
You fall.
It crashes over you like a wave, white-hot and blinding, and you scream his name. Your body clenches around him, vice-tight, and he follows right after, a broken moan torn from his chest as he spills inside you.
You collapse against him, boneless and trembling. His arms close around you, holding you safe, and you press your face into the crook of his neck. His heart is pounding against your chest, a wild, frantic rhythm that slowly, slowly begins to slow.
Neither of you speaks for a long time. The city hums outside the window. The couch is a mess. You’re both a mess.
He presses a kiss to your temple. Then your forehead. Then the tip of your nose.
“I’m fucking down bad for you,” he says quietly, like a confession. “Like, embarrassingly down bad. Sam and Steve make fun of me. Natasha says I look at you like a puppy watching its owner eat bacon.”
You laugh, weak and breathless. “A puppy?”
“A very pathetic, very lovesick puppy,” he confirms. “She’s not wrong.”
You tilt your head back to look at him. He’s soft now. Sated. The sharp edges of his want have smoothed into something gentle and warm. He’s still flushed, still a little sweaty, and his hair is a complete disaster.
“Good,” you say, and you kiss the underside of his jaw. “Because I’m down bad for you too. Embarrassingly. Pathetically.”
He grins, wide and bright, and it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.
Later, after he’s carried you to the bathroom and cleaned you up with ridiculous tenderness, after he’s changed the sheets on the bed because “there’s no way we’re sleeping on that couch tonight, sweetheart, it’s a biohazard”—later, when you’re tucked under the blankets with his arm around your waist and his face buried in your hair, he speaks again.
“Hey,” he murmurs.
“Hmm?”
“Next time,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “Can I kneel for you?”
You turn in his arms, pressing your forehead to his and grin. It's a silent conversation, knowing that he loves spending his time like that. He kisses you then, soft and slow, and you fall asleep like that. Tangled together. Wrapped up in each other. Two people so ridiculously, embarrassingly, down bad that it loops all the way back around to being the easiest thing in the world.
depraved post incoming…do y’all…remember that one bucky fic where he went to a glory hole (?) and does anyone have any idea if that author has added on to that story? all i remember was that it was hot asf.
“I can't trust my own mind. So, until they figure out how to get this stuff out of my head I think going back under is the best thing . . . for everybody.”
PAIRING: college!bucky barnes x college!reader
WORD COUNT: 333
WARNINGS: reader is drunk, friends with benefits implied, confession of feelings,
no use of y/n.
SONG PROMPT: jump (for my love) by the pointer sisters
LYRICS: “you are the one.”
NOTE: had nothing planned for today’s one like the others so i scraped something together 🥲
event masterlist | day six | day eight | main masterlist
Music thunders throughout the house, loud enough that the pulse of it can be felt under your feet as you shove past the throes of college students and stumble out the front door and into the rain. Your heart's pounding from both what you've just seen and the amount of alcohol you'd consumed tonight.
You had to get out.
But Bucky's quick as he jogs after you, catching your arm.
"C'mon, wait up—"
You turn to push him away, but the alcohol in your body makes the world spin, you lose your footing and hit the floor.
"Jesus," He breathes, dropping to his knees beside you.
"I'm fine." You sniffle, cheeks flushing, pushing his hovering hands away feebly.
Bucky shakes his head, "You rushed outta there like a bat outta hell. . . don't lie to me."
"It's silly."
He shrugs, "Tell me anyway."
"I saw you, with Nat," You whisper shakily, "And I know we're not— we're just— we're messing around, but. . . but it not like that for me, not anymore."
Bucky's eyebrows furrow in confusion, and you watch the moment realisation dawns on him, and then his expression softens into something you're too afraid to name, "Oh, baby—"
"Don't call me that," You choke out softly, "Please, I can't— we—"
"She means nothing," Bucky's hands cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing away your tears, "Okay? Nothing to me. Nat kissed me, I didn't kiss her back, okay? I'd never. . . because it's you."
You frown, wobbly and uncertain, ". . .what?"
He tilts his head, smiling softly, "I don't want Nat. . . I want you. You are the one, you idiot. Since the day you dropped those books on my feet in the library."
"Am I dreaming?" You croak.
Bucky chuckles as he stands, scooping you up off the floor, rain still pouring around you, "No, baby, you're not."
"Then say it again." You sniffle.
He kisses your forehead, "You're the one, and I'll remind you again in the morning, when you're hungover and regretting your life choices."
🏷️: @metal-armed-muse @kileyking @nightfirecomit @juniebjonesin @chocolatemilkshakex @spring-soldier @spideyskywalker @phoenix-in-writing @buckytakethewheel @i-loveyoubutyourenotmine + to be added to the tag list? comment on this post or send in an ask!
avengers!bucky seems to hate you, and you find his hatred for you kinda hot
cw: 18+ minors dni — fem!reader, avengers!reader, frenemies to lovers, reader is lowkey a freak, suggestive content
bucky barnes masterlist ༻ navi
you honestly shouldn’t find bucky’s hatred for you hot.
the way he sighs when you walk into a room, or the way he grumbles under his breath when you’re both paired together on a mission. the way his eyebrows furrow and his lips pinch together in a thin line, just makes you want to climb his big body like a tree and maybe that thought is crazy, but god forbid a girl is attracted to a six foot something man with massive biceps.
you let out a proud grin when you manage to sneak your leg under bucky’s and slam his back onto the mat.
you see the way bucky clenches his jaw, sitting up with a frown.
“awh dont be upset that i kicked your ass while sparring… again.” you let out a high pitched laugh, running away as soon as bucky jumps to his feet.
“you piss me the fuck off.” bucky grumbles, going to the side to take a sip of his water.
“i know.” you shrug, coming closer to him since he’s made it obvious that he’s not going to chase after you like last time.
“i don’t know why though.” you sigh, sitting down on the bench beside him. “i really don’t do anything bad to you, i just… exist and to you that is somehow a problem.”
you hear bucky let out a long, loud sigh, before he gets up. “cmon let’s go again.” he says, cracking his neck.
you roll your eyes, realising that he just completely ignored everything you just said.
this happens all the time and now it’s starting to get annoying. every time you try and have a normal conversation with him that doesn’t include cussing or cursing, he ignores you.
you stand up crossing your arms. “no.”
“no?” bucky repeats, his eyebrow raising.
“no.” you say again. “im done. im always nice to you, i never cause any problems for you and you. you’re just ugh.” you throw your hands in the air because you can’t exactly tell him that even though he’s never once said a positive thing about you, you still want him to rail you into the fucking mattress.
you let out a frustrated sigh, picking up your water bottle and walking out of the training room.
before you can even get close to the door, you feel a hand wrap around your wrist and pull you back.
you gasp, when you’re spun around so you’re facing bucky. bucky who’s jaw is clenching so damn hard, you’re surprised he still has his teeth in his mouth.
“wha—mmph” you eyes widen in surprise, when bucky roughly crashes his lips against yours. your eyes quickly close, when you feel him push you against the nearest wall, his hands sliding around your waist. you kiss him back more fiercely, pushing your tongue in his mouth and nibbling on his bottom lip. he groans, one of his hands wandering down to your ass, giving it a light squeeze before he pulls his mouth away.
he pants, resting his forehead on yours. “that’s fucking why i can’t speak to you. or look at you. or be any fucking where near you, because everytime you smirk at me, or look at me with those damn ‘fuck me’ eyes, all i can think about is bending you over the nearest fucking surface.” and with that, he turns around and walks out of the training room.
for the first time ever, you’re left speechless.
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AN: hehe just a lil something until i publish my main fic 💋
