he looks like someone in a puffs tissues commercial pinky nose he’s so cute n his pink lips so cute such a cutie I wanna kiss him all over his lil face
wanted to save this in my inbox for only me to see because i love and miss him sm and wanna bite his nose but everyone should see how cutie he is waaaa
had a really bad time today pain wise since i pulled soemthing in my back leaving me just immobile for most of the day and i just miss bucky barnes so much
just a reminder that this blog is run by someone who:
— is anti ICE & fascism
— is pro-choice & feminist
— supports trans & queer people
— hates generative AI & capitalism
— supports immigrants & people of color
— is pro-environmentalism & social justice
— supports palestine & all other territories unjustly suffering
need bucky to spoon me so bad . maybe rocking into me . lulling me to sleep with a sleepy orgasm as his fingers touch. nuzzling into my neck . mmmm…. cockwarming bucky barnes for the night … free use ,,,, somno ….. drooling don’t mind me . !
All my stories are R18. I write smut, and I may touch sensitive topics or topics that are not intended to be read by minors.
YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN CONTENT CONSUMPTIONS.
Masterlist | College Collab Masterlist
Pairing: Prof! Bucky Barnes x Student F!Reader
Warning/Tags: Smut, barely any plot, Fluff, Age Gap, College AU, Student x Professor Trope, College inaccuracies, Kind of Power Imbalance situation, Kind of Lactation kink, Kind of Breeding kink.
Word count: ~3.6k
Summary: You learn you're pregnant after having something not that casual with your professor, and he then shows you how ready he is to take care of you and your baby.
Author's Note: This is my first entry to the College AU collab I'm part of with my babies @herejustforbuckybarnes and @w1nter-fairy (go ahead and check their works too!) Betaread by my babies and my love @kileyking
You knew it was wrong. You knew it since the first time you rode his broad body. And yet, you didn’t really care.
You knew that screwing your professor was the worst decision you could’ve taken—but from the first time you saw him, you wanted to ride that beautiful face that was bedecked with a salt-and-pepper beard.
And the first time you finally got to be bent over his desk, you knew you were in trouble.
Professor Barnes was everything you could ever wish for.
His rough hands embraced your hips carefully while he plunged his thick cock between your wet folds, and as he moved his metal arm, shoving your face between all your classmates’ papers.
It was after classes. Not even one soul was around. It had been three weeks of you two pinning on each other with the thirst of a man in the desert. He was tired of having you in short dresses or skirts, deep cleavages that showed him enough skin that he could have reported you for misconduct.
But doing so would have deprived him of the opportunity of seeing that glistening skin of yours.
And oh, if he loved the skirts that rode on your thighs when you sat next to him in his office. How they would ride enough to show that clothed mound between your thighs when you bent yourself on the desk to reach for something.
He knew you were doing it on purpose. He knew you were provoking him, but he needed to be the responsible one there. He needed to take care of his reputation… but your parted legs with no more than a few centimeters of fabric covering them were inviting him to rail you from behind.
And he did.
That night, he got enough and shoved you down to make you take him in the mouth.
He didn’t even pull down his pants; he just unzipped himself and took that big pinkish, angry, and delicious shaft out of his pants and made you suck it as if your life depended on it. You took it ravenously, didn’t even complain, even when he thrusted a bit harder, making you gag on his cock.
“You can take it, sweetheart,” He mumbled in your ear while he groped your breast, purchasing some stead from the thrust he was inflicting.
“Yes, I can. Don’t stop, please, professor.” You whined, pushing your head back on his shoulder. He chuckled.
“Calling me ‘Professor’ when I’m balls deep in you, it’s interesting.”
You clenched at his voice and felt your legs get weaker.
“That’s good, sweetheart. You know I got you.”
When he finally let himself go, and his engorged dick spilled ropes of cum in your cunt you reached your peak—rolling your eyes back and with his flesh hand covering your mouth not to make any sound that could give you away.
Since then, everything changed. That desk in his office had seen you naked more times than your own bed. He loved to have you all naked in his office when he was still completely dressed. ‘Practical strategies’, he would say.
And you hated that he was right.
He was kneeling in front of you, your legs spread open with his head between them, his beard damp on your arousal, while your hand pulled him closer. Tongue delving between folds, while his hands stopped you from closing them. And then, a knock on his door.
“Bucky, are you busy?” Dr. Banner called from the other side of the door.
Dear lord. It had been years since he left university, and that nickname still haunted him even in his professional environment.
He grunted and stopped his ravishing moves, pulling you down under his desk, all your discarded clothing lying there next to you.
You always thought those old wooden desks in the classrooms must have been incredibly hot, with those three sides covering the entire desk.
And fuck, if you were right.
He stood up, wiping his face with a tissue while he walked to the door. Once he made sure you were well hidden and none of your personal belongings were visible, he opened his office door.
Your knees burned under the desk as Dr. Banner asked him about a paper he had done in the past.
When Dr. Banner finally left, you crawled out from under the desk and sat on his chair, caressing your aching knees.
“I think it’s time for us to go home.” You nodded.
He was reckless enough to fuck you in his office, but not dumb enough to know that this wouldn’t be the last visit he would be receiving in the night, and he wouldn’t risk being caught in something like this.
The first weeks of your rendezvous were more casual, late-night sex, blowing a steam. And then, they turned into something more. Something deeper, something you two longed for.
It didn’t really have a title. He always made sure to remind you that you two couldn’t have anything that could be named.
But when the test in front of you was showing a
“Pregnant: 3 — 4 weeks.”
You knew you were fucked up.
How were you supposed to do this?
This was supposed to be casual, no strings attached. This was supposed to be secret. Something that didn’t put all his hard work, earned title, and reputation in the University.
Not even your best friend, Yelena, knew about this.
He made you swear this would be like this.
But how could you keep it casual when he asked you to stay at his house for the night, when he told you the story behind his metal arm—how he had lost it serving the country as a sergeant.
And that’s how he ended up being a retired sergeant at the young age of twenty-seven, and was able to keep studying to become who he was then.
How to keep it casual when he had fucked you brainless with his dog tags bouncing between the mounds of your breasts?
You sat on the cold tiled floor of your bathroom, looking at the piece of plastic that was screaming at you how irresponsible you two had been. Letting him fuck you raw. Letting his breeding kinks speak instead of that voice behind your head that told you not to do it.
“Can I see you tonight at your house?”
“Picking you as soon as I finish my last lecture, sweetie.”
Always the gentleman he was. Never letting you knock on his door. Never letting you arrive on your own at his house.
When the clock struck 8:35, you heard that ding on your phone that told you he was waiting for you at the parking lot of your dorm.
The black car with tinted windows didn’t let you see that salt and pepper beard that drove you crazy. He opened the door from inside, and you sat immediately, fastening your belt, not saying much.
His woodsy scent brought you back to the present.
He was wearing that black shirt that, even when it was loose, let you see his broad body under it.
“You look tired tonight, sweetie.” He said, caressing your cheek.
“Haven’t slept well.” You admitted.
“Don’t you worry, we will sleep well today.” He placed his hand on your thigh and started driving his way home.
You sighed and nodded. The plastic buried in the depths of your purse weighed twice its size at that moment.
The ride back home was torture for you. Your mind couldn’t stop racing from the first moment you suspected to the last hour when you couldn’t stop watching the pregnancy test.
"When you finally got home, he was already bringing you flush to his body as soon as the door closed—for the first time in months, you felt claustrophobic. The enormous house he had felt like a shoe box at that moment.
“James— Can we—” you tilted your head, trying to ease your mind, “I just need to talk with you before we do anything else.”
His hands were already under your blouse, aiming to find their favorite spot. Your breasts.
He pecked the crook of your neck warily, like he needed to make up for all the minutes he spent busy in other endeavours.
“Sorry, sweetie. I’ve been missing you like crazy.” You bit your lip, and a tear started to well up in the corner of your eye.
He felt it as soon as it left your face and landed on his face. He furrowed as soon as he felt the wetness.
“Wow, let’s take a step back.” He turned you around and looked at you intently, “What the hell is going on that got you like this?”
He picked you up and made you straddle his waist while he walked with you in his arms until he found his couch.
He sat down with you still in his lap and made you look at him.
“What’s going on?”
You couldn’t stop crying, and a small hiccup left your throat as soon as you started to think again about explaining yourself. In his eyes, genuine worry could be seen—and even there, you couldn’t find the exact words.
“Do you need a minute?”
A nod was the only thing that you could do.
“Is this about school?” You shook your head.
“Got it… It’s about us?”
You sighed and nodded. Your answer took him aback.
“I… Did I do something wrong?”
“No…”
“Honey, I know you’re probably feeling a lot right now, but I need you to help me here. I can’t do anything if you don’t speak.”
You sighed and finally started searching for the thing that had gotten you like that—you took out the white-and-pink test and placed it on his hand.
He took what seemed like an eternity to comprehend what was in front of him.
“When… What…”
“I’ve been feeling weird the last few weeks, and I took the test just today…”
He sighed. He knew he couldn’t get mad at you. This was a conscious decision you both had taken one too many times, but the implications behind that test were almost a penance.
What would the board say if they knew that he was having illicit affairs with a student? How could this affect your credibility in front of other professors?
“Please… Say something…”
His hands grasped your hips carelessly.
“Honey… this…” He pursed his lips, “Are you sure about this?”
“Are you not?”
He furrowed—and then your world started to fall apart.
You knew that face.
It was the same face he made every time something was making him anxious.
“It’s not that I’m not sure, but this is gonna affect your life. Honey, I’m old enough to be your father, being a father at my age is even considered late… but you? You are halfway through your degree… You’re only twenty-two.”
“I know… but…” His hand stroked your hair; he was trying to find some hesitation in your eyes. “We never wore anything… I thought it was something you wanted…”
“I want it! I really do… I just don’t want to ruin your plans…”
“You won’t… This is great… We could work it out…”
But you noticed his furrow didn’t go away.
“What?” Your voice cracked in the middle.
“Yes, we can work this out… but I want you to finish your degree—I want you to be someone…” You nodded, “And for that, it would be easier for me to find a different school than you for leaving…”
Your mouth fell to the floor. You knew what he meant.
“No. No… Everyone loves you, they are gonna understand… I’m… I can’t…” He shook his head.
“Understanding’s not the same as accepting—and people are gonna judge us very hard if we ever decide to make it public.”
“So?”
“Before the year ends, I’m gonna ask for a transfer… You’re gonna work triple hard not to stay behind when you eventually have to leave…” His eyes were calculating; you could see how his mind raced through all the possibilities.
“Now I’m the one who doesn’t want to ruin your entire career.” You mumbled—your teary eyes gave him an aching pain in his chest.
“You’re not ruining everything. Look at me. I’m one of the most solicited Professors. I know I’m gonna find something close and we will make it work. I promise.”
“This is gonna be problematic…” You grunted.
"It has been problematic since the day I kissed you in my office. It has been problematic since I succumbed to your short skirts…”
“Do you miss them?” You giggled.
“I love to see them here. I hated every time you wore them to school and all your idiotic classmates saw your long legs and drooled over you.”
You rolled your eyes, “Those skirts were only for you to lift them.”
“Well, sad for me, they are never going to know that I was the only one able to lift, rip, pull them down… And now I’m the one who’s honored to be the one who you’re gonna call husband…”
You scoffed a laugh, but his serious tone made you stop mid-laugh.
“Why do you think I’m joking? You’re not gonna be a single mother… I’m gonna marry you as soon as possible, you will take my last name, and you’re gonna be the prettiest pregnant bride.”
“Are you being serious now?”
He nodded, “I already messed this up, I’m gonna do the right thing now.”
“And what would be that exactly?”
"As I said, marrying you, making you finish school—giving you as many children as you want, working my ass off to give you the life you deserve. God, you’re gonna make me the happiest man in the world.” He sighed, tilting his head, “You’re gonna look so precious with that belly swollen with my babies…”
“Oh, you wanna keep me pregnant?” You teased.
“Of course I do. Seeing you full of me. That every single man that sees you notices you’re carrying my babies.”
“And where’s this coming from?”
“I always kept it hidden. Didn’t want to scare you. An old man like me asking a young girl like you to have my children?” He cocked his eyebrow.
“Well, now I’m sure I want it.” You looked down. Your barely showing belly between you two made him smile. He caressed it.
You giggled and nodded, but deep down, you noticed a hint of sadness in his eyes.
“A penny for your thoughts?” You cupped his cheeks.
“Are you sure you want this?” He mumbled, “Look at you. You’re young, beautiful, a young promise… and I’m just a… veteran… with PTSD…. nothing you should have to deal with…”
A small scoff let your mouth, “James… We’ve slept together for… what? Almost a year? I’ve slept next to you… I’ve heard your worst nightmares, I don’t think that can scare me at this point.”
“Don’t you find it weird…” He looked at his metal arm.
“What? Your arm? God’s sake. Most of the time I don’t even remember it’s different…” You confessed.
“Don’t lie to me…”
“I’ll never lie about that…” You caressed both his shoulders, and then your hand traveled down his metal arm. "I just don’t care… If you don’t want to make it a big deal, it’s not a big deal…”
He twitched a smile. His hand traced paths on your cheek.
“And what are your parents gonna say?”
“Hey, you might have more common things with them than you think.” You smiled mischievously.
His mouth fell open in offense.
“Too soon?” You mumbled, and he shook his head.
“I deserve it.”
His hands were still roaming through your belly when his fingers traced down their path to the hem of your skirt.
“I just told you I’m pregnant and you’re already thinking ‘bout this?” He smiled, still looking down.
“Can you blame me? You’re my dream come true.”
His hands left your belly and traveled to your thighs, just below your ass cheeks, lifting you and straddling himself with your legs.
“Can I?” He mumbled in your ear, and you nodded slowly.
He took you to his room and put you down on his bed—he knelt in front of you and lifted your skirt. His hands kept your legs open in front of him. His thumbs traced paths on your inner thighs. You hated how delicious he looked in his suit, his salt and pepper beard bedecking his face, making him even hotter. He leaned over your slit and above your underwear, and he stroked a line with his tongue. Your eyes rolled back, and you bit your inner lip.
“Look at that mess…” He moved your underwear to the side and slid two fingers in your cunt, “Fuck… Look at it…”
“James…” You whimpered. “I’m too sensitive…”
“Is that so?” He kissed your bud and smiled, “I’m being careful…”
He distanced himself from your cunt, stood up, and knelt now in the bed. He was working his belt, looking at you, your legs were still hanging to his sides. He set free his cock and stroked himself in front of you.
“Imma be careful with you now… I don’t want to hurt you…” He slipped down your panties and towered over you. You could feel his tip kissing your entrance, drowning your feelings, making you whimper.
“You’re doing this on purpose.” You cried out.
He stroked your slit with his tip, his metal hand found your breast, and he started groping it. The cold feeling made you whimper.
“You’re gonna look so pretty with these tits full of milk—leaking, swollen—Are you gonna let me help you if you feel uncomfortable?”
“Yes, yes.” The voice in your lips was barely audible. Your thoughts were a complete mess. You could barely pay attention to his words while he teased your core with his dick.
You were feeling dizzy, and you didn’t even understand how you ended up there. With him spreading you open, working his cock on you, your legs cramping, and before you could even form a coherent thought, he sank into you—filling you up. Cock sliding slowly, his finger roaming under your bra, pinching your nipple, his eyes fixed on your face—pure lust showing on them.
“Are you gonna marry me?” He hoarsed. “Are you gonna be my perfect little wife?”
You nodded, without being able to form a sentence.
“I can’t tell what you’re saying, sweetheart.” He thrusted harder, “Are you gonna marry me?”
“I wanna marry you, James… I wanna marry you.”
“Good girl.” He husked. “You’re my good girl. You’re doing great…”
He thrusted, pulling down your bra, leaning over your exposed breasts, sucking on your nipple, lapping on it. The sound of skin on skin made the moment completely perfect.
“Come for me, babe. Come for me, make a mess on my cock. Remind me how perfect you’re to me.”
His finger circled your clit, making you come undone. Your voice trembled, and you giggled as the orgasm washed over you. His cock was twitching inside you, and his finger kept circling your already damped nipple. The difference in feeling between the cold and hot of both limbs got you all worked out.
“You didn’t even let me ride you before I came…” You panted out.
“I haven’t come yet.” He teased, “Do you wanna ride my cock, baby?”
You nodded, he slid out from you and lay down on the bed, you crawled up to him. Your legs on his sides, your damp core feeling all his clothes, leaving a wet spot on his fabric.
“Enjoy your last ride. ‘Cause after today I’m gonna put you down every day—you’re not gonna be riding my cock anymore, you’re not gonna get tired getting me off.” He scolded, and you pouted. “Don’t pout at me. I’m telling you I’m gonna make you a… how do y’all call it? A pillow princess…”
You snorted a laugh. “Don’t say that!”
“What?!” He seemed preoccupied, “Am I using it wrong?”
“No,” you chuckled, “You’re not… but… I don’t know how I feel listening to my professor telling me to be a ‘Pillow Princess’.” You frowned.
“Oh, but you don’t feel weird having your professor’s dick fucking you? And you don’t feel weird carrying your professor’s baby?” He lifted you and teased your slit again with his tip.
“Shut up!” You worriedly answer.
“Just ride me, sweetheart.” He scoffed a laugh, “Let me look at you like this for the last time.”
You nodded and sank on his cock, feeling the throbbing cock—you felt every vein on it, the tip bullying your cervix as you bounced on him. His hands held you steady by your hips, jerking you on his shaft. He noticed how your movements were becoming relentless, and he chuckled.
“Are you getting tired?” You nodded, “C’mere.” He tucked you on his chest, heaving his hips, pounding on you—fucking you, reaching your second orgasm.
His thrust became faster until he grunted, releasing his warm ropes of cum into you. You were boneless on top of him. “And that’s why we are in this situation, James.”
“You can’t get any more pregnant.” He mumbled in your ear, almost dozing off, “Have some sleep, honey. We’ve got a lot of things to do after tonight.”
“James…” You said almost falling asleep. He hummed in response. “I love you…”
He smiled and kissed your forehead, “I love you too, honey. You’re gonna be the greatest mom ever.”
Pairing: Farmer!Bucky x popstar!reader
Summary: Your handsome husband, filthy from a days work, drives you wild
Tags/Warnings: it’s farmer Bucky y’all complete with Stetson and yer, mentions of grease and oil on the body, smut (p in v, slight pussy job), two smacks, reader is down bad for her husband and he is more than willing to oblige, a hint of breeding kink
Word Count: dirty 2.3k
+toast yap ! Happy birthday to my darling wife, the one and only @buckysdecaflove who is the reason farmer Bucky exists. I love you so much my dear 🫶
AU Masterlist • Masterlist
The water in the sink had grown tepid, your hand lazily scrubbing circles on a plate that was likely losing layers as you mindlessly wiped it over and over, your attention far away from the dishes.
It was focussed squarely through the window, at the scene outside that made this early spring day feel a hundred degrees.
Your husband, Bucky Barnes, grunting and sweating as he worked on the tractor.
Bent over out there now clad only in his undershirt and jeans, button-up discarded long ago, he looked devastatingly delicious. Skin gleaming in the sun, arm corded and strong, vibranium flexing as he fiddled with the motor. The sweat soaked shirt clung to his hardened body like a second skin, dust and dirt and grease highlighting his best features.
You watched as he straightened, swiping his forearm against his brow, knocking his hat askew, and he climbed up to try turning the motor over once more. The muscles of his back flexed, his jeans pulled tight, and your jaw hung slack at the sight of him.
He banged a fist against the hood with joy when the machine rumbled to life, and you trembled in delight as he jumped back down and headed toward the farmhouse.
Caught up in your feelings, your body taught, you stood perfectly still at the sink as he swung the screen door open, boots loud on the floorboards as he stalked toward the fridge. You waited until you heard the door and the familiar hiss of a cola cracking open before turning. Leaning back into the counter, your hands braced either side, you drank him in.
His head tilted back, throat bobbing with every swallow as he drank greedily from the bottle. Beads of sweat trailed down his neck, lines of salt clinging to his skin and disappearing into the stained mess of his undershirt. His hand around the bottle was filthy, oil and grease smeared palms, fingers, and knuckles. A smudge of dirt sat high on his cheek.
The smell of him hit you. Metal and sweat and man, warm and musky, curling through your senses and settling low in your stomach.
Biting your lip, your gaze raked down his body, gazing at everything you’d drooled over for the last hour, now almost within reach, until with a gulp you looked back up.
Blue eyes clashed with yours, and his entire demeanour changed.
His eyes darkened as he took in the state of you; your fast breaths, arousal coloured high in your cheeks, your body angled toward his.
Your farmer was focussed solely on you.
“Got the tractor goin’ real good,” he drawled, setting the cola down and slinging his Stetson off onto the counter at your side.
The rush of air did nothing to cool your heated skin.
His voice dropped low as he prowled forward, every step slow and deliberate, ratcheting your pulse higher. “Had to warm her up, put my hands on her just right.”
He placed his hands on the counter either side of yours, leaning in close.
“Get her purrin’ again for me.”
Voice gravelly, his breath was hot against your cheeks, like tinder to the flame smouldering inside you.
You swore you could see a smirk playing on his lips as he rumbled, “Knew if I treated her right she’d fire up.”
You swallowed thickly, tongue darting out to wet your parched lips, and his gaze dropped.
Locked.
He ducked to capture your mouth in a bruising kiss.
You could taste the salt on his lips as he devoured you with a kiss, mouth rough over yours, demanding. Parting your lips beneath him, his tongue sliding filthy against yours, you moaned at the sweet cola flavour mingling with your beloved farmer.
His hands left the counter in seconds. Fingers dug deep into your waist. You felt his hand move to your navel, over your ribs, then—
You gasped into his mouth as his hand closed around your breast, cupping and kneading. His fingers found your nipple, thumb running a dangerous pattern over the sensitive skin.
Arching into his touch, Bucky’s ravenous kisses keeping you locked between him and the counter, you were lost to everything him. His taste, his scent, the heat of his body and the strength of his desire for you, overwhelming and beckoning all at once.
“Bucky,” you breathed.
He pulled away.
You swayed forward and he laughed, mocking.
“City made you soft. You see a workin’ man covered in dirt and get all hot ‘n’ bothered.” His kiss-bruised mouth curved in a half-smile. “‘S cute.”
His eyes were hard, dark. A glint of something dangerous in those ocean blue depths that made you tremble.
His hand rose to curve around your neck, grasp firm as his thumb pressed against your thundering heartbeat.
You flinched from the rasp of grease against your skin but he chuckled darkly, smearing it further down the column of your throat.
“‘Bout time you let this country boy tarnish you up a bit.”
He let his gaze drag down your body slowly, smile wicked as he said, “Look at all this pretty skin I get to stain.”
“Bucky,” you whispered, and his eyes clashed with yours, his grip on your neck imperceptibly tighter.
Then his grasp loosened, and his hand slid down. Down your collarbone, callouses rough and scraping against your skin. Over your shirt, fabric catching and pulling. Until he palmed at your breast again, large hands covering you just right, grasping and caressing until you realised the ragged sounds in the air were your desperate breaths.
You couldn’t help it, you glanced down. And gasped.
Your perfect white shirt was a mess. Streaks of dirt and oil stained the fabric, and beneath it all a single perfect handprint visible under the smears and smudges.
And there Bucky stood, the outline of his hard cock straining against his jeans as he pawed at you.
Hands gripping the counter so tight your knuckles lost colour, fire skittered across your skin and you couldn’t take it anymore.
“Get a move on, Sarge,” you ordered—or tried to. Your breathy voice cracked on the words, losing all force. But he accepted it anyway.
“Yes, ma’am.”
He pried open your pants and shoved them down roughly, panties pulled with them.
He’s dirty. He’s sweaty and covered in grime and dirty as he descends on you, lifting you up onto the counter to get a better grip.
His grunt of pleasure as he pressed your legs apart and stared at you, spread open for him, has you squirming even in his tight hold.
He chuckled again, hands on your knees squeezing.
Without warning his flesh hand lifted and came down hard on your thigh, the sound of skin on skin ringing out, and it punched a moan from you. Your eyes darted down and already you could see the flush of colour blossoming out beneath the greasy handprint he left.
He watched you carefully.
“You like that?”
You met his gaze. You don’t even have to answer
His hand lands on you again. The same pressure, the same black streaks left behind, but higher, and you throw your head back on a tight exhale.
Slowly, painfully slowly, he rubbed at your skin, soothing the sting. Both hands moved higher, thumbs circling on your skin, every inch closer to your aching centre leaving dirty smears and driving you wild.
“You’re not putting your hands inside me while they’re like that,” you warned breathlessly, and the way his eyes snapped to yours made you flinch.
“Oh, you think I’m’a use my hands on you.”
His dark tone made you squirm.
“You think I’m gonna warm up this pussy with my fingers? Stretch you open before splittin’ you apart on my cock?”
Your jaw fell slack.
Bucky unbuckled his belt, letting it drop with a clatter to the floor. He made quick work of his jeans, shoving them down and dragging out his thick cock.
Air left you in a rush at the sight of him, palming himself with a few quick strokes.
“That’s not what this pretty pussy needs. What she’s beggin’ for.”
Bucky wasn’t even looking at you anymore, eyes hooded as he stared at you spread open for him.
“So fuckin’ wet f’ me,” he murmured. “Yer as dirty as I am.”
His thumbs pressed your lips apart, warm flesh and cold metal making you jerk and shiver, and he dragged his dick through your folds, smearing your slick all over his cock. The thick head caught against your clit, a moment of divine pressure you’d been aching for, and your hips canted forward for more.
“She knows what she needs.”
A soft whine left the back of your throat, a needy sound you couldn’t contain, and Bucky swayed forward like he was answering a Siren’s call.
“Should I give it to her?” He rasped, rubbing against you slowly, dragging his cock up and down, torturing you with everything you wanted.
“Yes! Please, please,” you begged.
His metal hand pressed against your lower back. Supporting you, he leaned in to whisper in your ear, “I ain’t goin’ slow.”
He angled his hips and all you could do was cry out as he drove in. The momentary sting of invasion gave way to an insatiable burn as he pulled back only to ram forward again, filling you, claiming your body from the inside out.
It was rough, it was fast, and it was everything you needed since the moment you set eyes on him. You could only hang on as he fucked you hard.
Bucky’s breath was hot against your ear, his hands on your hips, forcing you to take every stroke, to feel every inch of him as he took you again and again.
You could feel him pressing your hips down, trying to shift you into that perfect angle, but the counter height didn’t allow for it.
With a growl he pulled out, and even as you whined in protest he gathered you into his arms, lifting your body and twisting to lower you down to the floor.
You gasped at the cold on your bare skin but you couldn’t find it in you to care, not with him kneeling over you like a predator over his prize hunt, pressing your legs apart as he rasped, “Such a good fuckin’ girl.”
Palming his cock he lined himself up and barely dipped in before your legs wrapped around his waist and pulled him home.
Eyes fluttering closed, you groaned in unison when he bottomed out, filling you completely, his weight pressing you down into the floorboards.
“There she is,” he growled, withdrawing only far enough to sink home again.
Your hands grasped desperately at his shoulders, nails sinking into his sweat-slicked skin, and he groaned his approval.
“Mark me up, darlin’. Brand your country boy.”
He sank impossibly deeper, rhythm stuttering as you clawed his back, your broken moan of, “You’re mine,” making his grasp on you tighten.
“All them suits think they get a piece of you, but they don’t,” he growled. “They don’t have you like I do. No one has you.”
“Just you,” you rambled, “Don’t stop, please, don’t stop.”
The sound of skin slapping skin, of him driving into you again and again, was obscenely wet. The smell of sweat and oil and sex hung heavy in the air as he fucked you right there on the kitchen floor.
“Ain’t gonna stop,” he panted. “Not ‘til yer full of me.”
He huffed out a mean chuckle when you clenched around him at his words.
“Yeah? You’d like that would you, city girl?” Planting both hands beside your head he rose up, curving in deep, his cock dragging over that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. All you could do was hold on, your hands scrambling for his arms as he drove you wild.
“Gonna … gonna pump you full of it,” he grunted. “Gonna make you mine.”
Through your half closed eyes you could see the clench of his jaw, see the strain in his neck, and you knew everything he said, everything he did, had as much an affect on him as it did you.
His. All his.
His hand pressed between you, finding your clit, pressing and rubbing with every driving thrust of his cock, and you felt the rush of your orgasm coming fast.
“Oh god, Buck, please—“
“You gonna come all over my cock, darlin’?”
You flushed hot at his words, at the feeling of being stuffed full of him, at everything he was doing.
He pressed hard on your clit and you felt that white-hot flash through your stomach. Your back arched, your pussy clenched, you were right there—
“Oh my god, I can’t, I c—can’t, I’m—!”
“You can. C’mon.”
“Bu—cky!”
Detonation. Your voice broke on a scream as your orgasm hit and Bucky came fast with a shout, the pulse of his cock as you tightened around him, pussy squeezing and milking every hot spurt as he came hard.
For a long while you lay there in a post-organic haze, Bucky’s weight over your body a delicious distraction.
With a grunt he shifted, pulling you in as he shifted to the side.
Hand clasping yours, your fingers toyed with his wedding ring in a way that he is very aware of.
“Mine,” he murmured, and you nodded.
“Mine, too.”
He nuzzled into your neck and shoulder, lapping gently at the sheen of sweat on your skin.
“Next time you look at me with them hungry eyes, I’m puttin’ you on your knees f’me.”
He huffed out a laugh at your helpless moan as you rolled into him.
“Promise?”
a/n ! This is the last instalment of farmer Bucky I have planned, all for my sweet girl Decaf.
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