sambuckys-world

[sambuckys-world]

Every time I see this photo I imagine bucky with a jersey mom accent being like, “I swear to god, Sam, these kids are uncontrollable. I’ve seen better form in HYDRA agents and let me tell you, they weren’t much. Also, you’ll never fucking guess who’s here—WALKER.”

[sambuckys-world]

earlier:

now:

Captain America: Brave New World

[sambuckys-world]

buckys only upset that john wasnt mortally wounded

[sambuckys-world]

them in civil war

[sambuckys-world]

It turns out, when he’s not on the run, when he’s got time to evaluate what he wants out of life and to live something close to ‘civilian’, Bucky Barnes is a hot fucking mess. This isn’t the first time Sam’s found him asleep on the couch, or wearing yesterday’s eyeliner, or investigating whether iced-cake vodka shots do anything to get past the serum. The worst thing is it’s hard to stay stone-cold in the face of Bucky Barnes doing his best as a messy little twink with tousled wavy hair and pretty cheekbones and a fucking tongue piercing. The shit Steve had kicked up over that was ridiculous; apparently watching Bucky get lectured by Steve Rogers for half a fucking hour over needle safety and communicable diseases is enough for Sam to have kind of developed a soft spot.

Sam’s just trying to focus on the ‘mess’ part, okay, because contemplating ‘hot’ and ‘Bucky’ in the same sentence is not something he needs in his life. He’s just trying to live, that’s all. He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve any of this.

apparently my love for seb’s tiny slutty messy trashfire twink phase extends to: writing 8.5k about Bucky going through the same phase, who would have guessed

[sambuckys-world]

Just our boy Sam Wilson out here actually making Baron Helmut-friggin-Zemo reconsider his life choices lol. Obviously, it doesn't quite stick, but still quite impressive.

Even after everything Zemo did, after how vehemently Sam was against working with him at first... He's willing to listen to him, hear what he has to say, and then try to reason with him.

Because, just as we see with Karli, Sam doesn't automatically see the bad. Sam genuinely believes there is good in people, and he is willing to latch onto that good and try to work with it. It's what makes him such an interesting and beautiful character, and why he's Captain America.

[sambuckys-world]

everyday i think about bucky calling sam pretty bird and it makes me want to die inside.

god the first time bucky lets it slip out, because he vaguely remembers thinking it during tws era, is when they’re comfortable with each other again post tfatws

pre-relationship sambucky who are housemates at this point just relaxing in each other’s spaces. bucky who’s reading a book in the living room, and sam who’s fiddling around in the kitchen post run & shower.

honestly, maybe it’s because bucky’s been pining for ages but he looks drop dead gorgeous with the sunlight shining in - swaying slightly to the song he’s got playing through their bluetooth speakers. sam wilson is happy and it makes bucky even happier

so he slides up to sam after deciding he can’t keep pretending he’s reading when he’s been on the same page for minutes.

“hey pretty bird, what’re you making?”

the nickname slips out too fast, too easily. and it is easy because he’s been calling sam that in his head for literal years.

sam takes in the nickname, and bucky realizes what he’s done, ready to fucking bolt but he plants his feet onto the kitchen floor - and waits for sam to react.

the swaying continues after he stopped for that one second where it felt like bucky couldn’t even breathe - and sam manages to cut bucky’s oxygen flow again when he breaks out into a stunning grin

the sun hits his face just right then, like it’s a paid actor and bucky wants to worship sam like he’s a god, an angel

it takes a beat too long for bucky to realize sam’s saying something about pancakes because he’s just staring. he can’t stop looking at sam, who looks like he loved the nickname

neither of them acknowledged it, but from then on bucky’s always calling sam pretty bird.

(joaquin raises an eyebrow at sam one day after a mission because bucky had said in the most concerned voice ever, “pretty bird, are you there?” when sam had gone silent for a bit while kicking ass. the last guy had it the worst because sam was practically preening at the nickname, so whoops - maybe he forgot to pull his punches just then. sorry, not sorry.)

(“don’t say anything kid.” “and you still insist you’re not together? come on! i have a bet to win!”)

[sambuckys-world]

told you i’d come

oneshot: you send him one wet, towel-clad pic while he's away on a mission. next thing you know? you're waking up to his tongue in your pussy and his cock buried so deep you’ll be walking funny for days.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

tags: (18+). 3.2k words. SMUT. feral yearning. phone sex. video call tease. sex on phone. creampie. post-mission bucky who books a damn flight just to ruin you. fingering. oral sex f!receiving (waking-up edition). overstimulation. raw dogstyle & missionary bc he needs it that deep. listening to earned it by the weeknd will be the cherry on top of this filth. minors dni.

You shouldn't send it.

Oh, darling, you really shouldn't. This is a reckless, deliciously terrible idea—teetering on the edge of moral ambiguity and an international scandal wrapped in a single, impulsive click.

And yet.

Here you are, standing before your mirror, a vision of damp locks and wet skin, the towel clinging to your curves like a lover's desperate grasp. Droplets of water trail down your neck, catching the light. There's something wild in your eyes, something about your heavy lids and parted lips, like you've unlocked a secret angle of yourself that only a front-facing camera could capture.

And you? You're going to send it.

Because Bucky Barnes—your Bucky, with his storm-blue eyes and that vibranium arm that hums with quiet power is a thousand miles away.

Prague, maybe. Serbia, possibly. He's on a mission, one of those shadowy, leather-gloved affairs that probably involves scaling rooftops or disarming a bomb with seconds to spare. You don't know the details. But the ache in your chest? That's all the intel you need.

Ten days.

Ten days since you've felt the heat of his body pressed against yours, since you've tasted the soft, devastating edge of his mouth. Ten days since you've run your fingers through his dark hair, felt the shudder in his breath when you tug just a little too hard. You're unraveling, fraying at the edges, a woman starved for the man who's both her anchor and her storm.

So, naturally, you do what any rational, touch-starved, love-drunk soul would do. You grab your phone. You swipe open the camera. And you pose.

It's not graceful. You're not some sultry vixen trained in the art of seduction. You're just you—heart pounding, towel slipping just enough to tease, hips tilted in a way that feels like a dare. You stare into the lens and think, What would make Bucky lose his mind?

The answer is this: you, glistening from the shower, skin dewy and warm, the towel barely holding on, one hip cocked, your lips parted in a look that's half-innocent, half-come get me. It's a snapshot of longing, of I miss you laced with I dare you.

You snap the photo. Your thumb hovers over the send button for a heartbeat—two, three. Then you press it.

The wait is electric.

Your phone buzzes, and your pulse spikes.

Bucky Jesus, sweetheart.

Another buzz, and it's like his voice is in the room, low and rough, curling around you like smoke.

Bucky What are you doing to me?

I'm in a goddamn surveillance van with two other agents and a shared screen. Had to throw a blanket over my lap like some kid who can't control himself.

You bite your lip, a slow, wicked smile spreading across your face. The towel feels heavier now, like it's conspiring with your racing heart. You type back, fingers trembling with mischief.

oops! just wanted to say hi... all clean and wet. is that a crime now?

Bucky You're lucky I'm not there, doll. You wouldn't be standing.

Your breath catches, a soft laugh spilling from your lips. Heat pools low in your belly, and you can almost feel the ghost of his hands—calloused, warm, possessive and grazing your skin. You type again.

hmm, i'm all wet and lonely. you're out there being dangerous and armed... we're not playing fair, are we?

Bucky Say that one more time, and I'm on the next flight home. Mission be damned.

You laugh again, loud and unguarded, because you know he means it. He'd burn the world down to get to you if you asked. And that's the sweetest, most dangerous part of all—this love that's so big, so consuming, it's hard to breathe without pulling him into your orbit.

You sink onto the edge of your bed, still clutching the phone, the towel slipping just a fraction lower. Your skin hums with the memory of him, and you wonder how long it'll be before he's back, before you can trade these teasing texts for the real thing—his hands, his mouth, his everything.

Until then, you'll just have to keep torturing him. One sultry selfie at a time.You spend the next three hours doing completely ordinary, non-sinister things like brushing your hair and moisturizing your soul. Also, watching Mamma Mia! for the hundredth time and pretending you don't keep glancing at your phone every seven minutes.

You do. You absolutely do. And yes, you are tracking Bucky's location like the clingy menace you are.

And it turns out he's checked into his hotel.

Which means—oh.

He's alone.

And probably grumpy.

Which means Bucky Barnes, Sergeant of Chaos, is probably somewhere in Europe brooding shirtless in soft lamplight. All sharp jawline and stormy eyes, still simmering from the situation you personally orchestrated.

Your body hums. Full-body anticipation. Wicked little pulses of mine mine mine under your skin. So naturally, you do what any well-adjusted, emotionally stable girlfriend would do.

You hit the video call button.

He answers on the first ring.

His face fills your screen—all chiseled bone structure and dark stubble and mussed hair like he's been running his hands through it since your last message. His voice is a low growl, sleep-rough and laced with something entirely more dangerous.

"Baby,"

You sprawl across your bed, the towel you're still wearing—barely—slipping dangerously low, exposing the curve of your thigh, the dip of your collarbone. You tilt your phone just right, letting him catch the glint of your damp skin in the soft light. "Hi, Sergeant," you purr, your voice a velvet blade, sharp and sweet.

He groans, head tipping back against the headboard, the sound vibrating through you like a physical touch. "Don't start with that Sergeant shit," he warns, but his eyes are already darkening, pupils blown wide as they rake over you. "I'm barely holding it together."

"Why?" You tilt your head, letting a damp curl fall across your shoulder, your lips curving into a smirk that's pure sin. "I'm just being respectful. Honoring your rank." You shift, the towel riding up just enough to make his jaw clench.

"Fuck," he mutters, the word a prayer and a curse. You hear the creak of his hotel bed, the rustle of sheets as he adjusts himself, and it's enough to make your thighs press together. "That picture you sent? I've been hard since. Had to lock myself in this room just to breathe."

You laugh, low and sultry, stretching out on your bed, letting the towel slip another inch, teasing the edge of decency. "Poor baby," you coo, your voice dripping with mock sympathy. "All worked up because of little ol' me?"

"You know exactly what you're doing," he growls, his eyes narrowing as he leans closer to the screen, like he could reach through it and grab you. "You're a fucking menace."

"I miss you," you whisper, and it's not just teasing now—it's raw, aching truth. Ten days without him, without his hands, his mouth, his weight pinning you down. It's too long. Too empty.

His expression softens, just for a second, before the hunger takes over again. "Miss you so damn much, sweetheart," he says, his voice thick, almost reverent. "It's killing me. Ten days, and I'm dreaming about you, waking up hard, thinking about your taste, your smell, the way you fucking move."

Your breath hitches, heat pooling low in your belly. "Then show me," you challenge, your voice a husky whisper. You prop your phone against a pillow, angling it so he can see every inch of you—towel barely clinging to your hips, your skin flushed and glistening. "Show me how much you miss me."

His eyes go molten, and he shifts, the camera catching the flex of his vibranium arm as he adjusts himself. "You want to play dirty?" he murmurs, his voice dropping to that dangerous, filthy register that makes your toes curl. 

He shifts, grunts softly, and sets his phone down too—somewhere low, tilted up just enough to give you the full view. And oh. Oh, God.

He's shirtless. Hair a mess. His thighs spread wide and bare.

And his cock. Thick, flushed, already hard rests heavy against his stomach.

"Like that, baby?" he asks, a little breathless, a little too smug for someone stroking himself with a metal arm like he's trying to kill you with lust via satellite.

You whimper. That's it. That's your only response. A noise of full-body, feral yearning.

Because his vibranium fingers? Wrapped around the base of his cock like a fucking vice. The gold plating catches in the low light, gleaming wickedly as he strokes once—slow and deliberate, like he wants to ruin you before he even touches himself properly.

"I thought about you all day," he murmurs, lazy now, letting his thumb rub over the head, watching your mouth fall open. "Tried so fucking hard not to do this until I saw you. But then you called, lookin' like you wanted me to lose it... Take that towel off, baby. Let me see you."

You comply, agonizingly slow, peeling the fabric away until it pools beneath you, leaving you bare and breathless under his gaze. His groan is primal, a sound that vibrates through your core. "Fuck, look at you," he breathes, his hand disappearing below the frame, the motion unmistakable. "So fucking perfect. You know what I'd do if I was there? I'd bury my face between those thighs. Lick you so slow, so deep, you'd be begging me to let you come."

You whimper, your fingers trailing down your stomach, teasing yourself as his words burn through you. "Bucky," you gasp, your voice trembling with need. "Keep talking."

"Oh, I'm just getting started," he says, his voice a low, filthy promise. "I'd spread you open, taste every inch of that sweet pussy. Fuck, I can still taste you from last time, all wet and warm and mine. I'd suck that clit until you're screaming, until you're pulling my hair so hard it hurts. You'd be dripping for me, wouldn't you? Soaking the sheets, begging for my cock."

Your fingers move faster against your hot core, chasing the heat of his words, your hips bucking as you moan his name. "Yes," you pant, your body arching off the bed. "God, Bucky, I need you."

"You have no idea," he growls, his breath hitching as he matches your rhythm, his camera shaking slightly as he moves. "I'd fuck you so deep, baby. Pin you down, make you take every inch. You'd feel me for days. I'd fill you up, make you scream my name until your voice gives out."

"Fuck, Bucky—" Your hand trails down again, desperate, twitchy.

He smirks. "Go ahead. Touch yourself while you watch me." His jaw flexes, the vibranium grip stroking tighter. "Wanna see how wet you are for me."

And you do. With him watching. With him moaning. With the sound of slick metal pumping against his cock, slow and devastating.

"I'm gonna fuck you so deep when I get back," he growls, voice wrecked now, gaze locked on you like a threat. "You won't be able to walk straight, baby. Not after this. Not after seeing me fuck my fist thinking about that perfect pussy of yours."

You gasp, your rhythm matching his, your thighs trembling.

"I'm gonna come all over this hand," he grits out. "And the second I land, I'm putting my mouth where this hand's been. Gonna taste you, taste me on you. Make you take it."

The words push you over the edge, your body shuddering as you come, his name a broken cry on your lips. He's not far behind, his groans rough and ragged, the camera catching the tense line of his jaw, the way his eyes flutter shut as he chases his own release.

For a moment, there's just the sound of your heavy breathing, the shared silence of two people wrecked and sated. You're sweaty, flushed, your body still trembling, but you feel alive, tethered to him through the screen.

"Jesus Christ," he pants. "I'm booking the next fucking flight."

You collapse into sleep, hard and heavy, your body still humming from the filthy promises of Bucky's voice over the video call. The blankets cocoon you, your pulse a lazy flutter, your skin tingling with the ghost of his words. You're not even sure if you ended the call, too drunk on pleasure to care. One moment, you're sinking into the soft haze of afterglow. The next—

Oh. Fuck.

You wake to a sensation so sinful it rips you from sleep. A wet, searing heat between your thighs, deliberate and unrelenting. Your hips buck instinctively, a sharp, needy jolt as your eyes flutter open, vision blurry with confusion and want.

Another slow, possessive lick drags up your core, and your brain stutters, short-circuits, melts. Your breath catches, a broken gasp, as you blink down and see him—Bucky Barnes, all six-foot-something of him, nestled between your legs like he was made for it. His hair's a tousled mess, dark strands falling into his eyes, his beard scraping deliciously against your sensitive skin. Those broad shoulders, carved from years of violence and redemption, pin your thighs open against the sheets. And his tongue—fuck, his tongue—is inside you, lapping at you like you're the sweetest thing he's ever tasted.

"Bucky—what—?" Your voice cracks, half a moan, as you try to process the impossible. "How—?"

"Shh, pretty girl," he murmurs, his lips brushing your clit, the vibration of his voice sending a fresh wave of heat through you. "Heard you whimpering my name in your sleep. Fuck, you sounded so needy. Couldn't just lie there and listen."

"You're here?" you gasp, trying to sit up, but his vibranium arm curls over your hip, pinning you down with gentle, unyielding strength. "You—ohmygod—Bucky."

"Told you I'd be on the next flight," he growls, his voice rough with hunger, his eyes dark and feral as they meet yours. "Couldn't stay away. Not after that little show you put on." He dives back in, his tongue swirling deep, dragging a wrecked moan from your throat. "You taste better than I remember. So fucking sweet."

Your hands fist the sheets, your hips grinding up to meet his mouth as he devours you, slow and reverent, like he's worshiping every inch of you. His tongue flicks and curls, teasing your entrance before plunging inside, and you're already trembling, your body a live wire under his touch. "Bucky—please," you whimper, your thighs quaking as he hooks them over his shoulders, spreading you wider, claiming you completely.

"Love hearing you beg," he murmurs against your pussy, his beard scraping your inner thighs, the burn only amplifying the pleasure. "Missed this. Missed you. Been dreaming about this pretty cunt every fucking night." He sucks your clit hard, a deliberate pull that makes your vision blur, your body arching off the bed as you cry out. "Gonna make you come so hard you forget how to breathe."

You do. You come so fast, so violently, it's like a supernova bursting behind your eyes, your entire body seizing as you scream his name. He doesn't stop, lapping at you through the aftershocks, drawing out every shudder, every broken gasp, until you're a boneless mess beneath him.

But he's not done. Not even close.

Before you can catch your breath, he's up, his hands—flesh and metal—flipping you onto your stomach with effortless strength. "Ass up, sweetheart," he growls, his voice a dark, filthy promise that makes your core clench all over again. You scramble to obey, your knees sinking into the mattress, your back arching as you press your hips back toward him, desperate, aching, needy.

"Fuck, look at you," he groans, his hands gripping your hips, his thumbs spreading you open as he kneels behind you. "So wet for me. So fucking perfect." You hear the rustle of his clothes, the clink of his belt, and then he's there, the thick head of his cock nudging against your entrance.

Not yet.

Instead, he presses the hot, leaking head of his cock on your wet pussy and just… holds it there. Teasing. Taunting. Letting you feel the weight of him, the heat, the pressure, everything you want but not giving you an inch.

He grinds in slow, maddening circles, rubbing right where you're soaked and aching, coating his tip in your slick. The sensation is enough to make your knees shake.

You whimper. Push back against him. Beg with your body.

But he only chuckles, low and wrecked. "You want it that bad, sweetheart?" he rasps, dragging his tip up through your folds, nudging your clit before sliding back down and rubbing against your entrance again. "Fuck, look how wet you are for me. Just from my voice. Just from thinking about me."

You sob his name, fingers curling in the sheets, desperate for friction, for fullness, for him.

But Bucky stays exactly where he is. Letting the swollen tip of his cock press against your cunt without breaching it, just enough to make your whole body burn. Just enough to make you feel like you're going to snap.

He groans like he's punishing himself. Like this is torture for him, too. "Could slide in so easy," he murmurs, grinding slow and shallow against you, your slick coating both of you now. "You're begging for it, baby. This tight little cunt's fuckin' fluttering, pulling me in."

Your hips buck helplessly. "Bucky... please—"

"Please what?" he growls, jaw tight. "Please put it in? Please fuck you stupid? You want this cock, doll?"

"Yes—fuck—yes," you cry, nearly delirious. "Please, don't tease, just fuck me..."

"Oh, I'm gonna fuck you," he says, his tone dripping with dark, delicious intent. "Gonna fuck you so deep you'll feel me for days. Gonna ruin this pussy." He slides in slow, inch by agonizing inch, stretching you, filling you, until you're gasping, your hands clawing at the sheets. 

"You're mine, baby. This tight little cunt? Mine."

He starts moving, hard and deliberate, each thrust driving you into the mattress, his hips snapping against yours with a filthy rhythm that makes you sob with pleasure. His vibranium hand grips your hip, cool and unyielding, while his flesh hand slides under you, finding your breasts, cupping them possessively. His fingers pinch your nipples, rolling them just hard enough to make you gasp, your body arching further into him as he groans against your skin. "These fucking tits," he growls, squeezing them from beneath, his touch rough and reverent. "Been dreaming about these, too. So soft, so perfect in my hands."

"Yes—yes," you moan, your body shaking as he pounds into you, each thrust hitting that perfect spot that makes you see stars. "Love it. Love you. Bucky, harder."

He growls, low and feral, and gives you exactly what you want, his pace turning brutal, his cock slamming into you so deep you feel it in your bones. "Fuck, I want to taste you again," he rasps, leaning over you, his chest pressed to your back, his lips grazing your ear.

It's too much. It's everything. Your body is a live wire, oversensitive and overstimulated, but you can't stop, can't pull away from the way he's claiming you, body and soul. His filthy promises, his bites, the way he fills yoU, it's all-consuming. Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, white-hot and blinding, your walls clenching so tight around him you feel him falter. You scream his name, a broken, desperate sound, your body shaking as you come so hard your vision goes dark, your pussy gripping him like it's trying to keep him forever.

"Fuck—fuck," he chokes out, his thrusts stuttering as he buries himself deep, his cock pulsing as he spills inside you, hot and thick, wave after wave filling you up. His forehead presses against your spine, his breath ragged, his hands trembling as they lock onto your hips, anchoring himself to you like you're his only tether to the world.

But he's not done. Oh, God, he's not done.

He pulls out just enough to catch his breath, his cock still slick and half-hard, and then he flips you over with a strength that steals the air from your lungs. You land on your back with a startled gasp, your legs trembling as he nudges them apart with his knee, his vibranium hand curling around the back of your neck, possessive and grounding. His dark, wild, starving eyes—lock onto yours as he lines himself up again, pushing back inside with a slow, deliberate thrust that makes you whimper.

"Need to see you," he murmurs, his voice low and wrecked, his lips brushing your temple as he rocks into you, deep and unhurried, like he's savoring every second. "Need to come inside you while I watch those pretty eyes fall apart." His flesh hand slides down to your thigh, hooking it over his waist, opening you up so he can fuck you deeper, his cock hitting places that make your breath hitch.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, his forehead pressed to yours, his hips rolling with a rhythm that's both tender and devastating. "Feel how full you are? That's all me. Gonna fuck you so deep you'll feel me for weeks. Wanna mark you inside and out, make sure you're dripping with me." His vibranium hand slides up to your breast, squeezing hard, his thumb brushing your nipple until you're gasping, your body clenching around him again.

He bites your shoulder again, harder this time, his teeth sinking in as he growls against your skin, the sharp sting blending with the pleasure of his cock filling you. "Love these fucking tits," he murmurs, his hand kneading your breast, his fingers pinching just enough to make you moan. "Love how you shake for me, how you take every inch like you're made for my cock."

You're a mess, slick with sweat, your body trembling as another orgasm builds, unstoppable and overwhelming. "Bucky," you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders, his back, anything to hold onto as he drives you higher. "I love you. I love you so fucking much."

That's what breaks him. A shattered groan of your name spilling from his lips as he comes again, his cock pulsing deep inside you, filling you until you're dripping, claimed in every way. His thrusts slow but don't stop, drawing out your pleasure until you're shaking, your own release crashing through you, your moans mingling with his as you cling to him, utterly ruined.

He collapses over you, chest heaving, his body a warm, heavy weight pinning you to the mattress. He doesn't pull out, just stays there, softening inside you, his lips brushing soft, reverent kisses over the bite marks on your shoulder, soothing the sting he left behind. "Missed you so fucking much," he whispers, his voice raw, trembling with something deeper than lust. "Couldn't stay away from you. Never can."

You hum, too fucked-out to speak, your arms wrapping around his back, holding him close as your body thrums with the afterglow, the marks on your shoulder a delicious reminder of his claim.

"You okay?" he murmurs after a moment, nudging your nose with his, his voice a mix of concern and that smug, bastardly charm.

You manage a breathless laugh, your head still spinning. "I think I died. Twice."

He grins. Smug bastard.

"Good."

You roll your eyes. "You and your fucking audacity," you mumble, barely coherent.

He chuckles, still inside you, still hardening slowly. Still not done.

"I am so in love with you," he murmurs, voice low and dangerous. "'And I'm not going anywhere."

[sambuckys-world]

by @lio28837778

[sambuckys-world]

Congratulations on 25K likes! Your writing is AMAZING! Was wondering if you’re still doing prompts, and if so maybe #39? I love the idea of a filthy talking Bucky fucking the reader until she’s literally dumb for him. Congrats again!

THANK YOU SM!!!!

here we go teehee

-

You don’t know what time it is. What day. What planet.

All you know is the mattress is soaked beneath your ass, your thighs are shaking like leaves, and Bucky Barnes is somewhere between your legs, murmuring things that make your brain flicker out like a dying lightbulb.

You’re not even sure when you stopped forming full sentences—maybe around the time he started mouthing at your clit like it was the only thing keeping him alive. Tongue slow and deliberate, fingers petting your thighs like he had all the time in the world. He hadn’t even put his cock in yet, and you’re already boneless, twitching, every inhale caught in your throat like a sob.

“Easy,” he coos, the softness of the word a taunt more than comfort. His voice is wet against your skin, chin glossy with you, lips flushed and parted like he’s drunk on the taste. “Look at you.”

You try to lift your head, try to blink the sweat from your lashes, but your eyes barely focus. Everything pulses in time with your heartbeat—your cunt, your stomach, the heavy throb between your legs that he refuses to satisfy.

“Poor baby.” He chuckles, dark and smug, his metal hand sliding beneath your ass to tilt your hips just a little higher. “All fucked out and I’ve barely even touched you.”

The whimper that slips out is humiliating. You’re too far gone to care.

He kisses the inside of your thigh—slow, reverent. Then his teeth scrape the tender skin just enough to make you jolt. One hand holds your trembling knee wide open, while the other—flesh and warm—rubs lazy circles over your mound. Not your clit. Not where you need. Just enough to tease. To keep you hovering on the edge like a ragdoll he can pose however he likes.

“Was gonna make you beg for it,” he muses, dragging the tip of one finger down your slit. Your hips twitch. “But I think we’re past that now, aren’t we?”

He presses the finger in—just the tip—and you clench like it’s the first thing you’ve felt in hours. Your whole body folds into it, desperate, greedy.

“Fuck, you’re soaked. Squeezin’ me already, and I haven’t even started.”

You reach for him blindly, hand flailing toward the mess of muscles and tattoos above you, but he catches your wrist with his metal hand and pins it above your head without effort. His weight settles over you then—solid, hot, and massive. He drags his cock, thick and heavy, through your folds once, slowly, watching your face the whole time.

“You gonna say anything, baby?” he whispers, mouth brushing your jaw, his cock resting just at your entrance. “Or did I fuck your brains out with my tongue already?”

You try. You really do. You open your mouth, and the only sound that comes out is a whimper—half sob, half moan, strung-out and helpless.

That gets him. His breath stutters. You feel it against your cheek.

“Ohh,” he groans, and it’s so filthy—the sound of a man watching you come undone from just his mouth and fingers. “I love you like this. Can’t even think, can you? Just a dumb little thing now. My dumb little thing.”

He grinds forward just a little, the blunt head of his cock pressing in, stretching you slow. You sob again, legs kicking weakly around his waist, but he just laughs—dark and pleased and mean.

“Shhh,” he purrs, kissing your temple. “Let me think for you now.”

And then he pushes in. All the way. One long, unbearable thrust that knocks the air from your lungs and has your back arching off the bed.

You see stars. Your vision whites out.

He groans into your mouth as he sinks in, slow but unrelenting, like he wants you to feel every inch rearranging you from the inside out.

“There she is,” he mutters, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good. So wet for me. This what you needed, huh?”

You can’t answer. Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Your brain’s scrambled, fried, short-circuited by the heat and stretch and pressure of him inside you. Your whole body feels like it’s been doused in gasoline and set on fire.

He starts moving.

Not fast. Just deep. Every stroke hits some spot inside you that turns your limbs to jelly and makes your fingers twitch helplessly against the sheets. Your mouth drops open again, gasping now, whimpering his name without meaning to.

Bucky’s smiling above you—glowing with it, like he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

“Fuckin’ ruined you already,” he growls, fucking deeper now, harder. “And I’m not even close to done.”

He’s relentless.

Every thrust is deep, measured, calculated. Like he’s trying to split you open slow and deliberate, memorize the exact way you shake apart beneath him. His metal hand is still wrapped around your wrist, keeping you pinned, while his flesh hand slides down between your bodies to press against your clit—slick and throbbing and painfully sensitive.

“Bucky—” It comes out more breath than word, cracked and pleading.

You don’t even know what you’re asking for. For him to stop? To never stop? Either way, he just grins.

“That’s it, baby,” he rasps, cock dragging against that spot that makes your vision go white. “Come on. Gimme one.”

You’re already there.

It hits fast, like a freight train, like the recoil of a gun—tight and sudden and overwhelming. Your whole body seizes, legs trembling, muscles locking around him as you come with a desperate cry. His name splits from your throat, raw and wrecked.

You’re squeezing him so tight he groans—low and ragged—and drops his head to your shoulder, biting down just enough to make you twitch.

But he doesn’t stop.

“Fuck, you’re clenching me so hard—Jesus,” he growls, hips stuttering for a second before finding their rhythm again. “That’s it. Gimme another.”

You whimper—already too much, too full, too everything. But he doesn’t care. He’s watching you like a man starved, gaze fixed to your face like he can see the exact moment your mind goes quiet again.

You claw at his shoulders now, legs shaking around his waist, nails raking down his back without aim. He fucks you through it, cock dragging slick and heavy, grinding against your most sensitive spots until you’re trembling again.

“Can’t stop now,” he breathes, kissing your cheek, then your jaw, then dragging his tongue down the sweat-slick column of your throat. “Too fuckin’ pretty when you fall apart. Can’t get enough of this pussy.”

“Too much—” you gasp, voice hoarse, broken.

“I know, baby. I know.” His lips brush your ear. “Do it again.”

You sob.

And then he does something cruel—his metal hand lets go of your wrist and slips under your thigh instead, lifting it high to his shoulder, bending you in half. The new angle has him deeper—deeper—and you swear you black out for half a second, your mouth opening in a silent scream as your body goes taut again.

“There you go,” he croons, voice low and wrecked. “That’s it. Let it take you. Go all dumb for me, baby.”

You do.

You come again—don’t even know how. Your body takes over. Your hips twitch helplessly beneath his, spasming around him in aftershocks you can’t control. You’re sobbing now, pretty and fucked out and gone. Your hands grip his arms like they’re the only solid thing left in the universe.

Bucky’s losing it too—you can hear it in the way he’s panting, the way his thrusts are starting to break rhythm, harder now, messier. But he doesn’t stop giving. Doesn’t stop talking.

“Feel that?” he pants, slamming into you hard enough to jolt the bedframe. “That’s me, baby. All of me. Fillin’ you up, takin’ you apart. This what you wanted?”

You whimper, nodding furiously, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes. It’s too much. You’re not even sure you’re breathing right.

“Yeah,” he grits, eyes locked to yours. “You wanted this. Wanted me to fuck you dumb. You’re so fuckin’ pretty like this, baby. So fucked-out and full.”

His metal fingers curl around your throat again, just to hold you still. Not choking—just claiming.

“You’re mine,” he growls. “Say it.”

You can’t.

The words are there, but your mouth won’t work. Your whole body’s trembling too hard. All you can do is moan, weak and needy and ruined, as your cunt pulses around him again, dragging another orgasm out of your already-wrecked body.

He loses it.

“Fuck—fuck, sweetheart—fuck.”

He buries himself deep, cock twitching as he spills into you, groaning against your throat like it’s being torn out of him. The heat of it hits you immediately, thick and wet and overwhelming, and you cry out again, twitching through the aftershocks with your nails buried in his shoulder.

For a moment, everything is still. Just breath and heartbeat and the sound of his come leaking out of you in slow, obscene drips.

You’re gasping. Your fingers are still shaking. Your brain is mush.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull out. Just presses his forehead to yours, breathing hard, his weight warm and solid above you. His hand slides from your throat to your cheek, thumb brushing away the tears he kissed out of you.

“Hey,” he whispers, voice hoarse now—gentler. “You with me?”

You blink up at him, glassy-eyed, lips trembling. He smiles.

“There she is,” he murmurs, kissing your temple. “Took it like a fuckin’ champ.”

He pulls out slowly, carefully, and you whimper again at the loss, the stretch of it making your whole body flinch. Immediately, he shushes you, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you into his lap like you weigh nothing.

“You did so good for me,” he says, settling you against his chest. “So good, sweetheart. Look at you. All fucked out and still so fuckin’ pretty.”

You cling to him, hiding your face in his neck as your body shakes in tiny, leftover tremors. You feel his hand stroke slowly down your spine, soothing, grounding.

“You want water?” he murmurs. “Blanket? Anything?”

You can’t speak. You just nod, eyes closed, trusting him completely.

He kisses your forehead. “That’s my girl.”

[sambuckys-world]

Bursting at the Seams

Pairing: Beefy!Bucky x Girlfriend!Reader

Word Count: <650

Content: dry humping, desperate & messy Bucky, dirty talk

18+ Minors DNI

Synopsis: It’s been a month apart & Bucky is about to combust.

A/N: written on my phone; the girlies asked & they shall receive - @soelstress @buckybarnes82 & @buckybarnesfic bc she specifically requested: “make that man cum in his pants” - HOPE YOU LIKE IT! 😅

You push the apartment door open and see the light from the TV flickering from the den. Before you can go to him, he’s there - all wet hair, gray sweatpants slung low on his hips, and dog tags glinting on his beefy chest.

“You are never allowed to leave me for a whole month ever again,” he whines, wrapping you in his arms.

“She needed me,” you defend yourself, but welcome his warm embrace. You’ve missed his smell, the safety you feel in his muscular arms, and the sound of his voice. But your best friend needed you this past month - she had her first baby and you stayed with her for the first month - helping her clean, meal prep, and run errands while she took care of her newborn.

“How did everything go? Was she okay when you left?” Bucky asks, dragging you to sit beside him on the loveseat.

“It went great. She was a little sad to see me leave, but her laundry is all done for now, her pantry and freezer are stocked, and the little man has more diapers than he’ll ever need.”

“Ooh, what’d you make her? You meal prepped?” Bucky asks, swinging one of your legs over his lap so you’re straddling him. You plant a warm kiss on his lips and feel like you could melt. God, you’ve missed him.

“I made a bunch of meals to freeze - lasagna, casseroles, breakfast sandwiches, soups, even some cookie dough for when she needs a pick-me-up.”

Bucky salivates at the thought of you slaving away in the kitchen making some of his favorite things, and tugs you closer to him.

“You’re such an amazing woman,” he mutters, kissing your neck. Your perfume overwhelms him and he feels his cock spring to attention. He grinds your hips down onto his hard length. You sigh at the friction and kiss his neck.

“Fuck, I missed you so bad,” he whines, running warm, calloused fingers under your shirt. “My hand doesn’t hold a candle to you.” You giggle at that.

“Did you do that a lot while I was gone?” You ask with a raised brow as you rock your hips, but he shakes his head. The seam of his sweatpants is stretched to the limit. “Really? You didn’t think about me just like this? Bouncing on your cock?”

“Fuck,” he whimpers, rutting into you through the layers of clothing. Precum starts to leak from his tip, staining the light gray fabric. “I did think about it, but nothing compares to the real thing.”

“Nothing compares to me riding you after you’ve filled me up? Milking you for every last drop?” You moan into his ear, palming him through his sweats. His head falls back against the couch and you bite softly at the hollow of his throat, his beard scratching your soft skin deliciously.

“If you don’t stop talking…” he trails off in a rasp, pressing his erection right where he needs it.

“What? You’ll cum in your pants?” You tease. “Don’t worry, I’ll clean up your mess, baby.”

“Oh my Goddd,” he moans, pressing your hips down, grounding his cock into your jeans. He’s panting, eyes squeezed shut, gripping your hips like you’ll float away if he doesn’t hang on for dear life. A small whimper escapes his perfect pink lips as his thighs tense in pleasure under you. A stain builds quickly on his sweatpants as he opens his eyes and looks at you with heavy lids under those thick lashes. You giggle and kiss him.

“I should go take care of this,” he mutters, looking down sheepishly.

“No, that’s what I’m here for,” you whisper, rolling his sweatpants down.

“Oh, fuck,” he whines, gripping the couch cushion. “Did I mention how much I missed you?”

But you can’t reply when your mouth’s full.

[sambuckys-world]

prettiest side profile 🫶🏼

[sambuckys-world]

It's my 9 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳

can't believe i've had this for 9 years already but i only started actually using it like 2 days ago LOL

[sambuckys-world]

Bucky(on the phone): Sam -

Sam: - You were all Grumpy Cat at me on that plane because “blah blah blah, Steve had a plan!”

Bucky: Sam please just -

Sam: Then I find out you had a “plan” to drive a truck into the goddamn lobby of the old Avengers Tower, with a bunch of people you barely knew, to get a guy with superpowers you didn’t even know the scope of - ?!

Bucky:… Yes?

Sam: GODDAMNIT BARNES

[sambuckys-world]

sending this as anon bc i haven't shared my thoughts anywhr else before (unless retweeting other ppl's thoughts count 😭)

been thinking about dry humping bucky like i want it so baaaddddd. just want to fall apart under him & imagine the sounds he'd make and in general making a mess of myself on him aaaaaaa

dry humping is not talking about enough and he’s just as a slur for it as you are

like just imagining him humpingf you from the back and he has his cock out but it’s just out in between the waistband of his shorts and boxers and just the tip is peaking out

enough to leak over your clothed ass each time he pushes into you like an alpha in a rut…

“oh fuck..need you so bad..” and you both couldn’t cause he literally had to leave soon

but the smell was basking in the mixture of your scents with each hump

and yeah .

you do reach down to play with yourself inside your pants and he moans as he watches and realizes where going on before he’s gripping your hips and grinding his dick into you

[sambuckys-world]

#Not a single thought behind those eyes

[sambuckys-world]

please don't be mean to me bc i can be meaner and i hate being mean