All I’m thinking about is Bucky fingering reader. Maybe he’s driving the car home and she ovulating and squirming and he’s like fine this should hold you over and starts fingering her. Or maybe during a makeout session he pushes reader against the wall and makes her hold eye contact. Or maybe he holds reader in front of a full length mirror and makes her watch as he’s uses his fingers on her.
IN THE CARRRRR....sorry, i lost the plot after that
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You’re squirming.
You’ve been squirming for twenty minutes. Legs pressed together, then apart, then together again. Fingers flexing on your thigh. Breath coming out in these little shaky huffs that are way too loud for a quiet drive home.
Bucky glances over from the driver’s seat, jaw ticking.
“Doll,” he warns.
“I’m not doing anything,” you lie through your teeth, shifting again because your body is buzzing—too hot, too needy, too aware that you’re ovulating and that the man beside you could ruin you with one hand if he wanted to.
He does want to.
He always wants to.
But he’s trying to behave. Trying to be decent. Trying not to pull over on the shoulder of this dark, empty road and fuck a baby into you like he’s been thinking about all night.
You wiggle again—subtle, but not subtle enough.
Bucky’s grip tightens on the steering wheel.
His voice drops. “If you move one more time, I’m gonna think you’re begging.”
Your breath catches. “…I’m not.”
“Liar.” He exhales hard through his nose. “You’re ovulatin’, aren’t you?”
Your silence is all the answer he needs.
He mutters a curse—low, filthy, reverent—and the sound of it slides straight between your legs. You’re warm, soaked, throbbing, and you swear you can smell yourself on the leather seat.
“Jesus Christ.” Bucky shifts in his seat like his jeans are suddenly too tight. “Knew somethin’ was off. You’ve been lookin’ at me like I’m dinner.”
You swallow. “Maybe I am.”
He laughs—dark, disbelieving. “You tryin' to kill me?”
But you move again, thighs rubbing together just to relieve something, and that’s it. That’s all it takes.
Bucky’s hand leaves the wheel.
His flesh hand finds your knee, heavy and warm, and slides up—slow, intentional, knowing exactly what he's doing. You gasp, grabbing at his wrist.
“Buck—”
“I warned you, sweetheart.” His voice is a low rumble that vibrates through you. “Told you if you kept squirming, I’d take care of it.”
“It’s not my fault,” you breathe. “I can’t help it.”
“Mm.” His fingers skim the edge of your panties. “Lucky for you, I’m real good at helpin’.”
He pushes your skirt up with one firm sweep of his hand, baring the heat between your thighs. You’re trembling by the time his fingers press over your panties, the thin fabric already soaked through.
Bucky hisses. “Fuck. You’re burning up.”
“Bucky—”
“This is what ovulation does to you?” He drags his fingers along your slit, slow enough that your hips lift desperately. “Makes you this needy?”
You nod, but your voice is gone.
“Good,” he says, slipping his hand beneath the fabric, finding bare skin. “Means you’ll take my fingers real nice.”
His middle finger slides between your folds, finding you embarrassingly wet, and he groans like he’s the one being touched.
“Jesus, doll. You’re dripping.”
Then he pushes a finger inside you—no warning, no tease—just sinks in to the knuckle while he keeps his eyes on the road like he’s not destroying you at 65 miles per hour.
Your entire body jolts.
“Bucky—!”
“Shh.” He curls the finger, finding that spot that makes you clench. “You keep makin' those noises, I’ll forget we’re in a moving vehicle.”
You grab the door handle, the seat, his arm—anything—as he adds a second finger, stretching you, filling you so deeply you see stars. Your breath breaks into little gasps you can’t control.
He moves slowly at first, working you open, letting you feel every inch of him.
“Look at you,” he murmurs. “So desperate. Couldn’t wait till we got home, could you?”
“N-No,” you choke out. “I need you.”
“I know you do.” His fingers start to thrust, deliberate and steady. “Your little pussy’s been begging all night.”
You whimper, clenching around him.
That gets him. You feel the shift immediately—his patience snaps clean in half.
His fingers drive into you harder, faster, curling deep with every stroke. You cry out, hips lifting helplessly.
“Hold still for me,” he orders, breathless now. “Let me work you.”
“I can’t—Bucky, I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.” His thumb finds your clit, circling it just once—just enough to make everything inside you tighten painfully. “You’re gonna come for me. Right here.”
Your thighs shake, your chest heaves, and your whole body is pulsing around him.
“Please,” you gasp. “More—”
“Oh, you’re gettin’ more.” His voice is ragged. “Soon as we get home, I’m bendin’ you over the first surface I see and fuckin’ you so deep you’ll still feel me tomorrow.”
You keen—loud and broken.
He smirks at the windshield. “Thought that’d get you.”
Your climax builds too fast, too sharp, like your body’s been waiting hours for permission.
“Bucky—I'm close—”
“I know, sweetheart. I can feel you.” His fingers slam into you with filthy precision. “Come for me. Right now.”
His thumb drags over your clit again, and that’s it.
Your orgasm hits hard—violent, blinding—your back arching, your hips shaking, your cry muffled by your own trembling hand. You clamp around his fingers, pulsing, soaking his wrist, your whole body seized with desperate, aching relief.
Bucky groans, low and possessive, feeling every wave of it.
“Good girl,” he growls, easing you through it but not stopping. Not even slowing. “There she is. God, you’re perfect.”
You’re still shaking, still pulsing, but he keeps fucking you with his fingers, drawing out every aftershock until you’re whimpering and pushing at his arm.
“Sensitive,” you breathe, voice wrecked.
“Uh-huh.” But he doesn’t remove his fingers—he stays deep, humming like he’s pleased with himself. “Told you I’d hold you over.”
“Bucky—”
He finally pulls out, slow and slick, lifting his fingers to his mouth without shame. He sucks them clean, eyes still on the road, like he didn’t just ruin you in the passenger seat.
Then he wipes his hand on his thigh and exhales shakily.
“We’re not goin’ home,” he says.
Your head snaps up. “What?”
He gives you a look that makes your stomach drop.
“We’re not makin’ it home,” he clarifies. “Pullin’ over in about thirty seconds. Get in the backseat.”
“Bucky—”
“You’re ovulating,” he growls. “And I’m done pretendin’ I don’t smell it.”
You swallow hard.
“Backseat,” he repeats, voice thick with hunger. “Now.”
And you don’t argue.
You unbuckle, legs still shaking, because one ruined orgasm was never going to hold you over.
Nalo watches apathetically as the human before him desperately explains their desires. It's the same story, unrequited love and blah, blah, blah. Exhaling, he rolls his eyes and then slowly raises his head, light blue curls swirling around his face and bouncing in place against his dark horns. Placing his elbow on the table, he props his head up on the palm of his hand and curls his fingers into the soft locks. The human before him reacts with caution, as expected, and stops talking.
Nalo is quiet for another moment, red eyes staring blankly into his visitor's. The tension builds between them and then he snaps his fingers, the tips of his nail rings brush by one another, and a scroll appears before his customer. "Sign here." Nalo drawls, lips splitting to reveal a sharp, toothy grin. Naturally, and with little hesitation, they sign and his eyes flutter shut as he savors the surge of power conquering another soul brings. Then his grin slips and he ushers them away. "Now leave." Before the lost soul questions him, he snaps his fingers and they disappear.
Slumping forward, he crosses this arms on the surface of the table and them rests his chin on it. Now he must endure more waiting, his gaze flicks to the paperwork across the room, or start filing. The very idea causes shivers to wrack his warm skin and he gags. Nalo decides to avoid paperwork for now, after all another poor human could need him at any moment. The bell rings thrice over, the world blurs and suddenly he stands in a dimly lit room. It looks like a bedroom, an extremely boring bedroom. His red eyes survey his surroundings, they land on you. Your posture is slumped and your eyes carry a heavy gaze. You expression lights up, he notices, the look in your eyes is unsettling. "It worked..." He hears you mutter, a large grin crossing your face as you approach him.
"Of course it did." Nalo responds, watching you cautiously. "Why did you summon me?" He begins to hover, crossing his legs and glancing at the poorly drawn sigil underneath him. Your handwriting is atrocious. A large printed photo is shoved in front of his face. "Make him love me." What a common request, he reaches for the photo. "Hm." Nalo's squints as he observes the features of the man who has bewitched you. "He's a bit boring.." The demon remarks, looking back at you with minor judgement only to be startled by the pure obsession your tired eyes drowns in. "Ah." His monotonous tone picks up as he absorbs your deliciously sick love. It's his favorite type, it taints the soul, turns it dark and bitter. "Can you do that?" You ask, eager and desperate, audaciously grasping his arms. "Yes," He begins, shrugging off your touch and gracefully unfolding his legs to land on the ground. "For a price." Purple-pink gradient sleeves swirl as he turns, the heel of his wedged sandals clomps aggressively as he strides towards a chair at a messy desk.
Groaning, he shoves numerous items off your desk, the items clatter as they hit the floor. Then he looks around, gaze landing on a chair close by, he flicks his hand and the chair swiftly slides next to him. Nalo pats the cushion of the added chair and beckons you to his side with a sharp, red nails the Jewels on it gleaming in the light. "Come, let's talk, dear." He purrs, eyes narrowing as you approach. His hunger grows as you eagerly comply, leaning forward and swearing to give him whatever he wants. "I'll give anything for his love, I swear. Please, just help me!" You beg and his smile grows, his mouth waters as he anticipates the delicious payment awaiting him. Maybe he'll drag it out, just to savor that taste a little longer, he bites the tip of the nail that he has placed against his lips. "I'm sure you will." Giggling, his tongue juts out, wetting his dry lips. He grabs your hands, holding them tight as he speaks. "I know we'll both be quite satisfied with this contract." Oh, his desire nearly overwhelms him. Nalo so badly wants your soul, or a taste at least, obsession is always such a delicious meal and he enjoys it immensely.
(that's it, I had to get this outta my drafts, hope you guys enjoy!)
ngl I'm obsessed with "meta" fanfics recently. Like reader goes into the universe shit and things like that...PLEASE send recs of stuff like that. Honestly will accept any fandom and will probably read them all eventually.
Not that this is news at this point, but I’m writing something really dirty.
I think the term is reverse omorashi - meaning the reader is desperate, rather than the character (e.g. it’s not Loki). You all seemed to enjoy the last one - and I sure as hell did!
Anyway this new one-shot is filthy.
It’s not as erotic as Secret Tradition, it’s just dirty as hell.
