asking nerdy!bucky if you can hold it while he pees
warnings: fluffy (?), drinking/alcohol mentioned, party setting, descriptions of buck’s pretty cock, idiots in love, no beta (im so sorry drea, ur asleep)
a/n: ive made one too many piss jokes in the gc, its only right i do this...
dt: @buckyfmd
masterlist || navigation
the soft bass and murmured voices of the crowd dulled in the cold tile of the bathroom you and bucky took coverage in. you both slumped into the bathtub, legs dangling off the side and your heads propped up on the wall behind you — plastic cups filled with a concoction of mystery juices and alcohol neither of you really want to know.
the conversation you two had lingered into a comfortable silence, your head lulled onto his shoulder as you both basked in each others presence and let the heavy bass vibrate over your skin — until Bucky wiggles.
"m'sorry," he mumbles as he stumbles his way out of the tub, "gotta pee." you follow him to your upright position, helping the poor boy up as you ascend, but your ears prick up shamelessly when he spoke.
"c-can you like, turn around.. or something?" his cheeks flush a little.
you're not sure if it's the alcohol talking or the fact he's the one guy you've ever been so close to, but your mouth moves quicker than your mind could comprehend.
Bucky's fingers fiddle with the clasp of his belt before your voice slices through the air.
"can i hold it?"
his mouth parts just a little before he snaps it closed, his head shaking with a humorous huff as if he heard you wrong — at least he hoped.
he chuckles breathlessly, "Im sorry?"
you step closer, lips pursed into a cheeky smile. "Can i hold it? y'know, i wanna know what it's like."
the two of you stare at each other. your thumb beats rhythmically on the plastic of your cup as you wait for Bucky to say anything back. but he stares dumbfounded and more flustered than he thinks he's ever been in his entire life.
"you're drunk—"
"nuh-uh!" you retaliate, wincing as the words stumble out of your mouth. "i've had just as much weird punch as you have, and you know it Buck," you sigh deeply.
"please?"
he knew he could never resist you and your pretty eyes, all big and glossy, pupils swallowing the colour, he can only presume from the alcohol, but he wishes otherwise. he exhales harshly and huffs a laugh, wiping his hand over his flushed warm cheeks before smiling softly.
"fine."
☆
"just here?"
he nods with a 'mhm', lips pulled taunt in a line, his hands hovering as your own circle around his waist. "y-yeah right — oh, fuh-uck!"
your hands wrap around his soft cock, the soft skin of his shaft a contrast to the cold cup in your hand the majority of the night.
he's a lot thicker than you thought he'd be, flushed a deep pink like a permanent blush. you'd be lying if you said your tummy didnt flip as you wrapped your hands around him gently.
you hiss a little at his reaction, head turning towards his as you rest your chin on his shoulder. "Sorry! first time, y'know." you murmur a soft chuckle as you aim, a sly smirk easing onto your face. "hey little guy—"
"okay, t-thats just mean."
you chuckle as he starts with an impatient hum. you start aiming. "im fucking with you Buck, he's pretty."
"he?"
"your dick," you stick the tip of your tongue out the corner of your mouth in concentration. his hands find your forearms, keeping you still and grounded while you hold, but its moreso for him, to remind himself it's you guiding him. "your dick is super pretty, Bucky. has nobody ever said that?"
you couldnt just let the words settle in your mind, the boy had to know he was carrying well.
his eyes widen at the compliment, hands shifting around your wrists as you watched his cheeks flush from a dusty rose to a full crimson. you cant help the sly smile that creeps onto your face.
"loser," you murmur into his shoulder as you watch. "you're so cute, it's insane."
he whimpers softly when you let go of his dick, hands up and on your way to the sink to wash your hands. he tucks himself back in his pants, but he just watches you. glasses a little fogged, lips parted and silky, face redder than the perfect dusk sky.
he watches your reflection in the mirror, the apples of your cheeks prominent and deep, a low hum as you recall the memory as if it didnt happen just moments ago.
"we should do that again, Buck." the smile on your fave was enough to kill him. hell he's sure he died and went to heaven as the words 'can i hold it' left your lips. he's making sure it happens again.
introducing ── .✦ ⋆.˚ a series of drabbles starring nerdy!bucky and his girlfriend !!
he just needed a study buddy. you didn’t realize that meant you teaching him anatomy… hands-on, no textbooks required.
caution ── .✦ ⋆.˚ this is an 18+ blog, mdni.
this study guide is strictly 18+. if you’re underage, go do your homework. everyone else—welcome to the extra credit section. this syllabus has way too much hands-on learning.
𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐬 ✧｡˚
turns out, your nerdy boy learns best when you’re riding the syllabus right out of him.
𝐋𝐚𝐩 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 ✧｡˚
all it takes is one grind and suddenly sweet, nerdy boy is top of the class.
𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐤 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐤 ✧｡˚
quiet please? not when he’s rutting into your throat like that.
𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 ✧｡˚
call it self-reflection. call it self-destruction. either way, he moaned your name into his fist.
𝐄𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭, 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 ✧｡˚
call it late-night cravings. turns out, he just hadn’t tasted you yet.
𝐏𝐨𝐩 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐳, 𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 ✧｡˚
maybe it’s a study habit. maybe a ritual. either way, his mouth always finds its way back to you.
𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐤 ✧｡˚
who knew self-love could get so much sweeter when it wasn’t so… self?
𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐲 𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐭 ✧｡˚
turns out the messiest part of the date wasn’t the spilled coffee.
𝐄𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 ✧｡˚
first times are supposed to be awkward. this one was just… wet.
𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐬 ✧｡˚
he swore he’d be good. you made sure he came through on that promise.
Nerdy/College!Bucky headcanons I made for this Diner au x reader thats been plaguing my mind (sfw)
Images from my Pinterest board credits to the original creators :•)
I also totally didnt make up a Spotify playlist for him based on these headcanons…
MASSIVE THANK YOU TO @opheliabbarnes for putting nerdy!bucky on my radar because now i’m obsessed with this cutie😭
🍊⋆.˚୧☆˙📙˚꩜
You work nights part time at the diner closest to the campus, 7pm to 3am. Bucky seems to start coming around as his insomnia gets worse, studying all night, he doesn’t want to be a bother to his roommates so he goes to the diner as its practically vacant during the night and hey, free coffee refills.
(i also wanna preface, in my mind the reader does something in film, like a film course, so they’re quite knowledgeable on that subject)
🍊⋆.˚୧☆˙📙˚꩜
» Alpine is in this as Bucky’s house cat (found the same way as the comics, in the earlier years of uni), he talks to her like a normal human like: mrrow “really? Thats a weird observation…” mrrrow “i’m just sayin’, i never thought you’d think that!” Mrrrow (turns around with a swish of her tail) “oh dont act like that! I’m sorry, i’m sorry.” And his roommates are like “fuck, you gotta get out more Buck.”
» Rides a bike. (Acoustic, not a motorcycle)
» Interested in movies and bugs, maybe does some kind of entomology course — maybe does a film course for extra credit (idk how real uni works)
» sleeps on a mattress on the floor of his bedroom cos he’s too focused on work to actually buy a proper bed-frame and put it up, but says it’s to help with his back (newflash, it makes his back worse)
» Dude cannot sleep for the life of him, mix of insomnia and chronic studying (which is why he goes to the diner in the first place, a change of scenery and also doesnt wanna wake up his roommates with his mumblings and shuffling)
» you two really start to hit it off after a couple weeks of him being there (you start off with short appreciations on napkins or on his receipts, but you ease yourself into small conversations as time goes on) — always in the same spot, the booth in the darker corner, illuminated by a softer orange bulb by the storage closet not many people walk down that way. You ask him about his course, interests.
» he’s a wreck. Very flushed and surprised you’re talking to him, because he’s just some guy studying in the back… cant you see he chose this spot for a reason? But he’s quite startled at how intrigued you are and how you genuinely listen to his ramblings.
» he loves old movies. YEAH I SAID IT !! he definitely has a letterboxd he updates three times a year but he starts using it a little more often when you follow him (films came up in conversation, you asked if he has an account and he was so awkward to say he has one ‘but not in the uhh… the godfather or fight club in my top four typa way… i’m not a asshole like that i swear!” But you just giggle and quickly change up your own top four because you totally didnt have Fight Club in second place!!
» but no seriously, he absolutely rambles on about Vertigo and how it still catches him off guard, even after his fiftieth watch. Sure he likes a lot of movies nowadays, but nothing can beat the classics, or 80s blockbusters like Ferris Bueller’s Day off, or even Little Shop of Horrors
» romcom lover and he’s proud to admit that (his favourite three are When Harry Met Sally (obviously), What If (or The F Word), and While You Were Sleeping (you both gush about how good Bill Pullman looks, and how logically, this film is kinda weird!)
» has a major soft spot for The Beach Boys and will argue with anyone about the importance of Pet Sounds
» collects a whole lotta stuff — specifically cassettes and cds. He’d absolutely love to collect dvds but he’s got so many other things, he just couldn’t fit them anywhere (also he doesnt want to be a menace stealing the tv in the living room just to watch his movies)
» messenger bag kid and it’s covered in pins and shitty sharpie doodles Sam and Steve do without Bucky noticing until its too late. Theres a lot of dark splotches where he scribbled out surprisingly detailed dicks
» knows how to play the drums but never says anything or makes it known in any way. But it will come up in conversation and catch you so off guard you’re now an hour and a half deep in questions about it. “Were you in a band? Did you want to be in a band? Was it just for credit? What made you pick the drums? Y’know what, I wouldve thought you to be a guitar guy, but the drums?? How strong are your arms?”
Summary: When your ex, Steve Rogers, posts pictures of his new girlfriend Natasha on Instagram, initially your only thought is panic. With your step-brother’s wedding next week, and your friends Wanda and Yelena pushing you, you ask Yelena’s cousin, James Barnes, to help you out. You thought he was just a nerd, but what you weren't expecting was an actual Instagram model with no drive but an insane amount of intelligence.
Will you get Steve back? Or will the booksmart young man with a track record of giving up steal your heart?
Nerdy!Bucky x Reader
AN: New story alert!! Let me know what you think! Comments and asks keep me going :) I love writing, and I love feedback!
You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose slightly as Wanda poured you another drink. “Christ, Wanda, I can’t stand him,” You sighed, grabbing the glass and sipping, making a face. “What is this?”
“Something to get you drunk,” Wanda laughed. “Do you really care?”
“Not at all.” You said and took another sip. “Like? Really? Look at her. She’s fucking gorgeous,” you whined, showing her the Instagram post your ex took with his new girlfriend. Her name was Natasha Romanov, and she was skinny, and short, and had big boobs, a nice ass, a jawline that could slice your throat open—she was an actual model and also had a degree in computer engineering. You know that because you and Wanda did some digging into her Linked In during the obvious deep dive that happened as soon as Yelena sent a screenshot of the picture to your group chat with forty-seven exclamation points and twenty-seven question marks.
“Steve looks good,” Yelena pointed out, swiping left on the pictures. “Like. Really good.”
“Not helping, Lena,” Wanda hissed as you groaned again, placing your forehead on the counter.
“What? You want me to lie? Oh he’s so ugly, god, he has so many zits and his arms are like tiny sticks that you pick up from the ground in the fall after a storm,” Yelena said sarcastically. “Look at him like. He has a breakup bod.”
“I hate you.” You whined as you pushed yourself up, glaring at Yelena.
“No you don’t, you know I’m not lying,” Yelena retorted. “It doesn’t change that he was a piece of shit to you, but he’s now a hot piece of shit.”
“Yelena!” Wanda shushed as you groaned again, downing the glass of alcohol, and holding it up for Wanda to refill.
“Oh my god he’s gonna bring her to Tony’s wedding,” You gasped suddenly, and Yelena and Wanda looked at each other. “How the hell am I going to outdo a model with a fucking model, like come on he looks like he lifts 24 hours a day.”
“What about your brother?” Yelena asked Wanda and she made a face.
“Pietro? Number one, he’s back in Sokovia, number two, he’s seeing a boy right now.”
“Thor? Or his sibling, the hot one that went to jail a few times…. Loki?”
“Thor is a himbo, and Loki’s way too much for Y/N to deal with right now.” Wanda pointed out. “Plus I’m pretty sure they’re on parole, and they’re also seeing a guy. I saw on Instagram. Mobius or Morpheus or something”
“Dude how is Loki doing better than me right now.” You whined and Wanda rubbed your back gently.
“Oh!” Yelena gasped suddenly. “My cousin, James!”
“Your cousin? The one that’s dropped out of school like four times?” Wanda snorted.
“Hey back off, he has shit going on.” Yelena said immediately.
“Absolutely not.” You said. “I have my own shit going on.” Yelena pouted and looked on her phone.
“Just try to get some sleep,” Wanda coaxed you gently. “We can talk about this in the morning. Maybe we can fake that you have mono or something.”
“Say you have an STD and you got it from Steve,” Yelena suggested and you and Wanda both stared at her. “What? Why does no one take me seriously?”
“Cant imagine why,” you grumbled as Wanda helped you to the guest bedroom and tucked you into bed, leaving some Advil and water on the dresser for you. You settled down, staring at the ceiling, remembering back when you weren’t lonely and drunk before midnight on a Wednesday night.
Your phone dinged and you winced as you looked at it. There was a message from Yelena.
You zoomed in on the picture, finding his Instagram and shamelessly stalking him. You found the picture easy enough, it was his most recent post.
you get bored during a study session with nerdy!bucky
pairing: nerdy!bucky barnes x fem!reader
notes: i have been converted🙌you know who you are (*cough* emmi @sheriff-bodecker *cough*). also i saw this p!link before my chem lab and i shouldn't have watched it because all i could think about during that two hour lab was nerdy!bucky sucking on my tits so yeah, surprise fic! no but like seriously, where's my nerdy boyfriend with big hands who i can talk star wars with and play video games together. WHERE IS HE??????
warnings/tags: sub!bucky, dom!reader, college au, praise kink, handjob, tit play? idk what do you call bucky just sucking on your tits, lol
it's-tober! masterlist
Bucky’s voice was a gentle drone, half explanation, half apology as he pointed at the open textbook between you. “—so if you just substitute here, then the function—” His glasses kept slipping down his nose, blue eyes darting to you, then away. He was always like this, hunched in on himself, sleeve pushed up to reveal forearms you couldn’t help staring at, even as the rest of you tuned out differential equations.
You cut him off with a sigh, rubbing at your eyes, letting your oversized shirt ride up a little on your thigh. “Buck, I don’t think I can handle any more calculus tonight.”
He blinked, startled. “Oh, uh—okay, do you want to take a break? Or, um—”
But you’d already made up your mind. The tiredness was there, sure, but under it something warm and impatient, a low burn in your stomach that flared every time his hand brushed your knee or his voice dipped into that soft, nervous register. “Lie down, Bucky,” you said, more of a suggestion than an order.
He obeyed, flustered, scooting back so his head rested on his pillow, hair falling over his forehead. He looked up at you, expectant, almost worried—until you shifted, rolling to your side and half on top of him, bracing your weight with one hand. The other reached for him, tracing the line of his jaw, the faint scratch of stubble there.
You tugged at the neckline of your shirt, pulling it down to expose one bare shoulder, then further until the swell of your chest was bare to the dorm-room air. Bucky’s breath hitched, hands fluttering uselessly at his sides.
You smiled. “C’mere, genius.” You guided his head, gentle but insistent, until his lips brushed your skin, so soft and tentative it almost tickled. He hesitated, lips parted, eyes wide.
“Is this—okay?” he whispered.
“It’s better than okay, Buck.” You slid your hand into his hair, encouraging, grounding. “Just like I showed you.”
He flushed deep pink, but his mouth closed over your breast, wet heat and trembling sighs. His tongue flicked, then he sucked, the sound obscene in the hush of the room. Your fingers threaded in his hair, keeping him close, your other hand wandering down to his jeans, finding him already hard beneath the denim.
He whimpered around your nipple, hips rocking up unconsciously. His hands finally moved, palms warm and tentative at first, ghosting up your sides, fingertips tracing the dip of your waist, then up under the hem of your shirt, hungry for skin. He squeezed gently, like he couldn’t believe he was allowed.
“Bucky—” You stroked him through his boxers, slow and deliberate, loving the way his thighs tensed, the way he gasped against your chest. “You’re so good for me, you know that? So smart. So handsome.”
He pulled back just enough to murmur, “You really think so?”
“I know so,” you told him, brushing your lips to his forehead. “You’re perfect. And I want you—just like this.”
He melted, practically vibrating under your praise, mouth greedy as he sucked at your other nipple, teeth scraping so gently you shivered. You slipped your hand inside his boxers, wrapping around him, stroking him slow, feeling him twitch and moan, the sound muffled by your skin.
“Oh, fuck—” he breathed, voice breaking, hands tightening on your hips. He was bolder now, one hand slipping down to knead your ass, the other sliding up your back, urging you closer.
You let out a low, appreciative hum, grinding against his thigh. “That’s it, Buck, don’t be shy. Touch me—want you to touch all of me.”
He was shaking now, breath coming in ragged little pants as you pumped him, precome smearing slick and hot against your palm. His mouth never left your skin, sucking little marks, licking and kissing everywhere he could reach, lost in the taste of you. He whined your name, desperate, need written all over him. “Please… please—”
You shushed him, thumb tracing the tip of his cock, hips rolling in slow counterpoint to your hand. “Let go for me, baby. Come on, let me see you fall apart.”
His eyes squeezed shut, mouth open, tongue lapping at your nipple, and you felt him tense, every muscle in his body straining as you worked him through it, holding him as he spilled over your hand, a low, broken moan vibrating against your chest.
You kissed his hair, still stroking him gently, feeling his whole body shudder beneath you. “Good boy, Bucky. So good for me.”
He clung to you, face flushed, glasses fogged and askew, hair a mess, but the biggest, dopiest smile on his face as he caught his breath. “Best study break ever,” he whispered, and you laughed, holding him close as the world narrowed down to just you, and the soft, secret glow of your dorm room.
pairing: nerdy!bucky barnes x fem!reader
notes: if you don't know, my brother got me pokemon legends z-a for christmas and i've been playing it on my switch. the most experience i have with pokemon was an old game on roblox and pokemon go, but even with my limited knowledge i'm having a lot of fun with it! anyways, my wireless controller has the cool haptic feature where it vibrates, and the handles... you get it. then, for some reason, my brain thought about nerdy!bucky and you using the controller to get off
warnings/tags: no use of y/n, sub!bucky, dom!reader, college au, using a controller in an unintended way, praise kink, oral (f!recieving), unprotected piv, creampie, many uses of "ma'am" and "good boy"
The lights are low, only the blue glow of the TV and the relentless click-click of Bucky’s controller filling the room. You’re sprawled beside him on the couch, his thigh pressed to yours, but for the last half hour your own controller has lain idle in your lap, game over, your mind drifting. Bucky’s still hyper-focused, mouth slightly parted, hair falling into his eyes as his thumbs dance over the buttons. Every so often you sigh, leaning against his shoulder, pouting, tapping his arm, and every time he says the same thing, distracted and gentle, “after this game, babe. Promise. M’so close.”
You draw out another melodramatic sigh, nuzzling at his bicep, but he doesn’t look away. The controller is all he cares about for now, and that familiar spark of frustration and mischief lights up inside you. If he won’t give you attention, maybe you’ll just take it.
Your own controller’s heft is familiar, cool and smooth in your palm. Bucky bought you the new model, extra features, extra vibrations, the little motors buzzing every time the game throws a punch. You slide lower, knees drawn up, oversized sleep shirt falling open at your thighs. The shape of the controller fits just right—two thick handles, the perfect kind of leverage. You shoot him a sidelong glance, but Bucky’s still locked into the screen, knuckles white around his own controller.
You grin, shifting your weight, moving slow so the couch doesn’t squeak, and tuck one of the handles between your legs. The plastic is cold, pressure spreading where you want it, a sharp gasp slipping out as you flex your hips. You press the other handle into your palm, bracing, and squeeze your thighs tighter. The game’s sound erupts: an explosion, a crash, the controller in your hand shuddering with sudden, unexpected force—the vibration pulsing right against your clit. “Fuck—” You bite your lip, stifling the noise.
But Bucky glances over, brows pinched in confusion. “You okay?”
You smirk, rocking your hips again, the friction building, your breath getting shallow. “I’m bored, Buck,” you whine, making your voice extra sweet. “You said you’d be done twenty minutes ago.”
He makes a wounded noise, looking between you and the TV. “I—I just gotta finish this round, I promise, baby—please—‘s really important, I’m about to level up—”
“Oh?” You roll your hips, the controller’s vibrations sparking through you, heat blooming low and bright. You drag the handle in slow circles, grinding down, your movements deliberately exaggerated, eyes locked on Bucky. “More important than me?”
He flushes, mouth dropping open as he finally notices what you’re doing. The controller’s nestled between your legs, the flex of your thighs making it obvious, the tiny shudders of the rumble motor turning every few seconds. His eyes go wide, pupils blown, his fingers faltering on the buttons.
“Are you—?” He swallows, tongue darting out to wet his lips, his gaze flickering between your face and the place where your shirt’s ridden up, just enough to show the shadow of your underwear. “You’re really—doing that—?”
“Mmhmm.” You drag the word out, voice low and teasing. “You wanna watch, or are you gonna keep playing your little game?”
He sets his controller down without another word, hands shaking, eyes never leaving you. “I—I wanna watch. Please. Can I—?”
You laugh, letting your head fall back, rolling your hips again so the handle rubs perfectly over your clit, the vibration peaking just as the TV explodes with noise. “Good boy. Eyes on me, not the screen. You wanted to ignore me, Bucky, so now you’re gonna see what you’ve been missing.”
He whines, a desperate, needy sound, hands hovering uselessly in his lap, eyes wide and hungry. You slide the controller back and forth, slow and deliberate, grinding down as the buzz builds inside you, your thighs shaking, the edge so close you can taste it.
Bucky’s breath hitches every time you moan, every time the controller rattles against your cunt and you let yourself whimper, soft and drawn out, just for him. You spread your legs wider, shirt slipping off one shoulder, showing off, letting him see how slick you’re getting, how much you want his attention.
“Please,” he whispers, voice barely there, “please, I wanna touch, can I—?”
But you shake your head, keeping him at bay with a look, relishing the way he squirms, his own arousal obvious, cock straining against the fabric of his sweats. “Not yet, baby. You just sit there and be good, yeah? Watch me make myself come while you’re right there, too busy to even touch.”
He groans, nearly whining, fists clenched in his lap. “You’re so mean,” he whimpers, but there’s no mistaking the reverence in his gaze, the way he drinks you in, cheeks flushed and mouth wet, desperate for more.
The controller vibrates again, harder this time, the sensation pulsing through your whole body, making you gasp, your head thrown back, toes curling. Bucky’s hand twitches, aching to reach for you, but he stays in place, just as you command.
“Fuck, Bucky, feels so good—don’t you wish it was your fingers, your mouth?” you taunt, voice husky. “Bet you wish you’d paid attention to me sooner, huh?”
He nods frantically, almost whimpering. “Please, I’ll do anything, just—please let me—”
You smirk, grinding down hard, letting yourself get louder, moaning as the vibration hits just right, your orgasm building fast, sharp and bright, his name falling from your lips as you finally let yourself go, the sound echoing, filling the room, making his eyes go glassy with want.
Bucky is shellshocked, pupils blown wide and lips parted, chest heaving from watching you fall apart with nothing but a piece of plastic and his attention. His hands twitch again, craving, ready to reach for you, but you fix him with a look—a slow, satisfied smile, wicked in the neon wash of the TV. He’s aching for more, aching for you, trembling with anticipation.
“C’mere,” you order, patting the cushion between your open thighs. He scrambles forward instantly, eager, looking up at you for more instruction, as if afraid he’ll get it wrong. You grab his jaw, thumb tracing the soft curve of his lower lip, and pull him closer, relishing the shiver that runs down his spine at your touch.
“Keep your hands to yourself, sweetheart. You don’t touch unless I say. You use your mouth and nothing else—understood?” Your tone is soft but edged with authority, every word settling over him like silk shackles.
He nods, swallowing hard, eyes darting from your face to your thighs. “Yes, ma’am. I promise. Just… just tell me what to do. I wanna be good for you.”
Your fingers thread through his hair, gentle but insistent, guiding his mouth up to yours. You kiss him slow and deep, letting him taste the salt and sweetness of your earlier pleasure, nipping at his bottom lip until he whimpers. “That’s it. Good boy. Now down,” you murmur, pushing his head lower, guiding him to kneel between your legs on the floor.
He sinks down, almost boneless with need, breath warm against your inner thigh. You keep your grip on his hair, not rough but firm, keeping him exactly where you want him, in control of every movement. You pull your shirt higher, exposing yourself, spreading your knees wider. “Look at you,” you purr, tone dripping with pride and hunger, “so desperate to please. You want a taste?”
“Yes—please, please, I want to taste you, I wanna make you feel good—” His voice is ragged, hands clenching uselessly at his own thighs, fingers twitching as if it’s torture to keep from reaching up.
“Just your mouth,” you remind him, tugging his head closer. “No touching, no fingers, not unless I say so. Understood?”
“Yes,” he breathes, “yes, please, anything—”
You smile, satisfied, and drag him closer, guiding his lips to your inner thigh first. He kisses softly, reverent, working his way up with gentle, desperate attention, following every direction you give him—a hand at his jaw, tilting his face to where you want him, a tug in his hair when you want him rougher or softer. “Right there,” you instruct, pressing his mouth over your soaked underwear. He groans, tongue flicking out instinctively, tasting the damp cotton before you push the fabric aside and guide him bare against your heat.
He moans, tongue plunging between your folds, lips latching onto your clit as if he’s starving for you. Every time his mouth wanders too far, you correct him, holding him steady, making him savor every lick and suck, making him whimper with need as he tries to please you.
“Good boy, just like that,” you praise, voice thick with pleasure. “Don’t stop. No hands. You wanna make me come, you better work for it, Bucky.”
He whimpers, the sound muffled against your cunt, tongue working in slow, worshipful circles, lips soft and relentless. Your grip tightens in his hair, your other hand stroking the line of his jaw, guiding every motion, every gasp, every desperate little plea he tries to offer you between breaths.
You look down, and the sight is glorious—Bucky, your sweet, needy boy, mouth glistening with you, cheeks flushed, eyes squeezed shut in blissful submission as he eats you out like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted. The only thing he needs.
You don’t let up, don’t let him come up for air until your thighs are trembling, your voice breaking on a moan that sounds almost cruel, almost loving, “don’t you dare stop, don’t you dare—fuck, Bucky, just like that—”
His whines vibrate through you, his tongue never wavering, his mouth sloppy and perfect and desperate, every bit the good boy you trained him to be, hungry for every sound you make, every praise you give. Your thighs are still trembling when you finally push Bucky away, not gently, but with a slow possessiveness that leaves him wide-eyed and glistening, mouth wet and desperate for more. You stroke his hair back from his face, fingertips tracing his cheek, and command, “couch. Now.”
He scrambles to obey, sinking into the cushions, chest still heaving. His hands hover awkwardly at his sides, itching for contact, but you shoot him a look and he freezes, swallowing hard. The flush on his cheeks is bright and deep, eyes hazy and hungry, jaw slack as he watches you stalk toward him—predatory, unhurried, intent.
You climb over him, straddling his lap, the fabric of your shirt bunched high on your hips. Your knees bracket his thighs, and you’re close enough to feel every frantic, shallow breath he takes, the frantic flutter of his heartbeat under your palms as you run them slowly down his bare chest. He’s achingly hard, straining beneath his sweats, and when you tug them—and his boxers—down just enough, his cock springs free, flushed and leaking, twitching in anticipation.
You wrap your hand around him, slow and deliberate, dragging your fist down from the swollen head to the base, twisting just the way you know makes him whimper. “You remember the rules, Bucky?” you murmur, your voice silk and steel at once.
He nods frantically, hips bucking up into your palm, hands fisting at his sides. “No touching. I—I know, I promise, just—please, please, please—” His words are breathless, little more than whines now.
You hush him with a wicked smile, your thumb dragging through the precome beading at his tip, spreading it in slick, teasing circles. “That’s right. You don’t get to touch unless I say. You want it that bad, baby?”
He nods, swallowing a sob, whole body straining for more, eyes never leaving yours. “Yes. Please. I want you so bad, I’ll be good, I swear—”
You don’t give him relief, not yet. You keep stroking him, slow at first, then faster, letting him see how much you’re enjoying the way he falls apart under your hand. You grind your hips down, letting your slick center rub against the head of his cock, coating him, teasing both of you.
He moans—raw, unguarded, his head falling back against the couch, jaw slack as you torment him. “Fuck—please, please, I need you, I need to feel you—”
You line yourself up, the tip sliding just inside, and hold him there, hips rolling in slow, cruel circles, dragging out his torture as long as you can bear. “Hands at your sides, Bucky. Don’t you dare move.”
He squeezes his fists so tight his knuckles go white, shaking as he obeys, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “Please—please, let me—let me touch—”
But you just smirk and, with one hard push, sink down onto him, taking him in all at once, stretching around him, the burn and fullness making you both gasp. Your nails dig into his chest, pinning him down, and you hold his gaze, riding him slow and deep at first, savoring every whimper, every broken plea.
“Oh my god—oh fuck, you feel so good, please, please—” He’s babbling now, incoherent, hips jerking up against your rhythm, desperate for more. But you control every motion, setting the pace, dragging him to the edge and pulling him back, over and over, until you’re both dizzy with it.
You lean in close, breath hot against his ear. “You want to come, baby? You want to fill me up?”
He nods wildly, sobbing out your name, every muscle in his body taut with need. “Yes, yes, please, please, I’m so close, I can’t—please—”
You rock your hips faster, chasing your own pleasure, clenching around him, your own orgasm building sharp and bright in your belly. You watch him fall apart, every sound he makes stoking your own fire, your moans mingling with his until you finally shatter, spasming around him, nails leaving crescents in his chest as you come, hard and loud, hips grinding down to take everything he gives you.
Bucky’s right behind you, a helpless, desperate sound torn from his throat as he spills into you, body arching, face twisted in bliss. You ride him through it, milking every last aftershock, holding him close, both of you trembling, panting, ruined together in the dark.
When you finally collapse against his chest, both of you sweaty and shaking, his hands finally come up—tentative, grateful, wrapping around you like you’re the only thing that matters. You let him hold you, both of you spent, tangled up and complete.
