welcome to my masterlist ! the emojis next to the works means :
⚡angst
🫂 fluff
🔞 smut
one-shots :
bucky x sam
⚡stars will fall : "Bucky? It’s the wings, I- I can’t control ‘em anymore, I think-" the coms cut abruptly. Bucky abandoned his fight and ran as fast as he could outside the building, only to see Sam crash on the ground with a deafening sound.
🫂in the warmth of your arms : The Thunderbolts find out that Bucky does not sleep. Yelena makes it her personal mission to resolve the problem.
🔞late night reunion : In a universe where Sam joined the Thunderbolts* and just arrived in the tower, there's still tension between him and Bucky after the whole copyright thing. But one night, as Bucky couldn't sleep, he goes to Sam's door to seek comfort...or more...
⚡but please stay : Sam asks Bucky to stay with him in the hospital scene in CABNW.
🫂⚡what took you so long ? : Sam leaves Bucky back in NY while he goes on a mission, which ends up way too long to his linking. Sam wasn't expecting to find him there when he got back.
⚡meeting again in strange conditions : As superheroes meet in the Watchtower to form a plan against Doom, Sam and Bucky meet again after not talking since the 'New Avengers' incident.
🔞 based on a prompt : the idea of sam leaving hickeys and bite marks on bucky, even tho they will fade in only a couple of hours, because he loves to show bucky who he belongs to and bucky goes insane for it
bucky x steve
🫂⚡getting used to the quiet of our apartment : Where Bucky has a violent nightmare and doesn't speak for days after that. Steve tries to handle this the best he can.
🫂⚡healing your wounds : Steve comes home after a rough mission. Thankfully, Bucky is here to make sure he's okay.
bucky
🫂⚡this unrelenting ache : !!! Thunderbolts* spoilers ahead !!! The new team goes back to the watchtower and Bucky deals with the aftermath of getting his vibranium arm ripped off. (set after Valentina's speech, after the fight with the Void.)
🫂hearing loss : based on a headcanon : Bucky lost his hearing on one side because of the electrical chair HYDRA used on him. fast forward to post-Thunderbolts* when Yelena discovers that Bucky has been hiding his disability.
multiple chapters fics (on AO3) :
bucky x sam
⚡🫂🔞 i hope you answer : A texting fic between Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson (and more) post divorce, including yearning, sad puppy eyes Bucky, and maybe a happy ending. (finished, 18K words)
fem sambucky !!! (no request. literally no one wanted this but me)
-samantha "sammy" wilson, captain america
now playing: "400 lux" by lorde ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|• 0:10
-jamie "bucky" barnes, the winter soldier
requests are open if you have another ship you'd like me to turn sapphic-fy (or whatever????? no catchy names yet) !!! got this idea from a fem sambucky edit with these fancasts and the brainrot got to me i just had to. anyway plsplspls give me another ship if you'd like to see it!!!
panel from an old comic thing i was writing abt bucky...here he is on the run hallucinating himself and eating delicious cherry jam straight from the jar
summary : based on a headcanon : Bucky lost his hearing on one side because of the electrical chair HYDRA used on him.
fast forward to post-Thunderbolts* when Yelena discovers that Bucky has been hiding his disability.
tags : disabled character, hearing loss, PTSD, good friends Yelena and Sam, aftermath of torture
word count : 800 words
author's note : thanks to my incredible beta reader @eyelessfaces mwah
The flight back to the Watchtower is quiet, everyone is tired from the long mission Valentina sent them to. The hum of the jet acts as white noise for Bucky, who's sitting across Sam and Yelena on the back of the vehicle. Sam is already filling mission paperwork, and Yelena looks bored, fidgeting with one of her rings. Bucky lays on his back on the bench and closes his eyes, knowing that he won't sleep anyway, not that he doesn't trust Joaquin who is flying them, it's just his brain telling him to stay alert no matter what.
Yelena yawns for what feels like the hundredth time already, and looks at the soldier in front of her, knowing that he's not asleep. "Psst, Barnes," she calls, her voice just above the noise around them. But Bucky doesn't move an inch. Weird, she thinks, she was pretty sure she remembered Bucky telling her at some point that he got enhanced hearing from the serum. "Barnes!" she calls louder, almost yelling.
As opposed to the man concerned, Sam's head snaps up, looking at Bucky, then Yelena. "Is he ignoring me on purpose?" she asks Sam, crossing her arms on her chest with a pout.
Sam puts his paperwork on the bench next to him and shakes his head, a smirk on his face. "I wouldn't be surprised if he was," he shrugs. "His bad ear is on this side," he nods to Bucky's side facing them. "He probably didn't hear you."
Surprise crosses Yelena's face. "Bad ear?" she repeats. "What do you mean by that?" She now looks at the other man with concern.
Sam frowned, "Wait. He didn't tell y'all?"
"Tell us what?"
"I should've expected this," he rubs a hand over his tired face. "His hearing was damaged when HYDRA was…you know. The left panel of the electric chair was pressed against his ear, now he can't hear at all on this side."
"Oh," is all Yelena says, taking in the new information. As if on cue, the man in front of them opens his eyes and sits again, stretching his neck.
Bucky looks taken aback when he notices Sam and Yelena staring right at him, Yelena's eyes filled with an emotion he hasn't seen before on her face. "Did something happen?" He looks around the jet, towards the cockpit, but everything seems to be in order.
"You didn't tell us about your hearing problems," Yelena says so softly that he has to turn his head slightly to hear her with his good ear.
"Oh. Um, I guess it didn't- I don't know if that was really relevant," he shrugs, avoiding his teammates' gaze.
"So most of the time you're not snubbing us on purpose, huh?" Yelena tries to joke so Bucky doesn't spiral into culpability, seeing the man's shoulder tense at the discovery.
"Most of the time but not always, no," he chuckles lightly. "I've already looked it up with doctors and Shuri but the damage is irreversible." A small but pained smile etches on his face when he looks back at Yelena, who reciprocates it. "I promise that I'm still as good for missions though," he quickly adds, the fear of being sidelined coming back at the front of his mind, just like every time he thought about telling his team about his disability.
That fond look clouds Yelena's face once again as she answers softly, "Oh I never doubted you, Bucky. You're a great asset in this team, we all know it."
Sam watches as Bucky takes the compliment, his head bowing, nodding slightly to himself. "See, I told you you could trust them, Buck." Sam bows his head too, trying to catch his partner's eye.
Sam has seen Bucky's recovery from HYDRA, and still notices when he gets insecure about himself. When he told Sam about not being so sure about joining the Thunderbolts, Sam told him that he was entirely sure that they would want him there. When his partner still wasn't convinced, Sam made him sit at their kitchen table and reminded him everything that made him the exceptional human being that he was, which made Bucky blush for a hot minute before accepting to give this a try.
Now, Bucky finally raises his head while continuously avoiding eye contact, and mutters a simple, "Thank you."
Yelena waves it off like it was nothing and changes the subject as John and Ava walk into the back of the jet. "So, what are we eating tonight?"
—
Later, Bucky would open up slowly but confidently to his other teammates by confiding his disability when the time felt right : whether it was a relatable anecdote or trying to cheer someone up by sharing his own story, all under the supporting eye of Sam. As the weeks passed, Bucky became more confident and he never felt more accepted in a team than with the Thunderbolts.
summary: there’s nothing in the world you hate more than doing the dishes, and bob isn’t so fond of the idea of it either, so instead of fighting over who would do it, you figured a way to make it interesting – the first one to come takes the dishes duty.
cw: f!reader, smut, sixty nine position, oral m and f receiving, munch bob let's go, handjob, fingering, counts as mutual masturbation I guess? praise kink, banter
a/n: yeah hi I'm just on fire these days. don't mind me
There’s nothing in the world you hate more than doing the dishes.
A pile rests in the kitchen sink of the Watchtower, a massive stack of dirty pots and pans used for the fairly elaborate dinner – by this team’s standards – you all had yesterday for Yelena’s organized gathering. The mix of remaining smells stinks, the bottom of the sink isn’t even visible anymore, and the faucet isn’t even usable anymore – the pile is so huge that it’s angled out of the way so it all could fit.
You and Bob hadn’t done so much to participate in the organization of the gathering – Yelena had planned it all out, contacting and inviting friends, Bucky had ran errands for it, Alexei had cleaned the place in his own weird ways of doing it, and John and Ava had cooked in a chaos that all told you it probably wouldn’t ever happen again. The both of you had helped here and there, but probably not significantly enough to be noted, so it would only be natural for either of you to take care of the dishes.
There really is nothing in the world you hate more than doing the dishes. And Bob isn’t so fond of the idea of it right now either.
So instead of fighting over who would get the ultimate punishment, you debated, talked, went astray and eventually met halfway and figured a way to make it work, to make it interesting – the first one to come takes the dishes duty.
Bob’s cock throbs in the hold of your palm in reluctant desperation, hard and leaking, responding to each and every touch of yours – this is going to be so easy. “I was thinking about grabbing coffee this afternoon,” you declare mindlessly, your thumb teasingly caressing at the tip of his cock, rubbing around the bead of pre cum that has gathered at the slit. “–Since I’m not gonna be busy with the dishes. I’ll bring you something home if you want” you nod, glancing back over your shoulder with an insolent grin, looking at him where he’s still only caressing along the length of your thighs, already seeming to have forgotten about the point of all this ever since you started taking care of him – you're off to a good start.
“Don’t get too cocky,” he advises, a small sound escaping his chest when your hand begins gliding down the length of his cock again.
“Curious choice of word” you huff out, teasing – you almost choke on your own breath when he clings tighter onto you, your confidence crumbling with the first contact of his tongue. He hums right into you as he starts eating you out, slow and passionate, the vibrations from his throat only instinctively making you arch further into him – you could almost forget what this is all about, he could easily turn it all around and make you forget. Your mouth is stuck slightly agape, brow furrowed as he feasts on your pussy already, tongue delving through your folds teasingly, hands holding you tight like he's determined to win this and determined to do it fast.
“Okay, okay” you wail, shifting your position desperately trying to pull away from his mouth, your free hand holding firm onto him, fingers digging tight into the muscles of his thigh.
Bob parts away from you with a hum, fingers easing on the grip over your ass where you’re laying over him. “What were you saying? Sorry, I got a little distracted” he says after he licks his lips, eyebrows raised in fake wonder as he awaits your response, a feigned confused expression over his face when you turn back to him.
“Yeah, very funny” you mutter, turning back away from him feeling a little light headed from the lingering feeling of his mouth on you, resuming the steady movements of your hand on his cock, stroking languidly. You hear him sigh softly, feel the warmth of it against the inside of your thighs where you’re aching even more intensely for him now that he has given you a taste of it, craving more.
“I love you, but I’m not touching dish soap today” he declares, broads hands caressing the goosebumps of your skin, his touch soft and tender despite the situation. “Not a single drop of it.”
“Sure, we’ll see” you huff out in a small, unconvinced laugh that fades when you start lapping at his sensitive tip – his thighs ever so slightly twitch, hands tensing where he’s holding you, a small, half repressed sound tearing from the depths of his throat.
Bob lets himself get lost to the feeling for a second before his fingers glide through your slick in response, collecting the evidence of your arousal over the length of them as he rubs back and forth through your folds, only making you wetter for him. You feel like you're about to die from impatience when he teases them at your entrance, making you crave the way they feel when they're inside you – it's not as shattering as having the whole weight and warmth of him, but he knows just the rhythm to make you arch into him, just where to press to make you cry out.
"You're not gonna win if you're only gonna tease me about it" you note, the palm of your hand taking over and stroking the length of him again now that your mouth can't do the work anymore.
"You talk a lot for someone who better put their mouth to other use" he argues, letting the tip of his fingers linger over your clit, circling maddeningly gently – your body involuntarily arches into him for more friction, drawing the soft sound of a quiet laugh from his mouth.
He has no idea how right he is, but you're saving it for later.
His dick twitches before your eyes at the sound you make when he slides a finger into you, gentle and careful, progressively easing all the way in. He only moves when he's sure you have accommodated to the feeling, slow and deep, already trying to reach where he knows you'll feel weak. He withdraws all the way in after a while only to add another, filling you full of his slender fingers, a strangled moan escaping your mouth when they curve and reach for the spongy spot inside of you, the one that makes your legs tremble. It’s a curse that he knows you this well, knows exactly what makes you fall apart, that his hands are now so confident over you where they once used to be so shy and tentative – you could have won this little challenge in no time a few months ago.
His rhythm falters a little when you let the tip of your lips linger along his cock in teasing kisses, only getting it to twitch in need for you – his head drops back into his pillow with a grunt when you take him into your mouth, for real now, humming around him just to make him crumble even further. "Nghh– shit," the thrusts of his fingers let up inside you, unable to focus anymore, not when you're taking him this deep and this good. They withdraw with the closing of his eyes, his hips weakly bucking into your mouth, your confidence coming back all at once when all he's capable of is gripping your skin as an anchor for his pleasure, sweet whimpers leaving his lips, brow furrowing with how hard he's trying to keep himself composed and not come into your mouth this easily.
You're convinced of your win, already celebrating the thought of not having to even glance at that massive pile of dishes, pride filling you when you feel him softly throb into your mouth – you know he's close already and it's a shame you can't see his face, can't glance at him and see the blissed out expression you usually see through your lashes, can't see the sweet, faint flush over his cheeks.
The thought vanishes with his fingers gripping your ass cheeks, arms locking around you and holding you in place as his tongue delves back through your folds in broad, maddening licks, whining at the taste of you, making you clench against his tongue. He's getting back to you, fighting back, every vibration of the sounds he makes getting you even more wrecked, your hips inadvertently rolling back against his face. He's slow but careful, each lap of his tongue calculated and intent on driving you crazy, moaning into you like he's getting off on this alone – you suddenly cry out when he moves and starts sucking your clit so good it makes you pull away from his dick, eyes squeezing close, hand planting on the bed to get a grip on something. He's good, you think, before your mind gets clouded with the feel of him, gets overwhelmed by the strong hold he has on you when the tip of his tongue flicks against your clit just right; you sometimes wonder if his telekinesis and enhanced senses have something to do with the way he always seems to sync in with your needs, always precisely finding and adapting to the perfect pace.
You're about to play real unfair.
“You know,” you breathe out, hand lazily caressing his cock just the way you know he likes from the reactions it usually draws out of him, turning on the upstroke. “You’re actually doing so well” you coo in a murmur, voice intentionally soft for him. “You’re so good to me, Bob.”
He twitches into your hold, weak and desperate, everything about the way he gets handsier telling you he's getting close. He wants to speak back, wants to tell you you’re playing unfair using praise and taking advantage of his weaknesses, but each second using his mouth elsewhere than on you is a second closer to losing this – he just moans into you, whimpers drawn out of him with each praise of yours, getting messier and sloppier in desperation.
You whine with each and every of his efforts on you, unable to repress the gasps when your thighs begin to shake beneath his hands.
“You’re making me feel so good,” you praise gently in between pants, doing your best to focus on not breaking and on getting him to break instead. The sounds he makes only fuel you further, and it's just a question of time now before either of you snaps, a matter of seconds now. “Come on, give it to me baby” you encourage, feeling him tense in your palm. "You can do this, you're such a good boy"
His hips buck into your hand the moment the words leave you mouth, and he lets out the most broken moan you've ever heard from him, muffled into your core – you feel his breath hitch against you as he pulses and spills into your hand, soft whines drawn from deep inside his chest as he comes, just what you needed to have him drag and push you right to the edge too. He takes everything you have to give, laps at your spent while you cry out for him, the motions of his thrusts into your hand getting weaker as he drowns into you.
His head sinks back into the pillow when you whine from overstimulation, his eyes closing in defeat, a small, breathy laugh leaving his slick lips when he comes down. You unstraddle him and join his side, leaving a couple kisses over the hard plane of his heaving stomach before you look up at him, a blissful glint in your eyes. "You weren't so bad, I guess"
Later, you walk up to him and peek from behind his shoulder at the sink, kissing his cheek when his hands are buried deep into a pot, an irrepressible smirk over your face as your thumb and index finger shape into an L over your forehead before you leave to watch him from the comfort of the couch.
There's nothing in the world you love more than a challenge.
—
any and every feedback/reblog/comment is greatly appreciated, I can't stress this enough♡
pic is not representative of reader’s race or body type
summary: “You can’t just get this off like that, can you?” you ask, already convinced of the answer when you look at his suit, fingers brushing along the lines of it. The attire makes him look slick and chiseled, in addition to making you aroused and incapable of appropriate thoughts. Bob looks down on himself, taking a deep breath like he’s considering the question and hoping for a different answer, but he gives you a disappointed shake of his head when he glances back up at you. “I’m sure we can make it work though” he nods, a glint of mischief shining through the deep blue of his eye, a grin tugging at his lips.
a/n: here’s a lil something to make up for the time I’m taking trying to crank out another monstrosity of a fic. I realized I’ve never really written about the sentry suit and never really written dryhumping either so.. boom. that’s what you get.
You carefully close the door behind you, cautious about it despite the way your blood pumps hot, trying not to make a sound not to bring suspicions to your whereabouts – you don’t have much time before someone notices that you are curiously both gone, you don’t have much security on privacy either, and you certainly don’t need anyone to interrupt. “This thing doesn’t even have a lock on it” you grumble, hand over the handle twisting it antsily, trying to lock it again in case you just happened to miss it.
Bob simply holds out his hand inches away from the handle, and the thing trembles under your hold – it doesn't budge when you try putting pressure on it again, frozen in place completely, and Bob is lifting a contented eyebrow when you glance back to him.
“Thank you,” you sigh as you finally turn to him now that you can have him freely, barely taking the time to assess the room around you – your arms lock around Bob’s neck, his hands settling at your waist when his mouth is on yours, walked backwards by the force of your shared hastiness, only stopped when the edge of the table hits the back of his thighs, a quiet, surprised sound vibrating from his throat. Your hands shift from around his neck to slide down to his chest, palms feeling the quick rise and fall of his chest, his heart beating rapidly beneath your hand. “You can’t just get this off like that, can you?” you ask, already convinced of the answer when you look at his suit, fingers brushing along the lines of it. The attire makes him look slick and chiseled, in addition to making you aroused and incapable of appropriate thoughts.
Bob looks down on himself, taking a deep breath like he’s considering the question and hoping for a different answer, but he gives you a disappointed shake of his head when he glances back up at you. “I’m sure we can make it work though” he nods, a glint of mischief shining through the deep blue of his eye, a grin tugging at his lips.
“Yeah?”
He hums, quiet and approving, handling you closer to him before he kisses you again, getting hungrier with it, messier, patience wearing thin – he isn’t so bad at waiting, but you’re not, and when you’re not, he isn’t either.
You feel his fingers search and fiddle with the button of your jeans, sliding the zipper down, tugging the piece of clothing down the curve of your ass. His hands cop a feel at the same time and squeeze lightly – that’s when the palm of your hand presses against his bulge through the thick fabric of his suit, getting him to groan inside your mouth.
Your other hand only makes work of getting your pants off faster, stepping out of them once they have fully been shed off your legs, almost tripping if it wasn’t for his hands steadying you, leaving you in your thin lace panties. Bob’s lips part from yours to take a look, and he uncomfortably shifts where he’s half sat over the table to readjust his position, dick unfairly straining against the tight confines of the Sentry suit. “I would have gotten you in a room sooner if I had known you were wearing these” he breathes out, twitching beneath the press of your hand.
You don’t have the time to speak back – a whimper is forced out of your mouth when his thigh wedges between your legs, right into where you ache for his touch, his broad hands planted at your sides, holding your waist. He moves you closer to him and your breath hitches again, clit rubbing through the thin layer of your underwear against the reinforced fabric of his suit, your head spinning with it when you look down to where you’re straddling his muscled thigh, and you start replicating the movement of friction to soothe the ache.
“Here you go,” Bob whispers, a grin plastered over his face as he stares to the rolling of your hips he’s half controlling. His heart rate picks up with the small noises you let out as you languidly grind against him, palming his throbbing cock at the same time, forehead pressed against his.
The fabric of your panties only gets slicker as you go, only makes the friction easier against him, so much that your hand leaves his crotch to grip at his shoulder to anchor yourself. The lack of direct contact against his dick isn’t so much of a loss – seeing you get off like this on him is just as intoxicating to him, getting more and more wound tight with every of your back and forth against his thigh, lightly rubbing against his crotch where he feels like he might actually tear and burst.
“You're so pretty like this” Bob murmurs, gaze stuck in a cycle of incessant back and forth between your face and your lap, his hands steady and firm over your lower back as they hold and guide you. A quiet groan tears from his throat when in response, you grind more forcefully against him, brow furrowed in focus, intent on getting what you both want out of this.
“Shit” you curse through your teeth in a strangled noise when you start to feel yourself tense as you roll against the bump of a line on his suit. His breathing gets thicker with it, desperate to see you break, seemingly only getting harder inside the tight entrapment of his attire. “Oh god, Bob– I’m–”
“Come on,” he purrs, breathing hot against your lips, spurring you on as his gaze flicks from your eyes to your lips. You close the gap and press your mouth against his again, teeth almost clashing with the strength of it, your hand sinking into his hair, pulling him even closer if possible, driven by the unabated need to crawl into his skin. His eyelids grow heavier with the weight of his need, blood pulsing with want and desperate hunger that only gets worse with the sounds he swallows from you – he eventually whimpers, fingers digging tighter into the softness of your skin, thrusting you further into him as his own hips buck, shattered gasps poured into your mouth when he reaches his own relief and you start trembling in his hold.
His lips part from yours, shifting to meet the skin between your neck and shoulder, pressing gently when you fuck yourself against the muscle of his thigh a last few times, collapsing into a series of shudders when you come. His arms fully wrap around you to have you close, your body pressed against his chest, feeling every rise and fall of your ragged breathing, your motions easing progressively, heartbeat steadying a little as you come down.
Neither of you move for a moment, sitting with the aftermath of what you just did, and your hand eventually snakes in between your bodies, settling at Bob’s middle again to do your part before he grabs at your shoulder. “You don’t need to” he admits, voice low and a little embarrassed, face flushing.
It’s the matter of just a millisecond of confusion before your expression shifts, an irrepressible, awestruck grin growing over your face. “Did you…?”
Bob’s eyes flutter and close, his lips pinching in admission of defeat. “...Yeah”
—
any and every feedback/reblog/comment is greatly appreciated, I can't stress this enough♡
