a lesson in devotion <𝟑 .ᐟ
pairing: bestfriend!bucky x f!reader
summary: after picking you up from your failed date, seeing your eyes red rimmed and cheeks tear stained, Bucky can’t help but let everything he’s been holding back from you go.
warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut & fluff, crying, being stood up, dating apps, self-deprecation, texting & phone calls, reader uses sarcasm to deflect, sexual jokes, petnames (sweetheart, sweet girl, baby…), whipped!bucky, making out, kitchen to the bed, dirty talk, oral (f!rec), fingering, unprotected pinv, creampie, missionary, seb’s tongue thing (and his face scrunch), (failed) riding, subspace, cocky!bucky, (soft)dom!bucky, multiple orgasms (like three), multiple positions (like two), slight cockwarming, MAAAD BDB (bucky's got a big dick and he knows it) . . . - (wc: 7.7k)
a/n: THANK YOU TO THIS ANON ASK !!!! in my brain, 'bestfriend' automatically turns into 'college!bucky' but really, you can imagine however you like lol <3 (he is broke tho so.) im so sorry this is late, fhsdufghfsf i didnt think this would turn into a 7k word porno lmfao
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✴︎ reader is mentioned to have hair, and wears a dress, heels and make-up at the beginning. bucky also carries reader from kitchen to bed. (readers favourite movie is also Almost Famous here, why? because im self indulgent and it's a good movie.)
✴︎ it's mentioned that bucky lives in an apartment with steve, unrelated to the plot, just mentioned (as well as a couple mentions of steve/nat. also alpine is mentioned once !!)
✴︎ if i'm missing any tags please kindly let me know !!
The restaraunt still hums behind you, bustling with couples and soft, orange lighting, perfect for the night's celebrations, all the while you stand under the tiny awning trying to keep dry, arms clinging around your chest in an attempt to retain as much heat in as possible. Your hands balled into fists, one clutched your purse beneath your bicep, and the other holds your heels, feet soaked and numb, two-stepping with desperation.
You whine softly under your breath as the rain keeps pouring, sputtering against the covering and pavement, teeth chattering, chest heaving with a mix of anger and distress.
He didn't show.
After months of talking, of smiley faces and hearts sent at ungodly hours of the night, praise exclaimed with a smile on your face to friends, and a reservation you had made a week in advance, waiting for any sign to come through after an hour of waiting with a bouncy knee and chewed up lip, your chest caved inwards as a new story was posted on his account fifteen minutes ago, and your messages were simply left on read.
Calling him, demanding an explination, was pointless. It's too late to care, even as the rage boils up, heating up your stomach and shoulders, it all fizzles as exhaustion wipes over your body.
Useless. All of your attempts, the kind words that slipped from your lips about him, the reservation, the dress you kept stashed in the back of your closet, the heels you wore for special occasions, the make-up and hair you spent hours on; it was all for nothing. And now, standing pathetically outside the building, curled into yourself, you felt utterly useless.
Sniffling, you unlock your phone and, like muscle memory, find the familiar contact. Bucky. Humour is all you could ever conjure up when times felt difficult for you, even if he, your best friend, would tilt his head and eye you disapprovingly. Never malicious, his smirk would ghost his lips ever so slightly, nudging at your elbow with his own, but it's enough to get you to stop being so hard on yourself.
But tonight. You cant help but believe you deserve it.
you: the spinster life is really calling for me
bucky: you okay??
you: tbh not really lol is it okay if you could possibly pick me up? sorry if ur busy i can call an uber
Just as you clicked the little blue arrow to send the last message, Bucky's picture flooded the screen like a lifeline, and by the first buzz you were picking up.
"Hey—"
"What happened?" His voice, though crackly and muffled, eased your chest. Tone firm, curious, you can almost hear the crease between his brow.
"Hello to you too," you attempt to deflect with sarcasm, huffing a shitty attempt of a laugh and scratching your nose after a couple seconds of gruelling silence, you sighed. "I got stood up."
"Shit, i'm sorry, sweetheart."
"Not even the worst part," this time you laugh for real, "sent him some messages, turns out he's out at some party tonight, and this fucker had the nerve to leave me on read. And I stayed in the restaurant for an hour, Bucky! An hour!"
"You still at the restaurant?"
"Outside, yeah. They gave me that pitiful look, but they gave me some free bread." You hear him suck in a heavy breath, sucking his teeth like a wince, through the phone. You know the bread is already free, but its the thought that counts, right?
"You under a cover? Or at least have some kinda shelter?" You listen as he tugs on his sneakers with a huff.
"I'm under the awning but im absolutely soaked and not in the way I hoped, so," you snort weakly, "we're both pretty useless tonight."
Hesitating his movements, he tuts, brow furrowing into a scowl. "Don't say that."
"The wet part or the useless part?"
"The useless part," dragging a hand down his face, Bucky winces. "Look, i'll be there in ten, try not to freeze for me, 'kay?"
"Thank you, Bucky, seriously."
"Don't even, i'd do anything for you."
"Shut up."
He hums over the phone, "it's true."
"Sap."
"i can take the long way and make you wait another twenty—"
“You wouldn’t dare, James,” you’re sure he can hear your smile through the receiver. With a sigh you flex your fingers in and out, trying to relieve them of the cold numbness. “Plus my hands are going numb, and I kinda desperately need them.” you joke, sniffling. “You on your way?”
A car door slams, “Just got in,” his seatbelt clicks and engine revs, “you wanna stay on call or should i leave you to your thoughts.”
Tipping your head back against the brick wall, you let out a heavy sigh.“I’ll be fine with my thoughts. Gotta make sure the whole story’s straight before I give you a migraine.”
You both snicker on each end, a rustle coming through his own as he wipes his hand over his cheek and through his hair. You both stay in a few seconds of relaxed silence, warmth already seeping through your joints as you clear your throat, toeing at a pebble. "Thanks, Buck."
"I'll see you in a bit, sweetheart."
It takes six minutes before you see headlights pool against the asphalt. Tyers squeak as he haults to a stop and Bucky hops out, tugging off his jacket and sliding it over your shoulders despite your protests, making sure to flip the hood up over your head and zip it up. He guides you towards the passenger side with a palm against your lower back without a second thought. He opens the door for you, giving you a clumsy smile as you squint playfully his way.
The instant heat from the A/C hits your cheeks immediately. You groan, clicking your seatbelt in place, before holding your hands out to the heat, using the sleeves of Bucky's hoodie like kindling. It feels like you can finally breathe again.
“Yours or mine?” He asks, shuffling into the drivers seat, shaking his wet hair like a shaggy dog, and tugging his seatbelt on.
“Yours,” You reply, unsteady and croaky. “I don’t really wanna be alone tonight.”
Bucky nods as he drives off, “Well, lucky for you, Steve is out with Nat, and I was gonna order some takeout and watch a movie,” he adds softly, “also, you didn’t actually have a choice, you were coming to my place either way.”
Letting out a laugh, your body shifts in his presence. "Better than some pity bread and 27 Dresses."
Years of friendship, odd talks and questions while walking around town at ungodly hours of the night, tipsy confessions at parties in the host's bathtub, and the closeness the two of you built, it all eases the pain and misery like balm on a wound.
"So. Talk to me." His gaze flickers over to your slumped figure. Tired eyes, damp dress, hands held outwards while you pulse your fingers to get the blood bumping.
A tired noise escapes your mouth, what was supposed to be a simple sigh, now opened the dam to the waterworks, as hard as you tried to supress the tears. You breathed in and out, counted, and Bucky kept driving, his jaw locked and tense, eyes flickering between you and the road as you as your lip trembled and eyes glossed over with unshed tears. It isn't until his hand rests on your thigh, just above your knee, giving it an assuring squeeze, does your mouth finally run. Stomach twisting with a warmth you didn't want to acknowledge.
"I don't even know why I try," you whisper, voice wavering, swallowing thickly. "I mean, the reservation was for seven, I got there at six-fifty," sinking backwards into the seat, you cross your arms, fiddling at the drawstrings. You laugh humourlessly, "I checked my phone like a dumbass every five minutes."
Bucky's hand presses your knee again, thumb caressing your skin in reassurance, humming and nodding you on.
"I waited for so long, waiters would come by asking when he would show, but I saw the looks on their faces when they turned around. After like an hour, I saw that fucking story and I…" Sighing and shrugging, you barely notice the warm tears streaking down your cheeks. "I don't know why I keep finding guys like that… I feel so stupid."
"You're not stupid."
"I sat there and waited for an hour." You replied monotonously.
His chest puffs, a laugh spilling from his lungs, incredulously. Lips parting, the hand that sat snug against your thigh now wiping over his face in disbelief, and you shiver at the loss. "Why?"
"I thought, cus' it was raining a-and it's valentines, it was busy, there was no parking or something," you gulp thickly, "or…he couldn't find the place — thought if I left, he'd turn up and think I bailed," hiding your face in your hands, you inhale shakily, letting the scent of Bucky invade your senses, "It was our first date, I didn't want to just give up so fast."
The car rolls to a stop, yet Bucky doesn't cut the engine, letting the heaters run just a little longer. He rubs his hands down the thighs of his jeans, exhaling a sharp breathe before turning to you. "The right guy wouldn't just leave you sitting there wondering or waiting for a whole hour. He'd make sure you never had to second guess yourself. He'd show up,"
You stare blankly at your hands in your lap, picking at your cuticles while you listen to him.
Bucky's hand grips your shoulder, "You're too sweet for your own good, y'know that?"
A small simper eases on your face, chuckling under your breath. "So i've been told." You catch his eyes, staring at you with the kind of intensity that makes your stomach flip, reciprocating the smile. The action hits your chest, a full bullseye straight into the heart that makes your ribs shiver and lip wobble.
"I just don't understand," you whisper. "Why do that? Why just waste my time?"
"Because he's a coward," he remarks immediately, catching you off guard. Whipping your head back to look at him, his eyes still latch onto your face, and his fingers tease the soft hairs at the nape of your neck. Chills errupt down your back. "C'mon, lets get you dried up. I'll order pizza."
"Bucky—"
Before you could protest, he's already retrieving his keys and shuffling out. "Nope, don't even. It's valentines and you deserve to be treated right," he adds in a murmur, "even if it's by a broke guy with takeout and a DVD."
The apartment isn't messy, but it's never exactly clean. The right amount of chaos that borders on homely, yet very obviously owned by two guys who don't really care enough.
An old leather couch sits against the wall, the couch you helped pick out with Bucky, Steve and Nat at the thrift store, strewn atop were layers of blankets; some woven, some crocheted, all piled like someone had laid among them beforehand, as well as a peaceful ball of white fluff that made herself a cave underneath the ruckus. Posters stuck neatly on the wall where the sofa rest, framed to make the place look decent, and not like the bachelor pad it absolutely is. A coffee table adorned with years of cup stains laid crooked, Steve's abandoned laptop sat shut, along with a candle you bought as a sarcastic house-warming gift, remotes and controllers.
Physical media stayed stored meticulously. DVDs and games stayed hidden beneath the TV cabinet, and CDs the roomie's shared were lined up on shelves.
It's your second home. You love it.
You jump a little as Bucky rubs your biceps, easing heat into your skin with his hoodie. "Let's go to my room, i'll get you some new clothes." he mumbles, using his hold to stir you down the hall.
His room captured his essance and charm. Nerdy, boyish, you often teased him for the 'indie sleaze' vibe that exudes from the place, but he never denied.
The little things had their order; books and CDs alphabetised were always alphabetised, though band and movie posters stuck against all four walls in no particular order, or care, but it fit too well. His bed was made, yellow and green tartan, and a messily made blanket you'd crochet after 'buying too much yarn' and 'needing a new project'. Bucky had staked claim over it at your place, always wrapping it up and over his head or using it for naps, so ultimately, you decided to bring it over one night.
You can't help the smile that seeps into your features. A little bit of you in Bucky's room.
As you stare like you haven't been in this exact spot since the moment he had moved in, he rummages through his closet, humming to himself. Gentle tunes and clicks of his tongue.
"This shirt and," he drawls, hand stretched out to pass the item — a stretched out henley he only wears on laundry days or as a sleep shirt — while he sticks his other hand in his drawer, tongue out and eyes squinted before pulling out some sweatpants and socks.
"These," he grunts as he stands, extending the clothes out.
"You can get changed in here, just put your laundry in the basket, I can do it later," he inhales sharply. You nod, whispering a soft thanks as he ducks his head down, hands stuffed into his pockets as he makes his way to the door. "I'll make some tea. That sound okay?"
You smile, "perfect," the word catches in your throat, "thanks again, Buck, really—"
He cuts you off with a straightened palm and a toothy smile, "It's nothing. You know i'd do this for you in a heartbeat," he scratches his neck while silence envelops you. Warm, syrupy, like a heavy blanket wrapped around the two of you in the dead of winter. "I'll be in the kitchen."
As the door clicks shut, your lungs deflate, only to fill with the pure scent of Bucky like your body runs on him.
Heart thumping against your chest, one thought plagues in your brain as you rid yourself of your clothes.
You need your best friend, and not in the way you'd assumed in the past.
And tonight, you can't help but believe he needs you as well.
His sweatpants droop around your hips a little and his henley sags slightly off one shoulder, baring your collarbone as you shuffle into the kitchen.
Cozy and small, fairy lights strung under the cabinets, washing the room in a soft yellow glow. Dishes stack on the drying rack; plants sit against the windowsill, half dying, yet still holding on; The fridge, covered in reciepts, reminders, stickers and magnets — a small whiteboard reads 'need more groceries.' Followed by, 'get some then??'; Fridge-poetry stuck haphazardly in sentences created during early mornings and toothpaste stained shirts for a half second exhale through the nose; '[women] [make] [awesomest] [world]', '[drunk] [cigarettes] [do] [not] [count]', '[your] [mom]'. It's soft hum plays beneath the tension.
The floor creaks as you make your way, signaling your entry. Buck's eyes flitter up for an instant, only to look up again as you lean against the counter, despite the discomfort as it digs into your waist. He exhales at your presence, bare-faced, having wiped off your make-up in the bathroom, with a shy smile tugging your cheeks.
He's hunched over the worksurface, stirring the bags of chamomile into each respective mug, mismatched. Holding out a cup out to you with a tight lipped smile, your fingers graze as you take the drink, the soft ember that sat in the pit of your stomach since the phone call lit up once again, hitching your breath. Bucky clears his throat, ducking his head to hide the faint blush on his cheeks and the tips of his ears.
"I got your favourite movie paused in the other room," you hum inquisitively as you press the mug to your lips, sipping softly, letting the warmth seep onto your tastebuds. "Almost Famous."
He keeps stirring the teabag around his cup, evading eye contact. You beam softly at his remembrance. "That's on streaming now?"
Shaking his head, he taps the spoon against the rim and lays it on the surface, facing you fully. "No, I-uh, I got the DVD."
“Really?" He nods, "For me?”
“For you,” he replies immediately. Then, quieter, “So you’d have it here.”
Your throat tightens. Holding the ceramic against your mouth, your arm comes up to cross over your chest.
He lifts the tea to his lips but doesn’t drink, letting the scent ease his mind. He sighs, approaching warily before he asks, “… Can I ask?”
You nod once and his cup clicks against the countertop, "why do you keep choosing the most emotionally unavailable guys?"
You snort, "straight to the point."
"I'm serious."
Leaning against the edge of the counter, inhaling deeply. The scent of the tea and Bucky lingers in the air. His cologne, the one you helped him pick out last spring; bergamot, with a hint of spice.
You huff as it hits your nose and pools in your stomach, "You're gonna laugh."
"I wont." he replies plainly, arms crossed, lips tight.
You can barely look at him in the eye, voice low and anxious, as if you've never told him your deepest secrets in the dead of night. You set your mug down beside his.
"I think… I believe I can fix them," shrugging stiffly, you proceed feebly. "Don't know why. Something dumb inside me thinks I have this power to change them, prove people wrong when they tell me i'm just gonna get my heart broken."
Before you could register, Bucky stood upright. "Sweetheart," his hands hold your shoulders, facing him fully. His thumbs drag softly against your collarbones, barely there touches that tingle too hard and make your heartbeat shudder.
He has this smile on his face, lazy and sweet, the kind he gets after a movie marathon that ends with your head on his shoulder, trying to fight off sleep. A gentle tilt of his lips, and you cant help but stare at how pink they look.
"You dont need to prove people wrong, or fix anyone. At all. Nobody does," his thumbs don't stop their movements, but his hands — his big, warm hands — slowly move upwards. "You, of all people, don't deserve to put all your time and energy on some asshole who won't even think twice about you. 'Fixing' someone isn't your problem, it's not your responsibility, it's theirs."
You gulp, his hands rest against the nape of your neck like they're meant to be there, thumbs against your throat, right where your pulse thumps under his pads. It's his turn to pause, to swallow.
Silence rings thickly through the kitchen.
"Is this okay?"
Without a thought, your own hands slip around his wrists, keeping him in place. "Yeah— yes."
He nods, looking down at the floor like it had answers. Breathing in deep, expeling with puffed cheeks, he faces you again, whispering, "can I tell you something?"
"Anything." You reply. Your own thumbs graze the silky skin of his inner wrists, a move unconsious, instinctive.
"I—I, You—" shaking his head, you smile softly at his flustered expression. He inhales again.
"I've been right here," he confesses, "watching them constantly disappoint you, use you. It makes me want to say, do, something so selfish."
Your breath hitches, hands tighten around his arms. You're so sure he can feel how hard your heart is beating through your neck, how it bumps against the henley against your chest.
"Selfish?" You ask, "how?"
He trails up your neck, tighter than before, a hold that showed protection. Fingers tangling within your locks, unlocking another hitch from your lungs without permission. You only just notice how close you two stand, chests grazing, breath against breath. And his eyes, those gorgeous blues that now sit a deep navy, darker than the deepest waters ready to swallow you up, flitter between your own and your lips.
"By making sure you never second guess yourself," he inches closer, "by giving you what you deserve," dipping down closer, his breath mingles against your slack lips, touching with barely there grazes that make your knees weak. "By letting myself want you out loud."
Neither of you move, letting the air shift heavier than before. The closeness, the contact of your hands on each others skin, the breath skimming lips, it all jumbles into one another, mixing with years of inside jokes, shared playlists and sleepovers, all suddenly rearrange themselves to reveal something hiding beneath a love once disguised as 'friendship'.
His name escapes without permission, your mouth desperate to feel the shape of his name. It tugs at his skin, "I have to show you how much you mean to me, sweetheart."
Your hands find his shirt so naturally. Bucky inhales sharply, like he’s been waiting, like all the restraint he's been holding, keeping in check, can finally overflow.
The kiss is breathless. Deep, certain, clumsy with desperation and unspoken words, your tummy knots with just how sweet it feels to be needed like air.
His hands that tangled into your hair now drag down your torso, steady on your hips, anchoring you as everything from hours before collapses. Mugs sit forgotten as his touch grazes lower and his body turns to pin your back against the counter. The world narrows to heat and breath, the way you hum into his mouth, and the way he murmurs your name like it’s something sacred.
Your body moves on it's own. Legs parting, hands clutching his waist as his tongue swipes your bottom lip, and you accept him like you always have. Bucky slots himself between your thighs, pushing you both closer and closer, and you feel the unmistakable shape of his erection pressing into your hip. You whine in surprise as it drags against you, grabbing his waist, pressing yourself into him. He smirks into the kiss, pulling back an inch, letting the cold tip of his nose skim your cheek.
"I know," he soothes, palming down to your thighs, pressing a soft kiss against your lips, "I know, baby. C'mon, up for me." He lifts you, now sitting atop the surface and he closes the distance like no time passed.
As your hands find refuge in his hair, Bucky fingers the waistband of your sweats, tucking them into the elastic at your lower back, grabbing fistfuls of your flesh, moving your hips into his own until the two of you meet in between with a corse gasp.
"Can I take these off?" He rasps against your cheek, trailing lower with each second, and each ragged exhale that sticks to your sensitive skin. "Talk to me, baby."
"Yes, yes please."
Buck's smile melts into your skin. Pressing open mouthed kisses from your jaw down to your neck, all the while his hands keep tugging the flesh of your ass, each grab becoming needier and harder as he wanders his lips down, licking and sucking. You gasp with each peck, head tipping back in ecstasy, allowing him more freedom against your tendons, grazing his teeth, nipping at your collar, only to sooth with his wet tongue.
The feeling was immeasurable, fingers curling against his soft tufts, tugging him back with a dissipated pop, spit stringing from your neck against his plump lips.
Squeezing, he nuzzles back into your clavicle, "Hips up, there we go."
Hooking your ankles behind his back and hoisting yourself up with your hands pressed against the worktop, he frees your bottom-half, tugging the sweatpants down your legs.
Unlocking your legs from behind, Bucky begins his descent. Lower, shearing over his own shirt, humming into the fabric, pinching with his lips and teeth against the curve of your breasts in worshipful reverence, before following his hands, pushing the pants off your socked feet.
Dabbing chaste kisses to your knees as he presents himself between them, he sits obediently. Palms warm atop your knees, keeping them spread wide, lips and jaw open in soft pants that tickle your inner thighs, and his eyes lock in to the sight of your panty clad core. Black lace. A matching set you kept 'just in case'. You watch him stare from above, hands slightly slipping from sweat, watching him lean in closer to where you ache for him, clutching you wide by the soft skin of your thighs.
Opening you up, he huffs a harsh breath, hot on the dampening cloth.
"Wow," he drags out, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. His thumbs pull you open, tugging each side of your lips against the lace, trapping your clit, stroking your velvety skin up and down. The shock twitches your hips, bucking your knees up, placing one foot on his shoulder, letting the other open wider. "Wore these for, what… that guy?"
Warmth blossoms from top to bottom. A new etch of redness soaks your face, as a new wave of arousal paints the lace. The scent of it hits him and his heart rate picks up, cock stiffening against his boxers, sore and craving. You begin to protest, just it's quickly silenced.
"Could've been so lucky," he sucks his teeth, "oh well." Tugging your panties off ardently, he shoves them in his pack pocket. You laugh airily, but it's quickly overthrown by a shocked gasp as his mouth finally dives between your thighs.
One long broad swipe of his tongue, flat against your cunt, collecting your arousal against his taste buds. You call out his name, one hand rakes through the back his head, grounding you, while the other steadies against the counter. Groaning, his lips purse around your clit, suckling the nerve before placing a debauched kiss atop. He pushes spit out his mouth, drooling over your lips and pulling back with a grin.
"Taste better than I imagined," he grunts. Suddenly his thumb swipes over your folds, collecting the dribble falling down, smearing it up, before pressing the pad on your clit. Soft, eager, circles that make your abs clench and jaw drop. Breathy moans and whines fill the quiet of his apartment.
He looks up at you with adoration, "sound better too." He purrs, diving straight back home, nuzzling into your cunt, moving his thumb out of the way to tease your entrance with a finger. His tongue slides through your lips, locking through your arousal, wiping broad licks over your clit. You tip your head back, eyelids fluttering as he spreads you apart.
Heaving, your legs already shake, thighs trembling, pussy pulsing in his hold, while each and every inch of your body erupts with tingles of bliss. His words don't register, can't. Not while your mind and body are too occupied with his dual attack. Tongue swiping over your clit; sucking, spitting, all while he eases his middle finger inside.
"Oh-Oh… Fuck!" Your grip tightens on his scalp, eliciting a sudden moan, vibrating right against you and up your spine. Pleasure ruptures inside of you, a bittersweet ache settling in your thighs and lower back, chest heaving as your nipples peak beneath your bra.
"So fuckin' tight, Jesus, sweetheart," he says, lips pressed onto you like he didn't want to leave. A soft laugh eases, puffing air and soft reverberation, your walls cinch around his digit. His free hand pinches at your thigh, dipping into the flesh, holding you wide open for him to explore.
"Gotta to open you up real good…" He contemplates, finger curling slowly inside of you, instantly grazing your soft spot, making you gasp and hips stutter. "There she is… Right there, huh?"
Your hips move on their own vocation as he speeds up his pace, kissing your clit again and again, suctioning onto your bud and laving up your flavour, slurping up your slick straight from the source.
You're too focused on his mouth — the lewd slurps he drags out, collecting your taste like nectar, you're sure the mix of his saliva and your cum now sits in a puddle below you — to notice the second finger easing beside his middle. Only when it eases, when the two start moving in tandem, do you register the fullness. He scissors them, urging you open, curling them as they settle in deep, before retreating back. Bucky keeps up a routine, speeding up as your walls contract and pulse.
"Gonna cum, baby?" He traces, words mumbled on your slick skin. You can barely talk, not with how messy he eats, how he talks with his mouth full, feasting like a starved man, rendering a service only for your pleasure — so you nod fervently, humming out as you do, bottom lip caught between your teeth.
He moves his free hand up, grabbing your ass to pull you closer towards the edge, kneading and rubbing, while his fingers keep petting and stroking your spongy spot. Whines and moans stay locked and murmured behind your clenched teeth as he works you open and towards release.
"Mouth open, wanna hear you cum, wanna know what you sound like," Bucky slurs. Your brain, now turned into mush, complies without protest. Your jaw slacks and lips part in harsh breaths and whines, chest heaving with each sound, giggling at yourself and how good this feels, how good he is.
Your ankles lock up against his back, keeping him trapped between your thighs, and he moans. Pulsing, the sounds you coaxed from him hit you like a train. Muscles tense, walls constrict. You lock up in a silent cry, hips twitching with your throbbing cunt as you release over his fingers. Working you through it, he eases them in time with your ebbing finish. Soft strokes of his fingers, slowly moving out, and leaving your clit with the softest kiss, making you flinch from overstimulation.
Your eyes ease shut for a moment, harsh pants weakening, and one second he's on the floor, the next, your mouth fills with an unfamiliar taste. Salty and sweet, a musk that brings a brand new ache to your still pulsing need between your thighs.
Bucky crosses your legs behind him again, and find themselves on your ass, hoisting you up around him, hard on pressed against your roused pussy, soaking his crotch in your mixed stickiness, making a rumble roll from his chest. His pants are too fucking tight.
"Bed," he breathes on your lips, already down the hall, pushing his door open with his back and kicking it shut. "Wanna do this properly."
He kisses you with severity, a heightened furiosity looms inside his gut. Now he's got a taste of you, now that you marked his mouth and fingers, he can't let go.
Laying you against the sheets of his bed, his lips rest their relentless attack, pulling back to throw his shirt to the floor, revealing his toned midsection. Your eyes follow the trail of hair down from below his navel, and into his waistband. His lips skirt across yours, licking the swell. "Tell me you want this," he whispers, "tell me you want me."
You suck in a breath, "I want you, Bucky," wiggling your hips enough to graze your bare heat against the fabric against his stiff cock. Jaw tight as you buck your hips, hissing through grated teeth, "fuck, I need you."
He stills you, hands wrapped around your pelvis, pushing you into the mattress. "You have all of me, sweetheart," Knees parting your own, widening for him.
His graze moved to your wrists, "need these, baby, desperately need 'em," God, if you knew his dirty talk was this hot, you would've grinded on his lap twelve study sessions ago. Placing your hands to his crotch, you cupped the stiffness, holding him fully within your palm. Heavy was all your brain could conjure while your fingers tentatively and curiously squeezed.
"Take 'em off for me, sweetheart— that's it, good girl."
Sure, you've been friends for a long while, seeing him in baggy sweats on lazy days, sometimes even noticing the lack of underwear when he does — consequently noticing him pressing against his thigh, or poking out while he walks — but nothing, not even what your imagination would conjure up late at night or while shamefully sneaking glances, would you ever believe what he was carrying around.
"You're staring, sweet girl," his palms tap your cheek gently, just enough to throw you out of your daze, "whats on your mind?"
You swallow, trying to coax any wetness to your drying mouth while your eyes flicker between his soft gaze and dripping cock. Your friend's cock that now sits heavy against his right thigh, bobbing, twitching, drooling, while you watch with parted lips.
"… You've been carrying around that thing this entire time?"
"You surprised?"
Your eyes widen a fraction, "I-I mean, Jesus, Bucky."
He hums, smoothing over your cheek, "you can take it, princess, I know you can," he taps again, "on your back, sweetheart, c'mon."
You do as you're told, lying back against his pillows, knees parted and open as he followed suit. Crawling over you, positioning himself on his haunches, and you could feel his bare cock press against your wet heat as he pushes your shirt up your tummy and over the mounds of your breasts, leaving the fabric bunched around your collar.
Bucky stares down in awe, hands dragging up and down your sides, fingertips graze the scratchy cloth where it dips into your flesh. Bottom lip blanching between his teeth, fixed at each bump with blown, dark eyes, unable to comprehend the sight in front of him. He shakes his head, a dumbfounded sound puffs from his nose.
"A matching set," he hums, "God, you sure know how to make a guy happy, huh sweetheart?"
Blushing, you turn away from his sight. Hands rendered useless by your shoulders, and grumble into the sheets below. "Shut up, Buck."
"Something about you in my clothes… Under me with my shirt on," he ponders, hands pinching and grabbing at your tits, "you look so fucking beautiful, sweetheart, makes me wanna tear you apart."
A soft plea falls from your lips, a mewl hidden under your breath as he dips his hands beneath the lace and tweaks your nipples that were hidden under your flimsy bra. Your breath comes ragged and uneven, chest caving under his touch while his crotch slots against your own like a puzzle piece. Cock resting over your slick, pushing forward in tiny, subtle ruts forward, his tip laid over your tummy while you coat his shaft and heavy balls with your sticky mess.
"You like that? Want me to split you open? Make you forget everything except my name and how full you feel?" Leaning forward, he rests a hand beside your head, his other stays on your chest, pinching your tit. "Talk to me, baby, tell me what you need."
You whine out, arms slinging over your eyes in a mix of defeat and embarrassment. "I want all of it! I want you, so bad… Fuck, Bucky, it hurts," you laugh under your breath, tipping your hips up to try and drag his head into you somehow. You groan at the wet sounds you create, whispers spilling from the loose faucet your mouth turned into, "please, please, please—"
"Needy thing just begging so good for me," he lifts himself up again, wicked smirk plastered on his face, moving your arms away from your eyes to get a good full look at you. "Don't worry, pretty girl, just let me do all the work. Let me make you feel so good."
His head falls back in a light groan as he reaches between you, holding his cock by the base, swiping up and down your lips to coat himself. Provoking you onward as he slaps his tip on your clit, quick taps quick to sting, making you gasp and twitch, legs falling open wider.
A deep moan resonates through his chest, easing the crown of his cock forward and inside you, watching how your hole swallows him. You choke on a gasp, mouth open as he softly eases his girth with easy jerks until you sheathe him fully.
"Oh fuck." Bucky leans forward, chest to chest, and your hands scramble to touch anything of him, clutching around his back, soothing upwards, until one holds onto his shoulder, and the other claims his hair again. Your lungs stutter with whines, caving in against his weight only to pull him into you tighter, trembling from the big stretch.
Heaven feels like a lost cause now that he finally knows what you feel, taste and sound like. Your walls clench and throb around him, so soft and warm, sliding right in, resistance be damned, the strain soothed with how turned on and ready he got you. He groans a sound deep from his chest, forearms rest beside your head. He tries so hard to keep it together.
Your lips graze his jaw, crawling down his neck with soft nips and kitten licks, washing off his sweat with your tongue. He moans fortuitously, and his hips start to shift. Soft grinds in and out, his sounds stick to your shoulder, ragged breaths and whispered praises into your bones, making you strangle his shaft as he works, pace quickening, wet slaps sound around the room. Pumping into you, he just can't hold it any longer, you make him so greedy and selfish
"Bucky." You sigh, grinding your hips back and forth, matching his pace. Each buck has his tip sliding through your wet inside, so tight, he keens as you throb.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Sitting upright, back on his heels, Bucky pulls you towards his thrusts by your hips, using the momentum to push inside. Pounding into you frenziedly, corse fuzz tickling your clit with each jolt, soft tongue dipping out of his parted lips as he pants from the exertion. "God, you feel amazing."
He smooths a palm on your skin until his thumb skims across your clit again. The overload of pleasure stimulated to your already abused and puffy nerves drives a cry from your throat. Your nails dig into his shoulders, deep crescents marking his flesh for days to come, mouth open, unable to silence the onslaught of wanton moans and sighs that escape as he pierces your cunt over and over, and over again. You both look down your body, watching how he disappears inside, how you grip around his girth, how absolutely soaked his cock is — you both moan at the sight, and Bucky rolls his hips, faster, fucking into you, breath trembling with each thrust.
Throwing your head back and plunges it into the pillow, you moan, and that's when he knows he's found the right spot. He pushes his dick against it, over and over as you tighten furiously, pulsing in time with your rapid heartbeat. Your jaw clenches, unable to voice or warn him of your rapture. Squeezing his cock in a tight, sopping embrace as your eyes shut tight, hands ball into fists beside your head and back arches. Bucky doesn't slow, he doesn't relent, only drags out your orgasm with harder jabs, plunging roughly with a smirk on his face.
The tightness spreads across his pelvis like a wildfire, aching his chest. He curses under his breath while his hips stutter, shaking his head, spraying tiny droplets of sweat across your skin. Involuntarily, you clench again at the stains on your skin.
"Coming on my cock that quick, huh?" He pries breathlessly. Sweat trickles down his temples, dripping onto your belly and chest. Your head wracks with words, only for your mouth to fail you, slurring each sentence into whispers.
Pausing for a split second, he flips you both over, lying on his back and cradling you in his arms, keeping you slumped against his chest with his cock sitting snug and stiff inside.
"One more, sweet girl. I know you can do it." His hands reposition you, folding your knees to bracket his waist, making sure your face rests contented against his collarbone, before smoothing up your back, pacifying you, until a tired confirmation hums out.
"Please," you're liquid in his arms, limbs rendered useless, you sluggishly attempt to wrap your hands around his neck and arch a rhythm back into your aching folds. "Yes, please."
Leaning down, Bucky presses a kiss to your forehead, earning a high pitched hum. His knees prop up, feet plastered onto the sheets below. Big, warm palms now clutch the flesh of your ass as he strains, "Atta girl."
Brutal, swift, splitting. Skin slapping on skin, your wetness spits with each slap given with Buck's hips thrusting up and into you at a tranquillizing pace, frantically boring into you.
You cry out a moan, "Wanna be good for you." The pain of overstimulation mixing with the skin on skin contact and just how perfect he's hitting your spots.
"So fucking good," he replies in a growl, fingers obsessive against your cheeks, holding so tight, squeezing, you're sure to have bruises adorning the flesh by the morning. Head swinging back into the pillow with a snarl, jaw clenching, his hips don't wander off rhythm, holding this searing pleasure as he fucks into your used cunt like a fleshlight. "God, you're so fucking good."
The praise tugs everywhere in your body, pleasure unable to hold back when his encouragements exhales so smoothly from his lips. Your pussy flutters erratically, a fluctuating pattern that spasms harshly with bliss, humming into his neck with each pump his hips drive up into you — orgasm pulling from your depths, washing over you with a shiver, shaking in his hold as he digs inside, dragging it out again, begging you to feel how amazing he makes you feel. Bucky can't care how hard he's thrusting, especially now, as you choke his cock and his balls tighten.
A whine leaves his mouth as he whispers pleas, his thrusts starting to stutter. Red lips, wet with saliva and plump from kisses, part with heaving breaths —his brow furrows, nose crinkling like an angry kitten.
"Where… where—"
"Inside…" you beg, nosing into his neck, painting his collar with soft 'please, please, please's, drooling on him slightly.
His movements become frantic, body convulsing as he lunges upwards, pulling your hips down into his once, then twice, before he buries himself inside of you. Release and solace glaze his body as he fills you with his cum — palms clenching your skin as he humps up in tiny ruts with each rope, fucking it deep inside of you.
He pulls back after a couple of seconds, fingers easing, hips lowering softly, as he manoeuvres the both of you to the side, making sure his softening cock stays sheathed inside of your still pulsing warmth, until he's left on top of you. He lets the two of you catch your breaths, still and close in an embrace.
One arm props himself up beside your head, his free hand holds your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek, making sure you're facing him. He smiles at your features, eyes lazily shut, dribble drying at the edge of your lips, your head a dead-weight in his palm.
"You feelin' okay?" He murmurs, squishing your cheeks a little to get your attention.
You manage to coax out a hum, sleepy and satisfied.
"You did so good for me, princess."
You hum again, softer this time, a small acknowledgement.
Bucky stills himself, pausing his soft caresses against your skin. You feel a huff of warm air expel against your face, a gentle rumble of his body over yours.
"I fucked you good, didn't I." He asks, so sure of himself. And even in your daze, you can't even lie.
"… mhm." You moan softly, eyebrows bowing, cunt squeezing around him. He chuckles softly, warm breath sticking to your cheek and neck as he leans forward to lay soft kisses against your skin.
"Oh, baby," he coos, voice a mumbled vibration of amusement, nuzzling closer to your face, trailing his smile wherever he could, "got my sweet girl all dumb just from my cock. Fuck, you're so pretty like this. Should keep you here forever."
With just enough energy, you nod. The hand that held your cheek moved up to your hair, smoothing his thumb over your hairline in soft strokes.
"Yeah? Wanna stay in my bed all full and cock drunk for me?" He asks, voice pitching higher. He kisses your lips, clumsy while your mind hovers ten steps behind, and he adds in a breath. "Want you to be mine. Don't gotta worry about valentines day anymore, sweetheart, not when I'm here. Not when I got you all plugged up with my cum."
He shifts his hips, bucking with emphasis, watching how you gasp. Sore and full, exhausted and his.
Another chuckle rumbles up his chest, exhaling through his nose. He nuzzles into you again, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I'll wake you in an hour, make you sip some water and eat."
Biting your lip to hide a smile, you turn away, failing with a tiny snort that burns inside of him.
"There she is," he whispers, "there's my girl." Nuzzling into your hair, unbothered and relaxed, breathing in the scent of sex that's glued to your skin.
"Go on, baby, get some rest," his thumb caresses your forehead, the repeated coax, the tenderness — his whispers, his stretch, his warmth — it all seeps deep into your skin and eases into the nighttime. "I'll take you on a real date tomorrow, hm? No cowards this time, just you and me."
Your heart aches against your ribs as you fall deeper and deeper into sleep. His soft pillows against your head, while his naked chest blankets your own — a dual warmth created by the both of you.
Tomorrow can't come soon enough. Even with memories of the morning after sleepovers as teens and study dates in college that ended in all-nighters fuelled by redbull and pure perseverance. You can't wait to see his sleepy figure against the morning light. Brown hair haloed by the sun, palms pressed against newly discovered skin, clammy from how long he's kept them there in his subconscious. Mumbling 'good morning's, stretching into groans, tired kisses with morning breath neither of you care about.
It's all brand new, and you don't have any reason to be scared. Not with your best friend holding your hand the whole way through.
a/n 2: no pizza and 'almost famous' 4 u lolol maybe next time babies :P
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