i don't usually take requests, but this was pretty hot 🤭
18+ mdni, smut
the super-soldier serum had its perks when it came to sex. bucky never tired; he could hold you up and easily maneuver your body for his pleasure. but the last thing he ever expected to come with the serum—along with becoming a nuisance—was hyperspermia.
when he climaxed, it was a lot.
it was overwhelming, and frankly, very annoying to clean up.
bucky tried using condoms to avoid practically drowning you in his cum, but most of the time, they'd slip right off because of how quickly he'd pump the rubber full. so, he just gave up and decided he would try to pull out right before he came.
and each time he did, his rough hand would blur over his shaft as he pumped himself to climax, spilling his warm, thick seed all over your belly, shooting high enough to nearly hit your collarbone and chin—making you flinch.
"jesus," he'd rasp, catching his breath. "goddamnit. i did it again. god, look at you. you're covered in cum—i'm so sorry, baby. let me grab a towel and clean you up—"
"bucky," you'd chuckle, trying to sit up, but it only made his release dribble down your navel and onto the sides of your stomach. "it's fine—"
before you could finish, he'd quickly scramble off the bed, face red with embarrassment, to grab a clean towel.
this was the same routine every time you two had sex. and for once, you wanted him to come inside. you wanted to feel all of him, especially since you knew just how much bucky wanted to fill you up too; he was just holding himself back.
the next day, bucky had you pinned to the mattress, the poor bedframe creaking and groaning as he fucked you deep against the soft cushions.
"god, you feel so fucking good, baby," bucky moaned. "fuck."
he was close, you could feel it. he was pulsing, throbbing, and his movements were sloppy and uneven.
he drew his hips back just slightly, and you knew he was going to try and pull out.
but before he could, your legs—trembling and shaking—quickly wrapped around his hips, nudging him back against your pelvis as he slammed into you with one hard thrust.
"oh my god—!" he gasped, his body collapsing and enveloping yours as he lost his balance. "jesus—baby. what are you doing? you know i can't cum inside—it's too much. you won't be able to take it—"
"i can take it," you rasped. "i can take it, bucky! please, let me try taking it all. i want to try."
"shit," he grunted. "this—this is bad, baby. this is dangerous. i'd fill you up so deep, it'll be spilling out of you. i'll make a mess, sweetheart. i can't—fuck, i can't—"
but despite his words, his hips kept grinding sloppily and lazily against yours. it was growing impossible to pull out by the second. how could he? when your breathy moans were filling his ears deliciously, and your soft legs were wrapped tight around his waist, refusing to let him go?
so with one, final hard and deep thrust that made your head spin, he let himself spill inside you.
thick, hot ropes of cum shot deep inside, filling you completely to the brim as his body shook and trembled atop you. it was a lot, and it kept going and going, but even then, your legs refused to drop from around his waist. you told him you were going to take it, and you did.
you felt every pulse, every ridge, and every throb his cock had to give you as he filled you completely until your body couldn't hold it all and it started dripping out of you and onto the mattress.
bucky's face immediately burned hot with embarrassment. he didn't even want to see the damage he'd done to you—he felt it.
"jesus christ," he mumbled into your neck, his body shaking from the aftermath of his intense orgasm that couldn't seem to subside—no matter how much he came.
"i'm sorry. i tried to pull out, but your legs—fuck. they're just so soft, and you felt too good. but you said you could take it, right?"
safe house, during a storm. after a long mission, you’re stuck sharing a room with bucky. you’ve always assumed he keeps his distance because of his past. but when the storm knocks out the power and you curl up on the couch, cold and shivering, he finally opens up — and his hands, calloused and careful, don’t stop at comfort.
masterlist | 3k words | soft!dom Bucky, praise kink, reader receives oral (f), unprotected PIV(she on da pill), morning sex, deep emotional intimacy, touch starvation themes,, reader is referred to as “sweetheart” and “baby”, slow and loving sex, post-orgasm cuddling, mentions of past loneliness, body worship, Bucky is obsessed and down bad, vulnerable!Bucky, safehouse setting, canon-typical trauma referenced, no use of y/n
The rain hasn’t let up in hours.
It batters against the tin roof like it’s trying to get in — thunder rumbling over the hills like a warning. You’re curled on the couch in a pair of flannel pajama pants and a worn S.H.I.E.L.D. hoodie, one knee pulled tight to your chest, a book in your lap you’ve read the same page of five times. The fire’s dwindled to glowing coals.
And Bucky’s sitting across the room like a statue.
He hasn’t said much since you both got in hours ago —wet, bruised, exhausted from the mission. Just stripped off his tac gear and sat down on the edge of the bed, mechanical hand flexing like it couldn’t settle. He’s been like that ever since you joined his team —polite, helpful, quietly protective. But always… distant.
Like if he got too close, he’d ruin something.
Another crash of thunder shakes the cabin. You flinch without meaning to, hand clutching the blanket tighter.
He notices. Of course he does.
“Come here,” he says, voice low but solid.
You blink up at him.
“What?”
“You’re cold,” he murmurs. “Don’t argue, I can tell. C’mere.”
You hesitate. He looks so serious, dark hair still damp from the rain, black T-shirt hugging the hard lines of his chest. His expression is guarded, but his eyes are warm — warmer than you’ve ever seen them.
You cross the room slowly. He shifts, leaning back against the headboard, lifting the blanket beside him in invitation. Something tight coils in your chest. You’ve slept in the same room before — hotel rooms, bunkers, quinjet corners — but never like this.
You sit beside him. He wraps the blanket around your shoulders, pulls you in.
And suddenly you’re tucked under Bucky Barnes’ arm, your head resting against the soft fabric of his shirt, the sound of his steady breathing in your ear.
Your body relaxes before your mind can catch up. He’s warm. Unbelievably warm. And strong. You feel it in every inch of him —the way his arm curls protectively around your back, the subtle press of muscle as you lean into him.
“You okay?” he asks after a while.
You nod, barely. “Yeah. Just… long week.”
His chuckle is barely audible. “Understatement of the century.”
For a moment, it’s just the storm and the soft rhythm of your breathing. Then he speaks again — so quietly it barely registers.
“I hate seeing you scared.”
You look up. His jaw is tight, his gaze focused on the firelight.
“I wasn’t—”
“You were,” he says gently. “It’s okay.”
You swallow. There’s something aching in his tone —something raw.
“You don’t talk this much,” you say softly.
“I know.” He turns his head, meets your eyes. “Doesn’t mean I don’t think it.”
Your breath catches. His eyes are ocean-deep, stormy like the night outside, but warm — so warm.
“Can I tell you something?” he asks.
You nod.
“I think about touching you all the time.”
Your heart stops.
He keeps going, voice steady but trembling at the edges.
“Not just sex. Not even that, really. I think about… brushing your hair out of your face. Holding your hand. Pulling you onto my lap just because I can. I think about waking up next to you.”
He swallows hard.
“But I don’t. Because I don’t want to scare you. And because I don’t know if you’d want that. Want me.”
The rain seems to hush for a moment, like the world is listening.
You reach up slowly, fingers brushing the edge of his jaw. His eyes flutter closed like he’s afraid to believe it’s real.
“I’ve been waiting for you to touch me,” you whisper. “I thought you wouldn’t want to.”
His eyes snap open —like you just lit a fuse.
“Don’t move,” he says hoarsely.
You stay still.
His hand —warm, broad, careful —comes up to cup your face. His thumb brushes your cheek, then your lip. His other hand, the metal one, rests on your thigh with featherlight pressure, like he’s scared you’ll flinch.
You don’t.
You lean in.
And he kisses you.
It’s gentle at first —lips soft and reverent against yours, like he’s still scared he’ll wake up. But then you press closer, fingers tangling in his shirt, and he deepens it —groaning into your mouth, tongue brushing yours, hunger bleeding into every movement.
You shift into his lap, straddling him instinctively, and Bucky grabs your hips like he’s grounding himself —like if he lets go, he’ll wake up alone again.
His pupils are blown wide, lips swollen from kissing, and the look he gives you is hungry —like you’re the first warm thing he’s touched in years.
“You’re driving me insane,” he growls. “You know that, right?”
You rock against him gently, and his jaw goes tight.
“You can touch me,” you whisper, hands in his hair. “Anywhere. However you want.”
He huffs a breath like he’s trying to keep from losing it.
“Fuck, sweetheart…”
His metal hand grips your thigh, spreading you wider over him. His other hand slides under your hoodie and up your back, warm and solid, tugging the fabric over your head and tossing it aside.
When he sees you —bare, flushed, breathing hard —he curses under his breath and cups your chest with both hands, thumbs dragging over your nipples until they stiffen. You gasp, grinding against the hard line of him beneath his sweatpants.
“Lay back for me,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you.”
You do —breathless, already aching —lying back on the bed as he kneels between your legs.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your flannel pants.
“Every inch of you.”
He drags them down, slow and deliberate, along with your panties —eyes never leaving yours as he exposes you. When you’re naked and spread out under him, he runs his hands up your thighs, parting them wider with firm, reverent pressure.
Then his mouth is on you again.
Warm, slow, worshipful.
He kisses your inner thigh, then the crease of your hip, teasing you until you’re trembling, trying to press yourself against his mouth. But he pins your hips with his metal arm and groans, low and broken, like the taste of you has him spiraling.
He laps at you slowly, teasing your clit with the flat of his tongue before sucking softly. You moan—high and sharp —and tangle your fingers in his hair. His tongue circles, flicks, licks deeper until you’re whimpering, thighs trembling.
“You’re so wet for me,” he breathes, voice muffled against your cunt. “So perfect, so good…”
You try to respond, but your hips buck when he slips one thick finger inside you, curling it just right.
“Oh—fuck, Bucky—”
“That’s it, baby,” he growls. “Let me hear you.”
He adds a second finger, fucking you slowly with a perfect rhythm as he sucks your clit again. The pressure builds like a wave — deep and hot and inevitable.
“I—I’m gonna—”
“Do it, sweetheart. Come for me.”
You fall apart on his mouth, writhing, gasping, your hands pulling hard at his hair. He doesn’t stop — licking you through it, holding you firm until your body finally slumps back against the mattress.
He looks up at you, lips slick, eyes glazed with want.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
You reach for him, dazed. “Need you inside me.”
That’s all it takes.
He strips fast — sweatpants gone, briefs gone — and your eyes go wide at the size of him, thick and flushed, already leaking at the tip.
“Condom,” he mutters, reaching for his bag—
“No,” you whisper. “I’m on the pill. I want to feel you.”
His eyes darken. “You sure?”
You nod, pulling him in. “Please.”
He lines himself up, rubbing the head of his cock through your slick folds, and groans like he’s barely holding it together.
Then he pushes in —slow, stretching you inch by inch, until he bottoms out and you’re both gasping.
“Jesus Christ,” he pants. “You’re so tight. So fuckin’ perfect.”
He stills, letting you adjust, kissing your shoulder, your cheek, your jaw. “You okay, baby?”
You nod. “Move.”
And when he does —slow and deep at first, then faster, rougher —it’s like the world narrows to just the two of you. His hands grip your hips, his mouth never leaves your skin, and every thrust drives you higher.
He murmurs praise like a prayer—
“So good for me.”
“You feel like heaven.”
“I could stay inside you forever.”
When he feels you tighten around him again, he fucks you through your second orgasm — hard and deep — before groaning into your neck and coming inside you with a shudder that rocks his whole body.
He doesn’t pull out. Not yet.
Just stays there, buried deep, breathing against your collarbone.
“I’ve never—” he murmurs. “Never had this. Not like this.”
You stroke his back, warm and damp with sweat.
“You have it now.”
He kisses you then —soft and slow, like a promise.
And this time, it’s not about hunger.
It’s about home.
The fire’s burned down to embers.
Outside, the rain has stopped. All that’s left is the gentle patter of water dripping from the eaves and the faint glow of early morning light peeking through the curtains.
You’re warm —so warm —tucked beneath the threadbare sheets, wrapped in Bucky’s arms.
His body is solid heat against your back, chest rising and falling steady with sleep. One hand is splayed across your belly, the other curled under your neck, holding you close like he still doesn’t quite believe you’re real.
You shift slightly, and his breath catches. The hand on your stomach tightens, thumb brushing your skin like a reflex.
“Did I wake you?” you whisper, voice soft.
“Mmm,” he hums sleepily, lips brushing your shoulder. “Been awake. Just didn’t wanna move. S’too good.”
You smile, turning in his arms to face him. He’s a mess of tousled hair and morning stubble, blue eyes heavy-lidded and soft.
“Hi,” you murmur.
“Hi.” He leans in, noses at your cheek. “Can I kiss you?”
“You never have to ask.”
The kiss is slow —tender and lazy, mouths fitting together like they’ve always known how. His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing just beneath your eye, and you melt into him like you’ve been waiting all your life to be held like this.
When you shift again, your bare thighs brush his —and you feel it.
He’s hard. Already. Pressed warm and thick against your stomach.
You pull back to look at him.
His cheeks are pink. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t be sorry.” You reach down, wrap your hand gently around him. His hips twitch.
“I want you again,” you whisper. “Just like this.”
He swallows hard, eyes locked on yours. “You sure?”
You nod. “Slow n soft.”
His jaw clenches, just a little. Then he exhales and kisses you again —sweeter this time, deeper, like a slow ache.
Like gratitude.
The sheets fall away as he shifts over you, pushing your legs apart with his hips. He slides his metal hand beneath your thigh, lifting it gently as he rolls his body over yours.
He’s big —broad and warm and so careful —and you feel yourself open for him all over again.
“I didn’t hurt you last night, did I?” he murmurs, brushing your hair back.
“No,” you whisper. “You made me feel so good and safe.”
He groans softly, like that this alone is enough to undo him. Then he reaches between you, guides himself to your entrance, and sinks in slow.
The stretch makes you sigh —familiar now, but no less intense. He presses deeper until your bodies are flush, his cock buried inside you, and stays there for a moment, unmoving.
His forehead rests against yours.
“I could stay like this forever,” he breathes. “You feel so good. So warm. So perfect.”
You wrap your arms around his shoulders, legs around his waist.
“Then stay.”
He moves slowly, rolling his hips in deep, rhythmic strokes —not chasing release, just feeling you. Making love like he has nowhere else to be, like your body is the only place he’s ever felt peace.
The way he looks at you —like you hung the stars —has your whole chest aching.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. “Can’t believe I get to touch you like this.”
You kiss his cheek, his jaw, his shoulder. “Touch me more.”
And he does. Big hands exploring your body all over again —your waist, your breasts, your thighs. He never stops moving inside you, never pulls all the way out. Every thrust is slow and deep and intimate, like he wants to leave a piece of himself inside you.
When you start to tremble beneath him, he cups your face with both hands.
“Let go, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
You come with a soft cry, clinging to him as your body shudders. He follows moments later, gasping your name, cock pulsing inside you as he buries himself one last time and spills deep.
You stay tangled together afterward — skin flushed, breath slowing, heartbeats syncing.
“I think I’m addicted to you,” he murmurs against your neck.
“Good thing we’re stuck here another day.”
He chuckles, pulling you tight against him. “Don’t tempt me.”
But his voice is soft. Sweet. Like he wants to be tempted. Like he already is.
trope: oblivious x thought they’ve been dating all along :)
warnings: none
wc: 1k
a/n: requests are open (for bucky). pls send prompts!
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you’re in a pickle. as you sit with natasha and wanda on the floor of wanda’s room, you listen as nat tells the two of you about her earlier conversation with bucky.
“he said we were dating?” you were confused. bucky had never asked you to be his girlfriend, but you had gone on a couple dates and hung out around the compound all the time. you were too nervous to make any moves, but it seemed bucky was on a completely different page altogether.
“basically” natasha confirmed. “he told me he already had plans for saturday with his ‘girl.’”
“oh.”
wanda giggles at your perplexed state. “maybe you’ve been stressing over nothing this whole time, then.”
“but he never asked me.”
“maybe it was different back then?”
“cmon wanda, it’s not like he said we’re going steady like its the 40s. i feel like he knows about labels.” you sigh. you’ve been worried these last few weeks that bucky wasn’t going to ask you to be his girlfriend – maybe the two of you didn’t hit it off as well as you thought. but then he would take you on more dates, and you’d spend all day doing things around the compound that it felt like you already were girlfriend and boyfriend.
“maybe he thought he already asked you.”
you sat with that for a moment. maybe he thought he did? you had no idea, and later into the night it got, the more confused you became. you nodded at the two girls, exchanging goodnights and making your way back to your room.
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by the time you got to the kitchen for breakfast, steve, sam, and bucky had already returned from a morning run, and wanda was cooking eggs at the stove with vision.
“goodmorning y/n,” steve smiles at you.
you return the sentiment and rub the sleep from your eyes. you make eye contact with bucky and try not to stumble as you reach up for a mug in one of the cabinets. as you reach from your toes, bucky’s metal hand finds your waist and he engulfs you from behind, his other hand grabbing your favorite mug.
“let me get that for you, peaches.”
you try not to flush.
steve smiles at the interaction, continuing his conversation with sam. after bucky sets your mug on the counter, he gives the top of your head a small kiss and makes his way back over to steve. you wonder if steve smiled at the two of you because he thinks you’re dating. if bucky thought the two of you were official, why would his best friend think any differently?
you let it go for the moment, filling your mug and grabbing a plate for the eggs wanda just made for you.
“have you asked him?” she whispers.
you purse your lips, “no,” you shrug a little. “i don’t even know what to ask him.”
“ask who, what?” sam interjects.
wanda and you both turn your heads to look at him from across the kitchen island, and steve and bucky stop their conversation to watch.
“i- uhm…” you don’t know what to say.
luckily, you don’t have to think of a response because bucky speaks up. “wilson, are you pestering my girl?”
wanda nudges your side with her elbow, a gesture that you know means i’ve got your back. “your girl, huh?”
bucky blushes, poorly suppressing a sheepish grin. steve chuckles at bucky’s change in demeanor.
“well, yeah, she’s my girl.”
“i am?”
bucky’s brows furrow in confusion and for a moment, a flicker of hurt flashes in his eyes. “do you not want to be?”
you bite the inside of your lip, nervous to confess this so publicly. “truthfully i didn’t even know i was your girl.”
“oh.”
the kitchen is silent for a moment. sam waits to hear what bucky has to say, or if you have something else to add to explain the situation.
your foot lightly hits the ground. you’re fidgeting; only bucky can make you this nervous with butterflies. “that doesn’t mean i don’t want to be.”
bucky perks up and he nods, finally getting the misunderstanding between you two.
sam’s laugh breaks the silence. “you’re such an idiot.” he grabs an apple and pats bucky’s back on the way out, steve following right behind him, their voices fading as they get farther down the hallway.
bucky grabs his own mug and pours himself some coffee while you sit at the island and silently eat your eggs. wanda and vision eventually clean up their dishes and head off to some training task, leaving you alone in the kitchen with bucky.
as you put your plate in the sink, he asks “did you really not know you’re my girl?”
you run the faucet, not wanting to look at him because it’ll make you more nervous. “you never asked me.”
his flesh hand dances on your hip, spinning you around to face him. “okay…” you glance between his eyes and his lips, settling on his eyes. he mirrors your actions. “then… do you want to be my girl, y/n?”
“i-” you twiddle your fingers, hand at your side. he has you pinned against the counter.
“gonna give me an answer, peaches? or just leave me hanging?” he’s teasing you, face getting closer with each new quip. his nose practically touches yours.
at last, you breathe out a quiet “yes,” and bucky chuckles at you.
“can i kiss you, peaches?”
too speechless to say it, you nod, his metal hand reaching to cup your face. his lips connect with yours and it’s electrifying. your stomach flips and you get so caught up that you grip his henley, afraid that you’ll collapse with how lovestruck he has you. when he sucks on your bottom lip, you let out another gasp and you feel bucky’s lips turn up in a smirk as he pulls away.
still cupping your face, he smiles at you. you smile back, saying something that has bucky’s eyes glinting with pride.
bucky barnes’ big, thick, heavy cock sliding into your wet, dripping pussy for the first time in months. the slick sound it makes when he fully slides in all the way — the hissing of groans from him and the whimpers from you. god it’s sinful, dirty, nasty. it’s something bucky missed when he was away for a mission.
his hair grew out this time. much longer than before he left. perfect for you to grip onto and tug him closer when he eats you out. when he’s fucking into you at a harsh pace and you can tug his head back to watch him as he fucks you
just like right now.
and god he’s moaning right in front of your face unabashedly, eyes rolling into his skull with each thick and heavy slap of his hips against yours. it’s raunchy and it has your cunt fluttering around him.
“that’s it baby, fuck— you’re takin’ all of me so fucking good like i knew she could.”
Ahhhh omg I love gentleman Bucky. Like so chivalrous and respectful. But with him being feral and obsessed with you at the same time. Being obsessed with pleasuring you and treating pleasuring you like his life’s honour. NEED HIM
oh god, i do too. i wrote this in my hotel room and i'm thinking about how much i want bucky 😭.
here's a little something before i crash for the night ❤️
warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni
Bucky's the kind of man who would open doors, carry your bags and kisses the back of your hand like it's the most natural thing in the world.
He is polite to a fault—chivalrous, old-school, the kind of gentleman who calls you baby, sweetheart, darling with a softness that could melt steel.
But underneath all that clean-shaven charm and quiet smiles is something much darker. A need that simmers just beneath the surface, sharp and hungry, and so intense it borders on obsession.
Because you know what they say—gentleman in the streets, freak in the sheets—and Bucky god damn lives it.
In public, he’s all warmth and patience, touching the small of your back, pulling out your chair, kissing your hand like you’re something fragile.
But behind closed doors? He’s anything but gentle.
Because when he has you alone, the gloves come off—figuratively and literally.
That pretty mouth, the one that whispered yes, sweetheart at dinner? It’s filthy now—groaning against your inner thigh, spitting on your pussy just to watch it drip down before he licks it clean.
He doesn’t just want to make you cum. He wants to break you with it. Wants to feel you scream his name, claw at his back, sob through your orgasms until your voice gives out.
He’ll have you shaking, begging, soaking the sheets—and he’ll still ask for more.
He eats you like he’s starving, like it’s the only thing that’s ever tasted good to him. Tongue buried deep, moaning into your cunt like your pleasure is air in his fucking lungs.
He keeps you spread for him, held down and worshipped, hands gripping your thighs like he owns them.
Like he owns you.
And maybe he does—at least in that moment, when you’re crying out his name and he’s murmuring, “That’s it, princess, just like that. Gimme another. I need it.”
He doesn't just want you to cum—he needs it. Treats your orgasms like they're sacred, like his purpose is to bring you to your edge, over and over, until you're trembling and slick and gasping into his shoulder, and even then, he doesn’t stop.
God, he can’t stop. Not until you’re spent and messy and ruined, soaked thighs draped over his shoulders and voice hoarse from your pretty cries.
Don't even get me started on the way he fucks you.
It’s brutal. Raw. Like he’s been starved of you for too damn long and now that he’s got you under him, he’s going to devour you from the inside out.
He slams into you, thick cock stretching you wide, splitting you open with every desperate, punishing stroke. He keeps one hand wrapped around your throat, anchoring you, to remind you exactly who you belong to.
His other hand is everywhere—gripping your ass, spreading your legs wider, shoving them up until your knees are almost hitting your chest so he can get deeper. Just so he can hit that spot that makes your vision blur.
“Listen to you,” he grits out, lips brushing your ear as your soaked cunt sucks him in again and again. “Dripping all over my cock. Fuckin’ obsessed with it, aren’t you?”
And you are. You can’t even deny it—not with the way you’re clenching around him, begging without words, just breathy little whimpers and moans that only make him fuck you harder.
His hips are relentless, slapping into you with wet, obscene sounds, his balls tight and heavy against your ass as he drives in so deep it feels like he’s fucking you right into the mattress.
He doesn’t stop when you cum.
Fuck, he barely slows down—just grins, wicked and dark, as you tremble beneath him, whining from the overstimulation.
“That’s one sweetheart,” he mutters, dragging his cock out just enough to watch your slick coat him before slamming back in. “You’ve got more in you. Gonna fuck you until you forget how to fucking breathe.”
content warnings: 18+, smut, p in v, dirty talk, eye contact
a/n: yummy in my tummy
bucky is obsessed with eye contact.
he’ll have you under him, legs folded to your chest and head thrown back when his voice gets low.
“watch me baby.” he’d command and you’d obey.
not the ceiling, not the wall. him.
every shift of his hips is a sentence that he has you reading like scripture. eyes locked together as he slowly pulls the string to unravel you from within.
"you feel that? that's my cock talking to you, and your cunt in whispering slick little confessions back and spilling down your thighs. fuck she's so needy baby, pulling me back in each time."
you can't hide from him. not his touch, not his words, not his gaze. he opens you up in a way like never before.
"breathe with me." he murmurs, leaning down until his breath is fanning across your face, yet his hips never slow. he makes you catch his rhythm, making you drown in it, letting his pace rewrite your heartbeat, making you feel the way his body talks to yours.
his voice stays low but its dragging through you like gravel, praise wrapped in filth.
"that's it, there she is. i could live inside your perfect cunt forever."
he's halfway to losing his mind just from the way you feel around him, the way you move and melt under him, teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you fight the flutter of your eyes.
its too much. he has to pull out to catch himself before it consumes him. you whine and feel tears form in your eyes, but you don't blink, don't look away. you just can't.
his chest is heavy, sweat donning across his pecs and his eyes, those steel blue cages root you into place.
he shoves back into you with regained strength, driven by nothing but pure lust.
and every time your eyes flicker he's right there, grunting them back open. "don't you fucking close them, not for a single second. i want you right here with me, want you to feel it. that's it, babydoll. right there. take me deeper. you're doing so fucking good for me. keep your eyes on me, want to see the exact moment i fucking ruin you."
your nails dig in, moans keep tripping over his name and he's right there with you. his own breath breaking.
you're bursting with need, every squeeze and flutter pulling more out of him until he's right on the edge. "look at me love. that's my good girl. don't stop, don't ever fucking stop."
you don't. not when he groans in your ear, not when his hips tilt up and pound your g spot into oblivion, not when your vision spots in the corners as you fall apart shuddering on his cock as he ruts deep inside of you, coating you deep from within.
Warnings: mentions of oral (f receiving), p in v sex, Bucky is a warning and he’s desperate too
Y’all can tell I love desperate men
Something about riding Bucky after he had just gone down on you scratches my brain just right. Because we all know he’d be hard as a rock after having eaten you out. He just can’t help himself- your moans and the way you tug on his hair and buck your hips against his lips- it almost makes him come on the spot.
When he’s done, he leans back, his pants tented obscenely as he licks his lips, a dazed grin spread on them. He wipes his mouth with the back of his flesh hand, giving you a once over. His eyes are just as dazed as his grin, his cheeks flushed. And fuck he had never looked hotter. 
Just to tease you, because you know he’s teasing you, he palms himself from over the fabric of his pants, all the while still looking at you, looking down at the mess he had made out of you. He groans and bucks his hips into his own hand because he knows you’re watching him. And that gets him off.
That’s when you sit up and move to straddle him. You’re still shaking from your orgasm but the need to wipe that grin off his face is stronger than the exhaustion that’s slowly seeping into you.
You make quick work of his pants, pulling them down just enough while he still looks at you, still grinning, still dazed. Fuck he loves when you’re like this.
He lifts his hips to aid you as you pull down his pants and you palm him through his underwear, making his breath hitch and his brows crease a little. But that’s not nearly enough for you.
By the time you have him naked, he’s panting, his flesh arm spread over his eyes and his head leaned back against the couch cushions. His cock is hard, the tip an angry red and leaking already. It twitches when you teasingly run the tip of your pointer finger down the length of it and an almost pained sound leaves his lips.
And when you finally slide down on him? He’s a mess. His moans are shaky, his hands grasping at your hips, your thighs- anywhere just to keep himself grounded. His hips buck up into yours, chasing the release he needs. And when he finally gets it- the sound that leaves him is loud enough the neighbors surely hear it.
little bucky blurb that came into my mind just now:
You are watching him from the sidelines while he is firing at one of the many targets that are scattered across the training area. His aim is precise; impressive.
"I always heard of your incredible aim, Sergeant. Never thought I would be able to see it with my own eyes", you smile while your eyes travel down his attire.
Sweat is running down to his forehead and his neck. His shirt is clinging to his chest, showing of his muscles that move underneath. He must have come here straight after his training session with Natasha and Steve.
Those words earn you a chuckle. Barnes drops his guard and secures his gun before he takes a look at you. Just the way like you observed his attire a few moments ago.
"I should warn you. I'm a married man. My wife gets jealous very easily. She would be furious if she heard you flirting with me like that" he comes up to you with a smirk and raises one of his eyebrows.
You sigh "A pity, really"
"Agent Barnes. Your service is the requested by Captain Rogers. He is waiting for you in the common room", FRIDAYs voice echoes through the training room.
"Tell him, i'll be there in three" you don't break eye contact while answering the AI system. You frown once more "Seems like we have to continue this another day. Don't forget to pick up new treats for Al. We're slowly running out of them"
"Whatever the princess needs", Bucky nods and gives you a quick kiss before watching you leave for your meeting with Steve "See you later, Mrs Barnes"
