distraction level: expert
nerdy gamer!bucky x girlfriend!reader (college au) summary: bucky’s got a late night gaming session with the boys, but you decide it’s perfect time to remind him who’s really in control. (1k words) warnings: 18+ mdni. smut, handjobs, blowjobs, oral sex (m receiving), slight exhibitionism (kinda?), teasing, bucky being flustered, light dom/sub vibes a/n: this was stuck in my head all night. had to get it down. bit messy, but enjoy xoxo
The glow of Bucky's dual monitors bathes his dorm room in a soft blue haze, the kind that makes his sharp jawline look even more defined. He's hunched over his mechanical keyboard, fingers flying across the keys, trash-talking Steve and Sam through his headset like it's the Super Bowl of Destiny 2. "C'mon, punk, flank left—left, Rogers! You're gonna get us wiped again!"
You watch from the edge of his bed, legs tucked under you, wearing nothing but a pair of cotton panties, and one of his oversized Star Wars tees that barely skims your thighs. It's been a long week of midterms and group projects, and Bucky's been glued to his setup for the last two hours, promising "just one more round" since dinner. But you're done waiting. A sly smile tugs at your lips as you slide off the bed, padding silently across the carpet in your socks.
He doesn't notice you at first, too busy barking orders. "Sam, bird boy, cover my six—shit, Widowmaker's on me!" His arm flexes as he mashes his mouse button.
You drop to your knees beside his chair, heart racing with that delicious thrill of mischief. Your hands find his thighs, spreading them just enough to slot yourself between his legs. Bucky jolts, his eyes flicking down for a split second, wide and startled behind his glasses. "What the—babe?" he hisses under his breath, mic muted just in time as Steve's voice crackles through: "Buck? You good, man?”
You bat your lashes up at him innocently, palming him through the soft cotton, your fingers already tracing the waistband of his joggers.
"Shh.." you mouth, tugging at the drawstring. His cock twitches under the thin fabric, half-hard from the adrenaline of the game—or maybe from the way you've been ‘accidentally’ brushing against him all evening. Bucky's cheeks flush that pretty pink you love, his fingers gripping the armrest like it's a lifeline.
"Unmute yourself" you whisper, voice low and teasing, as you tug his joggers down just enough to free him. He springs out, thick and heavy against his stomach, the tip already glistening. Bucky swallows hard, thumb hovering over his keyboard. "Guys, gimme a sec—uh, grabbing a drink" he manages, voice a touch too high-pitched. Sam snorts. "Yeah, sure, Barnes. Don't rage-quit on us."
The second his mic's off, Bucky's free hand tangles in your hair, not pulling, just holding on like you're his anchor. "Y/N, fuck—they're gonna hear" he groans, but there's no real protest in it. His hips buck up involuntarily as your hand wraps around his base, stroking slow and firm, thumb swirling over the head to spread that bead of pre-cum. He's so responsive, always has been, even when he's trying to play the cool, brooding gamer boy.
You lean in, breath ghosting over him, and Bucky's whole body tenses. "Then be quiet, baby" you murmur against his skin, before flicking your tongue out to trace the underside. He bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, and quiet, but so clear to your ears, he whimpers—actually whimpers—when your lips seal around the head before lifting with a wet pop
The taste of him—salty, musky, Bucky—floods your mouth, and you hum in approval, the vibration making his thighs quake. He was too big, always was. Your jaw ached in the best way, lips stretching around him, but god, the way he filled your mouth, heavy on your tongue. It was filthy perfection.
Up above, the game's chaos continues. "Buck? You back? We need backup now!" Steve yells echo through the headset, and Bucky fumbles to unmute, his real hand slamming the spacebar while you work him with your fist, twisting on the upstroke. "Y-yeah, comin'—shit, I mean, on it," he stammers, voice wrecked.
You grin around him, hollowing your cheeks and bobbing lower, taking as much as you can until your nose brushes the dark trail of hair at his base. His fingers tangle further in your hair, guiding you just a little, desperate but gentle.
The room fills with the rapid click-clack of his keyboard, punctuated by his ragged breaths and the occasional choked curse. You can feel him throbbing on your tongue, swelling as you alternate between sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along his length and tight, suctioning pulls that have him leaking steadily. Your free hand slips under his shirt, nails raking over the ridges of his abs, feeling them clench under your touch.
"Team wipe—Bucky, what the hell, man? You playing with one hand or something?" Sam laughs, and Bucky's response is a strangled laugh of his own. "S-somethin' like that.”
Oh, if they only knew.
You speed up, hand pumping what your mouth can't reach, spit slicking the way as you twist and tease. Bucky's close—you can tell by the way his fingers dig into the chair, the quiet creak of leather barely audible over the sound of digital gunfire.
"You gonna come, Jamie?" you pull off just long enough to whisper, hot breath fanning over him, before diving back in, swallowing around him.
That's does it—he shatters with a bitten-off "Fuck," hips jerking as he spills down your throat, thick and hot.
You take it all, milking him through it with gentle strokes until he's spent, slumped back in his chair like a ragdoll. Pulling off with a quiet pop, you wipe at the corner of your lips, catching a stray drop.
The kill feed pings—somehow, in his haze, Bucky's landed a quadruple kill. "Holy shit, Barnes! Clutch!" Steve whoops, and Bucky manages a weak laugh, before muting again and hauling you up into his lap.
"You're evil" he pants against your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue as he kisses you deep and filthy. His cock's already twitching back to life against your thigh. "My turn to shut you up."
You laugh, low and wicked. "Next round?"
Next round? Abso-fucking-lutely.
