#bucky x dominatrix!reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

holylulusworld · 1 year

Text

Him, him or him?

Summary: It’s your birthday and you decide to attend a speed dating event for fun. And fun it is…

Pairing: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Soldier Boy & Dean Winchester x Reader/You

Warnings: self-indulgent fanfic, multi-fandom fanfic, speed-dating, cocky Ben & Dean, implied smut, mentions of oral

A/N: I wrote this one for my birthday but used Y/N so anyone can be the reader. I’m a thirsty hoe, what can I say?

“You want to do what?” your friend gapes at you. “But you said that you’d rather die than go on a blind date or ever consider speed dating.”

“Uh-it could be fun,” you smirk. “You know, I can tell every guy a different story. For one I’m a stewardess, for the next an exotic dancer, and maybe I’m a dominatrix too. Let me fuck up speed-dating for them as they did with the dates I had to endure. “OH! Maybe I fake I’m going into labor next time.”

“Y/N, spending your birthday with strangers is not how I imagined the day would play out. We still can go to a club or have dinner at your favorite restaurant.”

“It’s on my bucket list, babe.”

“Speed-dating is on your bucket list?” she huffs. “That’s lame.”

“Speed-dating and messing a date up,” you grin. “Let me have some fun before I’m getting too old and lose my teeth.” You chuckle. “Come on, I didn’t doll myself up to not have some fun…”

“Hi, uh…I’m James,” the first guy sitting opposite you seems to be a little shy. He’s hiding behind a base cap and twiddles his fingers. “I came here with a friend. He wanted me to meet other people.”

“Y/N,” you hold out your hand. “I came here to…meet other people too.” You won’t mess with this guy. He seems to be nervous and shy. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same,” he mumbles. “So…what are you doing for a living?” James wants to know. “I’m kinda between two jobs.”

“Oh, I’m a Y/P (your profession),” oddly, you don’t lie to him. There is something about this man making your heart beat faster. “You said that you came with a friend. Is he looking for a date too?”

“Kinda,” James sheepishly looks at you. His soft blue eyes look you up and down, and for a moment it seemed there was a glint in them. “So, doll. Did you do this before?”

“No,” you sigh. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all. You want to ask James if you want to talk somewhere else, but the bell rings and he says his goodbyes. “Aw, he wasn’t too bad…”

You watch James switch to the next table. He barely looks at the woman sitting opposite him.

“Hi,” a deep voice pulls your attention toward the man sitting down at your table. “I’m Steve. You just talked to my friend.” Damn, a tall blonde hunk took James’ place, and you fear this was an awful idea. “Did he talk to you?”

“Yes. He was a little shy but nice to talk to. I’m Y/N by the way,” you hold out your hand for Steve too. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same, doll,” he lowers his head and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles. You giggle as it’s a little old-fashioned. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Do you have any hobbies?” you look him up and down. Steve looks familiar to you, but you don’t remember if you met him before.

“I like to draw, and work on my bike,” he explains in a hurry. The bell will ring anytime and then he’ll need to switch places with some other guy. “Maybe I could draw you if I had more time…”

You lift one brow.

“Crap. I didn’t want to come over as a creep. It’s just you’re a pretty dame and I’d like to draw you, doll.”

You don’t get the chance to answer. The bell rings again, and Steve leaves your table. He gives you one last glance, smiling as you watch him go.

“Crap. He was kinda cute too…and tall,” you mutter under your breath as another guy walks toward your table. His legs are bowed, and he has this sway in his hips you can only call cocky.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he smirks, and his stunning green eyes sparkle as he turns the chair to sit astride the chair. “How’re doing here? Saw the other guys. Hmm…you can do better.”

“Hi. What’s your name?” you ask, holding out your hand for the cocky guy.

“Name’s Dean. I’m an Aquarius, enjoy sunsets and frisky women. You can find me on Tinder under Impala67.”

You chuckle at his eagerness. “That was a lot of information within a few seconds.”

“We only got three minutes. Now that you know a few things about me, you can tell me everything about you. How about you give me your name first.”

“Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, Dean,” you shake his hand too. Unlike the other guys, Dean doesn’t let go of your hand. He holds it while you try to tell him more about you. “I like sunsets too, and cocky guys. I assume your username has something to do with your car.”

“My baby. A 1967er Impala. Black. She’s a real beauty,” he leans closer and smirks. “With a huge backseat.”

“Bold and cocky,” you chuckle as he flashes you an adorable smile.

He sighs as the bell rings again. “Three minutes are much too short to get to know each other. How about we meet outside and see how the night plays out? I’ll be waiting for you if you want me to.”

Someone clears his throat behind Dean’s back. “Buddy, it’s my turn,” the man says as Dean turns around to size the man up. “You had your chance. Now get out of my way.”

“Uh-Dean. Maybe you should switch to the next table,” you try to stop them from fighting.

“You can have the chair, not the girl,” Dean snarls at the man. He looks over his shoulder and flashes you another smile. “See you later, sweetheart.”

You started with three great men. Sadly, the next men weren’t as nice as Dean, Steve, and James. They talked mostly about themselves, money, their exes, or, and that’s your favorite, how much they love blowjobs.

“Shit, how many more,” you huff as the bell rings one last time. “Hi. My name is Y/N. And no, I won’t give you a blowjob after we are done here.”

“A tempting offer,” the man sitting down chuckles. “But I would never ask a lady to give me a blowjob before giving her heads.”

“What?” your head snaps upward and you meet another cocky smirk. This one seems to be even cockier and more self-confident than Dean. He leans back in the chair and runs his hand over his beard.

“You seemed rather bored, sweetness. How about you tell me something about yourself? Name’s Ben, or the guy giving you multiple orgasms if you want to.”

“Whoa, you’re very…” you don’t find the right words. Is he intense? Cocky? Or arrogant. Maybe a mixture of all.

“You like sunsets?” he asks. “I heard you talking to the other guy. The one with the car he calls Baby.”

“Did you spy on us?”

“I saw you and your friend before you entered the building and thought I should keep an eye on you, Y/N. You never know if a creep tries to get handsy,” Ben smirks as you lean back in your chair. You’re a little shell-shocked at his admission. “I only had eyes for you today. How about you forget about the other guys and come with me? We can have dinner…and more…”

“Whoa, you just admitted that you followed me and my friend. I don’t think this is the best basis for a first date,” you raise one hand to stop him from talking to you. “The others at least didn’t act like a creep.”

“I want what I want, sweetness,” he shrugs. “I’m not hiding that you caught my attention. It’s been a long time since a woman got my attention like you did.”

The bell rings one last time. You don’t know what to think or feel when Ben gets up from the chair. He smirks and taps the table three times. “I hope to see you later. If not, it was a pleasure talking to you.”

“Same…” you stammer. He makes you a little nervous, but at the same time, you’d like to get to know more about Ben.

When the show is over you walk toward the organizer to hand them your list of the men you’d like to get to know better.

“Miss Y/L/N, four of your dates tonight submitted a list to us with only your name on it. They wanted me to give you their information,” the organizer says. She hands you a piece of paper with the information about Steve, Bucky, Dean, and Ben.

“Uh-thank you,” you take the piece of paper, awkwardly glancing at the information. “What now? Do they want me to call them or…?”

“That’s up to you, miss. You can call them or ignore them. If you liked one of them, you could get in touch with him,” she says. “If you would excuse me now.”

She leaves you to talk to other women. “BABE! Did you get a number or two?” your friend happily shows you the number of one of the guys she met. “Show me yours.”

“I got…uh…four,” you show your friend the information you got. “I just don’t know which guy I liked more. They were all four really…”

“Hot? Sexy? Fuckable?” she swoons. “You know, maybe two of them are up to a threesome.”

You choke on the air. “What?”

“Guys like shit like that.”

“I can’t ask them to have a-“ you huff. “Steve and Bucky are friends.” You lick your lips. “I mean. Friends share things right?”

“You nasty little slut,” your friend snickers. “Do you want to ask them for a night to remember?”

“I could just rename birthday and call it dick-day from now on,” you muse when your friend’s eyes widen in shock. “It was your idea, remember. I have a threesome on my bucket list too…”

“Hi-hey,” you walk toward Steve and Bucky. “I got your number and was asking myself if you are up to having…” your eyes wander toward Dean and Ben. You frown and wonder when they got best buddies because Dean is laughing about something Ben said.

“What did you ask yourself?” Steve places his hand on your shoulder. “Doll, talk to us.”

“I don’t know. I was wrecking my brain to decide on whom I want to call,” you sigh deeply. “I liked you, and your friend. But there are two other guys I liked too.”

“Oh-four-leaf clover of hotness,” Bucky smirks darkly. “What do you say, Stevie? Are we up to some competition? I’d like to see her on all fours, serving me and you like a good slut.”

“Gentlemen, did we already decide on who is going to have her first?” you gasp as Dean and Ben step toward you.

“What? I don’t understand.”

“We talked about inviting you to spend the night with us, sweetheart,” Dean whispers in your ear. “What do you say, Y/N? Do you want to come with us and have a sexy four-leaf clover of hotness all night long?”

Tags in reblog.

#Him him or him?#soldier boy #steve rogers #bucky barnes #dean winchester #multifandom fanfiction #ben x reader #dean winchester x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader

281 notes · View notes

crushedbyhyperbole · 1 year

Text

His Words

Summary: Bucky doesn’t know who he is or who he used to be, but he knows three things; he can’t get caught again, he needs to conquer the monster in his head, and he needs help to do it. He puts his trust in you, his fishnets and corset clad angel of mercy - Goddess Noir.

Words: ~4.2k

A/N: Sub!Bucky x Dom!Reader. Set after the warehouse scene in CACW, this is a canon-divergent story of how Bucky became free his trigger words (kind of). There’s mentions of hypnotism and sexual conditioning, reader is Goddess Noir - a seasoned dominatrix who cares for her subs. I’m far from an expert in any of this - it’s not written for accuracy though I try to be as informed as I can be.

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy, and humbly request your feedback. I love hearing from you guys and appreciate all the love you can give ❤

Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, emotional distress/comfort, dom/sub, coming untouched, bondage, mentions of: past trauma/edging/conditioning.

***18+ content - please don’t continue if you’re underage***

His desperation had been unsurmountable. All that fear. All that hate. He had burned with it, even as he had come back to himself in that dingy warehouse with the weapon clamped in a vice. The memory of the dark place his mind went to when the words took over left him feeling nauseous. A tangy sour taste lingered in the back of his throat, bile and bitterness for all of the things they’d made him do.

Those two men weren’t any different, clamping him into a piece of equipment to take his choice away.

One had said he knew him. He had said he was his friend. The man from the bridge.

He didn’t have any friends. Only handlers and superiors. There had been something… once. A lifetime ago, when he wasn’t this thing they made him into. When he wasn’t a monster. He got flashes of it sometimes when, triggered by smells and tastes, he would recall something he forgot he ever had; family. They were all gone now. Lost to history.

The struggle to free himself had been short, shifting the plates of the weapon like an articulated track, he had slipped free and silently exited via the rear access. The two men had underestimated him, but he knew they would come after him as soon as they realised he was gone. He hadn’t wanted to hurt them, he hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone, but he would if he had to. All he wanted was to disappear and never be found. To go where the things inside him couldn’t get free ever again.

In the months since his escape, he’d seen his face on the news and in the papers of every town and city in every country he passed through on his trek across Europe and back. He knew he couldn’t settle but he had to find someone who could help him, someone who would help him. That’s how he found you.

Your black and silver business card had saved his life. The words “The Goddess” in silver swirling font on the glossy card, and a phone number on the back. Though he hadn’t realised how lucky he was then, he certainly knew it now. The lowlife who had passed it to him had smirked when, in desperate whispers, he had asked for someone who dealt in hypnotism and wasn’t afraid to break moral codes.

You weren’t even the first person he had tried, but you had been the last. He feared that his disguises weren’t good enough, that the Interpol would find him and turn him over to the American Government, or worse, HYDRA would claim him. There was constant hypervigilance and the crushing worry that one of the handful of people he had sought out would turn him over, get him caught. He was exhausted.

You had been different. So far removed from what he expected that he wasn’t sure he was even in the right place when he walked through your door. Your warm smile had drawn him in but your attire spoke of sex and desire. Behind you, an open door drew his gaze. The red glow did little to hide the contents; a cushioned table with restraints, a large cage, a wall display of implements you no doubt used to inflict pain.

He balked, turning hastily to leave.

“Bucky, is it?” Your voice was soft as you use the name he had given to you on the phone. He turned his head to watch you over his shoulder. He couldn’t fully remember if that was his name, but the man on the bridge had been so sure.

Hastily you swung a white robe around yourself, covering your tight black corset and plunging cleavage. The red glow diminished as you closed the door with a soft click.

He knew he should run but something about you told him to stay. He nodded, silently searching your face for any sign of deception.

“Do you want to sit?”

He eyed the dark leather sofa suspiciously. A curt nod and he moved cautiously to sit.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

He swallowed, a slight croak escaping his throat, little used for speaking. “W-water please.”

You smiled brightly and filled a paper cup from a water cooler in the corner. You set it on the table in from of him and stepped back, creating a reassuring distance between you.

“I think I know why you’re here.” You perched your bottom on the edge of your desk, fishnet clad legs crossed at the ankles where your glossy black shoes yielded heels sharp enough they could be used as weapons.

He swallowed. If you had recognised him, he might have to leave quickly. He didn’t want to hurt you but the people who would come looking for him might.

“This is a safe space, Bucky.” You said softly. “There isn’t anything that you can tell me that would shock me or make me judge you.”

“That isn’t a promise you can ever hope to keep.” It was the longest sentence he had said since his phone call to you when the words do you do hypnosis? and I need your help came tumbling from his lips.

“Can you help me understand? I want to help you, Bucky.”

He sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat. If he told you everything he knew and everything he had done, you would call the authorities and he would have to disappear again. The reports in the news about him had started to fall away of late, the infamous Winter Soldier vanished without a trace. He would have to do it all over again.

“Would you be more comfortable somewhere less intimidating? I can tell you’re nervous about being here.”

“No.” He snapped. “No.” Softer but still fearful. “Here is fine. It’s just-” he clenched his jaw. “It’s just not something I can trust anyone with.”

“Then start with what you can tell me and see how we go from there?”

He nodded, resigning himself to the telling of his tale. You were a reassuring presence despite being a stranger. Your vibe good and supportive, a total contrast to the image he had gotten from the inside of red-lit room. He decided to trust you. His journey away from HYDRA and the words that made him their slave had to begin somewhere. One trusting step after another.

He started with the words, and what they did to him. Then he told you how they put them there, the torture and conditioning that took them years to achieve. Then he told you who, and that was where realisation kicked in. A brief flicker of recognition in your eyes, and a sharply inhaled breath, but that was all. You sat and listened to him tell you everything, all the while you watched him compassionately.

When he was done, glassy-eyed and emotionally exhausted, he looked up at you with big pleading eyes. “Will you help me?”

“Yes, Bucky. I’ll help you.”

He didn’t know why you decided to help him. He had told you he couldn’t pay you, at least not yet anyway. But you had agreed to help him anyway and he would be eternally thankful of any help you could give. The fear of you reporting him to the authorities was still there, stronger than ever when you sent him away and asked him to come back a few days later. You had needed to clear some time for him where he could be safe and undiscovered.

He had done as you asked, doing recon on your building in the time beforehand. Watching your clients come and go, some half-hourly, some hourly. He knew you were some kind of sex worker but that wasn’t what you had offered him. You had offered him hope.

The first session he had with you was just talking. You asked him questions and he tried to answer them honestly. You had sat by him, close enough to touch him but you hadn’t. You asked about the words, what they were and how they felt. You were not surprised that they were in Russian. You made notes, promising to burn them once your task was done.

You had learned those words over time, their meaning and their pronunciation. You called him Bucky, instead of The Asset or Soldat. Your touch was kind when he allowed it. Soon he began to crave it, if not for its gentleness then for its intimacy.

The hypnosis took time. Your voice was soft and warm. You felt safe to him, and soon, you began to feel like home. The more you progressed, the more willing he became, allowing you to delve deeper and create a warm spot in his cold mind. To give him comfort from the horrors that plagued him. Of course, they never fully went away. He would carry them with him always.

Bucky came to love the sound of your voice and the way you made him feel. Subconsciously relaxing when you spoke, feelings of care and support rising up above all else but no matter how hard you tried, the words still made him a monster. He would sink back into the darkness when the words claimed him, ready to comply.

+++

“I don’t know what else to try,” you sighed, sipping your coffee as you warmed your hands on the hot ceramic. Your feet were resting in his lap as he massaged them through your fluffy socks.

Bucky had been staying at your loft for several weeks now. It had been safer for him and more convenient for you to keep an eye on him. Some of the hypnosis you had done with him really took a toll on him and as much as you didn’t want to admit it, you were growing a soft spot for the man who no longer wanted to be The Winter Soldier.

“I feel good.” He said with a subtle smile. “You’ve done more for me than I can ever repay you for, but I understand, it was a long shot anyway. I’ll just have to make sure they don’t find me again.”

“There is still something, I can try,” you hesitated, “but I don’t think it’s something that you’d want.”

“I’m willing to try anything.”

“You might regret saying that.” You chuckled dryly.

When you explained that you could repurpose the words, he looked at you blankly. They were rooted so deep in his mind by the torment he had gone through that they could possibly always be with him, but they didn’t have to have the same effect. That complete loss of control caused by the painful torture and conditioning could be changed. The foundations were already there in his mind, all you would have to do would be to recondition him.

“So, you’re saying that I won’t be a slave anymore? I won’t have to kill people? I won’t lose control?”

“No, I’m saying that your loss of control can be redirected. I’m saying you can be reconditioned for another purpose.”

Bucky looked at you so fearfully that you regretted bringing this up at all.

“What purpose?”

“Some other relinquishment of control, perhaps. You would have to be willing to let it happen or it won’t take.”

“Would you have to torture me?”

“God, no!” You sat forward, shifting your feet from his lap and taking his hands in yours. “Pleasure over pain any day of the week, Bucky. I would want you to feel good no matter what.”

“So you could reprogram me to feel pleasure instead?”

“I could try.”

The moment he took to process your offer was fleeting. His eyes snapped to yours, resolute.

“I’ll do it.”

+++

The journey had been long. Months of conditioning him in your rooms. He had asked for blue lights instead of red; red reminded him of his past. The trust he put in you was unequivocal. He was no less than flawless.

Given his history, his willingness to submit to you was astounding. You worked hard to build a strong bond with him, never once straying from the agreement you had both set out, never once taking something for yourself, no matter how much you wanted to. Bucky was perfect, but he was anything but yours. You had to remind yourself of that when he called you by your chosen title, and in the throes of pleasure moaned so perfectly for you. Goddess.

You had made him climax many times before, edging him and reinforcing the pleasurable association between sensations throughout his body and the words. It had taken months of work, almost daily sessions. In addition to your regular clients, your work with Bucky ate into your free time but you didn’t care. Being with him this way was the most rewarding thing you have ever done. The way he mewled with pleasure when you touched him, the way his skin on his neck and chest flushed hot and red when he was about to orgasm. He still seemed innocent because you had never fucked him. You couldn’t. That wasn’t what he needed or wanted so you couldn’t and wouldn’t project that on to him.

Over time you had managed to repurpose all but his final trigger word, instead of relieving him of his free will, the words now built pleasure, anticipation. All but that last one. Ironic that the Russian word for freight car should thwart you when your goal was to make him come like a freight train.

This final word had eluded capture no matter how many times you made him orgasm whilst chanting it. And when you strung all the words together, that final one was always the crux. The words ya gotov otvichet would fall from his lips and he would await your orders, perfectly docile and emotionless.

You thought you had it this time though.

Bucky lay completely naked on your table, his muscles hard, his cock still soft. The deep blue lights in the room made you feel trippy, slightly dizzy even. It was disconcerting but you endured it for him.

Under your instruction, he tested the heavy-duty cuffs that bound his wrists and ankles. Bucky had insisted on them, installing them himself, before the very first attempt you made with his first word. They had never been needed but Bucky wouldn’t not hear any protests that they weren’t necessary. He needed this security, so you had bound him.

At your request, he gave you his safe word. A word he had chosen for himself. The only one he could choose for himself since the others were chosen for him. Hotdog.

You tapped into your alter-ego headspace without fully submerging yourself. This wasn’t roleplay, it was far more delicate and treacherous than that. Bucky’s mind could hang in the balance if this all went wrong. It was something you had wrestled with early on, whether it was morally right to do this, but he was low on options and you had wanted to help him if you could, so you quashed any qualms you had and concentrated on moving forward.

“Are you ready to begin?” Your voice was kind but firm.

Bucky nodded and mumbled “yes Goddess” as he closed his eyes and waited for you to begin.

Your chest bloomed with pride. He was so good, so patient, so trusting. “Good.”

Bucky took a deep breath in through his nose and out through quivering lips, readying himself as best he could.

“Zhelaniye.”

Breath quickening, bucky sighed heavily. The feeling of desire took hold, and he longed for release. His cock twitched as blood flowed into it, making it hard, laying solid and heavy against his abdomen.

“Rzhaviy.”

He stirred, eyes flickering behind closed lids as the muscles in his stomach clenched, his hips lifting slightly from the padded surface of the table. His cock twitched vertical, swelling more before dropping back against his stomach.

“Semnadsat.”

He moaned. Breath caught in his throat. Teeth catching his full lower lip and biting down. You hoped he wouldn’t be so far gone that he drew blood so when he released his lip, licking afterwards, you were relieved.

“Rassviyet.”

A gasp. A sigh. They punctuated his thrusting hips as he sought friction against his erection. You longed to touch him, to give him what he needed but that would defeat the object. He needed to do this without being touched, with only the words to guide him on the journey you had spent months preparing him for.

“Pech.”

Bucky groaned heavily, his chest heaving as he panted against his growing pleasure. A pearl of precum beaded on his tip, growing in size until it dripped off onto the skin of his stomach. When his cock twitched it created a gossamer string of silken liquid in the gap underneath his risen cock. You licked your lips, watching him come undone.

“Devyat.”

He fairly cried out as soon as the word had left your lips, hands clenched into fists, teeth bared slightly. The skin on his neck began to flush deep pink and you knew he was starting to get close.

“Dobroserdechniy.”

A held breath escaped him as a drawn out moan that had heat pooling between your legs. The sounds of him were enough to soak your panties, want and desire clamouring in your chest. Bucky thrust his hip up repeatedly, fucking into the air as his cock throbbed relentlessly.

“Vozvrashcheniy na rodinu.”

Whimpering now, tears formed under his closed lashes, trickling forth from the corners of his eyes down into the hair above his ears. His chest was wracked with panting gasps, and the skin there flushed an angry red. He was just about there, right on the edge.

“Odin.”

All muscles taut, from his clenched jaw and straining neck right the way down to his arched feet and curled toes, Bucky clung on to the edge of oblivion. The glistening tip of his cock was so engorged it looked bruised, an angry purple-red that strained against the skin. He twitched violently, balls tightening, fluid leaking from his tip.

“Gruzovoy vagon.”

Bucky’s breathy cry echoed around the room like a chorus of angels. His release almost explosive as he spilled over himself in waves, pumping jizm out over his chest and stomach. He thrashed on the table, hips jutting up, back arched in unadulterated pleasure.

His grunts became whimpers and his throbbing cock slowed. You rushed forward an whispered his name, laying your hand gently on his sternum to let him know you were there. His eyes cracked open briefly and he licked at his reddened lips, gasping as he came back to himself.

You increased the lights so you could release him, rubbing his wrists and ankles to make sure the blood flow was good with a few pinched toes and fingertips. You wiped him down with a warm flannel cloth and took his hand to get him to sit. He went with you easily, still in a daze.

“Bucky?” You whispered and he shivered. You hoped beyond hope that he was alright. He hadn’t said the words yet but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t.

You wrapped him in a red plaid fleece blanket you kept just in case and stepped between his open knees, pulling the blanket closed around him. His breathing was still laboured and he looked thoroughly wrecked.

“Bucky, talk to me.”

His mouth started to turn upwards into a smile but didn’t make it that far before the dam broke and his mouth twisted. Relieved sobs and a river of tears flowed from him as the realisation set in. You had spoken his words and he was still there, in the light. The darkness hadn’t claimed him this time. He was free. Free of the pain. Free of the fear. Free of him.

“You’re ok. You’re ok.” You reassured him as he broke down in front of you. “I’m here.”

You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him to you, resting his head on your shoulder as he wept, sobbing and sniffling against your hair and skin. When his arms tightened around you and held you closer, you couldn’t help but grin. It had worked. It had finally worked.

Cuddled against you, for what felt like an hour, Bucky finally settled. He lifted his head to look at you through bloodshot eyes. His lips were raw and swollen too but there was peace there under the evidence of his emotional experience. You stroked his hair back and looked up into his eyes. He hadn’t said a word since you had begun and you needed to know he was alright.

“Talk to me, Bucky.” You whispered, hands cupping his face gently. “I need your words.”

He blushed slightly, looking down coyly before meeting your gaze firmly. “Thank you, Goddess.”

The barked laugh that escaped you was full of delight. After all of that, he still managed to make your proud. “You had me worried.” You let out a relieved breath. “I’m going to get you some water, but I’ll be right back, okay? Is there anything else you want or need?”

“There is one thing, Goddess.”

“Yes?”

“Can I kiss you, Goddess?”

Your heart jolted in your chest. This was something you had wanted for quite some time but had been unable to cross that line. Now that Bucky was asking, could you really deny him this one thing? Normally you wouldn’t kiss clients, rarely would you have sex with them either unless it was a part of their experience.

“You would like to kiss me? Is that right, Bucky?” That was exactly what he had asked for and the distinction was important. He wanted to kiss you, not he wanted you to kiss him.

“Very much so, Goddess, yes.”

You searched his face looking for any sign that there might be something wrong but all you could see was adoration and bliss behind the puffiness of his eyes and mouth.

“You’re going to drink some water first.” You said, cupping his face in your hands once more. “And if you want to kiss me when you’re done then, yes, you may.”

Bucky grinned brightly, a flash of brilliance before his face relaxed again. He took the cup of water and downed it without hesitation, handing the paper cup back to you with a shaking hand.

When his eyes met yours you froze. Bucky had submitted to you willingly but it wasn’t his natural state. The glint in his eye as he reached out to pull you forward between his spread legs once more, was intoxicating.

He stroked his fingertips across your cheek, sliding them into the hair behind your ear, his metal hand rested on your waist. “Is this okay?” He asked in a whisper. Your preferred title forgotten in the moment but you didn’t mind, not for this.

“Yes.” Breathy and needy.

Bucky leaned in slowly, allowing you time to stop him if you needed to. When his lips met yours it was in the lightest touch. He grazed his lips back and forth, coaxing yours apart slightly before sealing the kiss gently. There was no tongue, no teeth, just a sweet pressing of his mouth to yours as he held you there for a while, savouring you.

When he parted from you, a sigh left your lips and he grinned. Resting his forehead on yours he held you as he had before, stroking his thumb where your cheek met your ear.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while but I didn’t think you would let me.” He confessed.

You chuckled. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while but didn’t think it was appropriate.”

“Can I do it again, Goddess?”

“Yes, Bucky, you may.”

He claimed your mouth in a sensual kiss, mouths open, his tongue licking into you like you were a delicacy to be savoured. Bucky slowly devoured you and it felt amazing. You closed your eyes to the world and sunk into the feeling of his lips on yours, his taste mixing with yours. This thing between you was evolving into something new. What it would be, you had no idea but that in itself was exciting. Who would have thought that meeting the world’s most wanted assassin would prove to be the most fulfilling experience of your life. Things were still dangerous for him, for both of you, but from this moment forward you were both in it together. You and Bucky against the world.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fan fic #bucky barnes sub #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky barnes needs a hug #bucky barnes recovering #sub!bucky #bucky barnes fluff #Winter Soldier #bucky smut #bucky needs help #cloudy's writing

294 notes · View notes

mypoisonedvine · 3 years

Text

𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙮 𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘝𝘐𝘐 - 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡𝙚) || sub!bucky barnes x dominatrix!reader

(𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘐) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘐𝘐) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘝) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘝) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘝𝘐)

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 || the finale.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 || 3.5k

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 || fluff, angst, implied smut, domestic goodness, more EMOTIONS!!!

six months ago...

Bucky wrung his hands a few times before knocking on your door, feeling his heart beat a little faster when he could hear the sounds of your footsteps on the other side. He'd been dreaming of a day like this for so long— the day he finally acted on this secret obsession he had, the day he stopped fantasizing and started realizing— but all this time, part of him had never really thought he'd go through with it. I mean, there's a pretty big difference between jerking off to videos of dominant women and actually getting spanked, slapped, and choked by a dominatrix after paying her an insane amount of money per hour.

But frankly, Bucky needed a big difference from what he'd been doing. He'd been alone for a little too long, he needed someone else's touch before he lost his mind. And he knew that he needed something more substantial than a hook-up, someone who wouldn't expect him to be dominant at all. Even in a kink-less, vanilla hook-up, there’s still an onus of dominance, that’s what Bucky had realised. He’s still supposed to initiate, to guide, to be fully in control… and he hates how it feels to be in control. He’s not used to it, and it doesn’t feel right, and it just makes him sure he’ll do something wrong. So here he was, standing at your door, hoping you’d take away his freedom to do something wrong.

The latch turned and you opened it.

Fuck.

You looked great. Too great, almost overwhelming. Even better than the pictures on your website.

You looked so much softer than the women he saw whenever he searched up femdom porn (yes, that was pretty much the first thing he did once he figured out google— thankfully he had also figured out incognito mode), but your presence was twice as commanding. Your eyes scanned over him quickly and your face stayed annoyingly stoic.

You invited him in; And since then, you’d had him wrapped around your finger.

Even knowing to a certain extent what he was getting into, he could’ve never prepared for how quickly he’d fall for you. Not that he was exactly new to the feeling, but he thought guilt might eat him alive: because of course he felt awful for developing real feelings for you. You were just doing your job and he was falling into the same trap that probably every dumbass client fell into.

Or maybe they actually knew what they were doing and understood how to separate fantasy from reality. He couldn’t decide which one was worse.

He spent a few hours trying to decide while staring up at his ceiling— certainly a better way to spend the time than being social or taking care of unfinished business, right?

But leave it to you to change everything with just three words. Make me yours.

He hadn’t stopped thinking about those words— or about the way you said them— since the moment you spoke them. He hadn’t stopped changing his mind on if he could really believe you were his or not. He wanted to, more than anything; and in those brief moments he did, he felt a joy that he had no idea what to do with.

He frowned as he turned his back towards the mirror, looking over his shoulder to watch his finger run over the fading scars on his back. They’d be gone for good in less than a week, but he knew you had left plenty of permanent marks on him— just unfortunately not those that anyone else could see. He liked the way these scars looked under your fingertips much more than his; he liked everything about being in your arms.

Since you’d texted him to ask if you could have a serious talk with him soon, he worried he wouldn’t get to feel that again. In fact, nothing worried him more.

He was typically antsy as he waited for you to answer the door— he had been since that very first time so long ago— but this felt entirely different: not as jittery, but a thousand times more anxious.

At first he’d been wishing you’d answer it right away, but then he heard your bolt turn and panic landed on him like a dangling anvil dropping on a cartoon character. Suddenly the last thing he wanted was for you to open that door, to be standing there looking all perfect and shit, to smile at him and greet him and invite him in. He didn’t want it; he couldn’t take it.

But you did it all anyway, though it was obviously and immediately a new situation entirely, compared to every other time you’d done it.

You were dressed differently, still formal but definitely toned down. Nothing sexual, at least not objectively. And your smile, though it still made his heart skip a beat just like always, was noticeably softer and maybe a bit sadder.

He stepped in past you, and you surprised him by sitting next to him on the couch rather than across from him on your chair. “Do you want, like, water or anything?” you asked, breaking the silence for a moment.

“No, I’m fine,” he nodded.

Bucky had gotten pretty good at silence these past few years; it didn’t bother him, in fact he barely even noticed it. But this silence made him remember why everyone else hated silence so much: it was heavy and thick and made him overcome with the need to blurt something out. “Everyone calls me Bucky,” he finally admitted. You smiled.

“Do you want me to call you that?” you asked.

He considered your question, trying to imagine you saying it. “I… I used to think it would be better, but now I like the way you say ‘James’ too much.”

“If you thought it would be better, why did you ask me to call you James?” you pressed.

“Because I didn’t want you to know who I was.”

“I know who you are,” you informed him. “I always knew.”

He swallowed as the pit formed in his gut, glancing away to hide from your gaze. “You did a good job of… of pretending you didn’t. You never seemed scared of me.”

“Because I wasn’t. And I’m not.”

He couldn’t imagine how; but then again, if there was any truly fearless woman, he figured it would be you. “I thought you’d beat me up better if you knew what I’d done,” he admitted, almost smiling but not exactly feeling very happy. “Thought you might want… revenge.”

“Surprised that didn’t make you want to tell me.”

He laughed a bit at that. “Yeah, fair enough.”

You asked him a very different question next, one that made his throat suddenly dry: "Have you ever had something that was all your own?" you spoke gently.

"Not for a long time…" he trailed off, letting his eyes unfocus as he stared down at your floor before finding the courage to look up at you again. “Is that what you wanna be?” he asked, already wishing he hadn’t said anything in case it was too presumptuous, but you just smiled back at him in a shy sort of way.

“Something like that,” you mitigated.

His eyes darted around your face— from your eyes glancing away, to your lips that you gnawed on for a moment, to the little crease between your brows— and he found himself leaning forward before he even realized it. “Can I kiss you?” he asked quietly.

You didn’t answer, you just kissed him first; he was so relieved that you did it, too, that you took control so easily and just let him melt into your kiss. As good as it felt to submit to you, he enjoyed the new freedom he had in this moment as well— the freedom to reach up and grab your waist, to brush his hand over your hair, to tilt his head and deepen the kiss further.

It was hard to define exactly where it went from innocent to sensual to sexual, but by the time you were straddling his lap and running your fingers through his hair, it was definitely sexual.

“I want you,” you breathed against his lips.

“Have me,” he offered immediately, “I’m yours. Always was.”

He breathed in sharply when you moved your hips just right to rub up against his swelling cock through his jeans, making him grip your waist a bit harder. “Good boy,” you whispered. “You’re so good, James.”

He believed you this time, finally.

For your first real date, he took you to Coney Island. Not the classiest affair, and he promised to take you somewhere really nice next, but you didn’t mind. It was jarring to see you in casual clothes for the first time, something summer-y and light which was everything opposite to how he was used to seeing you; but he liked it, and he liked knowing a secret about you as you walked through a crowd of carnival-goers that were none the wiser.

He walked you through the fair and explained how he remembered it, showed you the few things that hadn’t changed much. He bought you a hot dog and even won you a prize at one of the games; that one where you throw a baseball and it measures your pitch speed? Yeah, it’s rigged, but he pitched lefty and it seemed to even everything out. (It’s not cheating, okay? It’s beating them at their own game, literally.)

So with a massive teddy under one arm and his waist wrapped in your other, you two walked through the winding pier, under twinkling lights and over walkways towering over the ocean below. And then you fooled around a bit on the ferris wheel. It was the ideal Coney Island experience, for sure.

Bucky didn’t have a ton of friends, per se, but he was excited for you to meet them. Meeting friends was certainly a step, though; hopefully a step you were willing to take, but he didn’t want to ask you to do it without at least having a title to introduce you with.

“I want you to be my girlfriend,” he finally told you.

“I kinda thought I already was,” you laughed.

And so, with more pride than he might have ever had for anything before, Bucky finally got to take you to meet everyone (‘everyone’ being a mix of his friends and his coworkers, who may or may not be his friends because he couldn’t always tell) and say “I want you guys to meet my girlfriend.”

Of course you were amazing with all of them; you continued that tactful “I know who you are but I’m pretending I don’t to be nice” thing that you’d started with him, and everyone seemed to appreciate it. You cracked a couple jokes, everyone laughed.

You lied about how you and Bucky met, or at least answered very strategically. Everyone at least pretended to believe you.

Afterwards, they all said something about how great you were or about how lucky he was. The only thing he ever said back was “I know.”

Now that he could kiss you without breaking any rules, he never wanted to stop. He hardly ever did, actually. He kissed you basically whenever he could get the chance; you two didn’t even go out much anymore because he wasn’t very good at keeping his hands to himself, but you weren’t exactly complaining about staying in. You were too busy kissing him back, and teasing him mercilessly while you were at it, to do that.

You had already found the fastest way to get him needy and begging, not that any way took very long. If you kissed him while you straddled his lap, wrapping your arms around him and slowly grinding against him, he lost it in minutes. And you really seemed to get a kick out of watching him lose it, just as much as always.

It made him realize that the way you looked at him before, in sessions and scenes together, was a lot less of an act than he’d assumed at the time. He just thought you were a really good actress, or that he was really whipped; and maybe the first was true, and the second was absolutely true, but regardless it had become clear that you had it almost as bad as he did from the beginning. It gave him even more respect for how well you controlled yourself, he certainly hadn’t had much self-control at the time— after all the whole ordeal was about losing control, and occasionally about trying to gain it back.

He didn’t ask you to quit your job. He didn’t want or expect you to; but you did cut down your hours, which gave the two of you more time together.

To be totally honest, part of him got a bit titillated to imagine you with your other clients. He didn’t like the idea of other men touching you, but he smirked at the thought of them begging to touch you and being denied; he liked knowing that you didn’t do with them even half of the stuff you’d done with him when he was your client.

But he wasn’t your client anymore. He was your boyfriend, and he wanted the world to know it.

six months later...

He let you struggle to reach the top shelf for a moment, just because you looked cute on your tip-toes with the tip of your tongue sticking out of the corner of your mouth, before he finally relented and helped you grab the bottle of rice wine vinegar.

“Thanks,” you smiled as he set it in the cart.

After that you let him grab everything, content to stand on the end of the cart and push you around as you reminded him what else you needed.

“We’re out of Captain Crunch!” you remembered as he passed the cereal aisle, pointing to try to get him to turn.

“Yes, and we need to stay that way,” Bucky explained sternly, “that shit is addictive. Only way to avoid it is to not have it in the house.”

You frowned but accepted that he was absolutely right, though you groaned when he took you to the refrigerated section to stock up on chicken breasts. “I swear, you would eat these for breakfast if you didn’t think I’d judge you for it,” you joked.

“What’s wrong with chicken breasts?”

“They’re just so… bland!”

“Not if you season them right,” he corrected.

“Which you don’t,” you rolled your eyes. “Come on, at least splurge on some chicken thighs. They’re basically the same but so much more flavorful.”

“Fine, but no more making fun of my cooking,” Bucky decided, placing the breasts back on the shelf and grabbing two packs of thighs instead. “I’m still adapting to 21st century sensibilities.”

“Right,” you nodded, though he caught your smile in the corner of his eye— you knew he couldn’t exactly claim to still be as conservative as he was raised to be in every way.

Like any well-planned grocery run, it ended at the frozen section where you got some fruit bars and frozen vegetables (you had this theory that frozen vegetables tasted better in fried rice than fresh ones, and so far you’d proven him right) and he got a pizza to have for dinner in a pinch. When shopping alone before, he always did self-checkout to avoid being seen anymore than he had to… he still did it with you, but he didn’t even think about who might be looking at him, because all he saw was you.

You drove for this trip, and he always felt oddly soothed by riding passenger with you at the wheel. He liked to close his eyes and lean back a bit, or occasionally look over at you (but if he did it too much you complained that he was being creepy and distracting you). It shouldn’t be too much of a surprise that he enjoyed the feeling of you taking control, considering everything, but it was one of those little ways that he hadn’t expected. He just felt so comfortable, so safe with you, and never he felt like he was a burden for asking you to take the lead when he didn’t trust himself with it. And that applied to everything— driving, cooking, speaking up in crowds, all those little things that sometimes made him anxious.

There were some things he didn’t have any trouble being dominant about, though. He was very protective of you, for example, and tended to be uptight about how late you went out for walks or where you should be going alone. And he didn’t struggle to ask you for what he wanted— he was getting a lot better at asking for help, specifically.

He used to ask you to say that you loved him, instead of just saying ‘I love you’ himself, because for some reason it was easier to make you do it first. It started as something he’d beg for in the throes of passion, fingers digging into your skin as his eyes watered (as they often did in intimate moments): please, say you love me— jus’ need to hear you say it, please? And you were always sweet about it in return, of course I love you, James, my good boy, I love you so so much. But then he’d ask you to say it whenever he felt like it— he’d come up behind you while you were reading or cooking or something and kiss the top of your head or the shell of your ear and try to act nonchalant as he asked you love me, right?

You’d laugh and roll your eyes before you answered, but it was, thankfully, always a ‘yes.’ Eventually you figured out how often you needed to say it to make him stop asking all the time, which was probably a little too often.

“I love you,” you blurted out randomly as you turned on your signal and leaned a bit to make sure it was safe to make a left— case in point.

“I love you too,” he answered back with a smile.

“I don’t mind saying it so often,” you added, “but you know that I love you even when I’m not saying it, right? I love you all the time.”

It was a simple question, probably mostly rhetorical, but it hit him harder than he expected. “Yeah, I know,” he managed to get out evenly enough that you didn’t notice he was tearing up a bit.

He put the groceries away while you took the trash out; you liked to keep the fridge pretty organized, and it was an adjustment at first, but by now Bucky had it down pat. Before you, he hadn’t even considered that the contents of a refrigerator could be aesthetically pleasing.

Dinner was leftovers in front of the TV— you two were almost done with Frasier, but after that you had ten seasons of Friends to get through. You had tried to encourage him to watch more challenging stuff— you know, True Detective, Hannibal, dark cerebral stuff with arguably more artistic merit than classic sitcoms— but Bucky had had enough darkness in his life that he didn’t need it in his fiction. Maybe he’d find the time to catch up on the last 80 years of dramas and murder mysteries after he caught up on the last 80 years of comedy.

After dinner you were going to do yoga and Bucky, not in the mood to embarrass himself with that, retired to the bedroom a bit early to read his book— he’d heard a lot about this Harry Potter guy and now that he was on the fourth book and could hardly put it down, he understood the hype. He related a bit to the unwilling war hero in its protagonist; most of the time the series enthralled him, but occasionally something would hit too deep and he’d have to put it away for a couple days. At the moment, though, he was in one of the easy parts where it was just about schoolwork and childhood antics.

He instinctively glanced at the door when he heard you open it— he wasn’t sure how long it had been time-wise, but he’d gotten through quite a few pages— but he only quickly looked up at you as you shut the door behind you, before returning his attention to the book he was reading. “So, Bucky…” you began.

“Yeah?” he mumbled.

“James.”

It wasn’t any one thing that got his attention— not just the tone of your voice or the way it got a bit deeper, not just the look you gave him, not just the way the air of the room seemed to shift all at once. It was everything about you that made his body react instantly. He shut the book and set it aside, sitting up straight to look at you expectantly.

And you seemed to notice his instinctual obedience, considering you just barely smirked at him, raising an eyebrow as he spoke his reply: “Yes, Mistress?”

#sub!bucky barnes x dominatrix!reader #sub!bucky barnes x domme!reader

972 notes · View notes

navegandoaciegas · 3 years

Text

Maneater Writing Challenge

(gif not mine, found of Pinterest)

Hello everyone! I hope you’re doing great!!

In honor of the upcoming Hot Girls Summer, and of me hitting 2.6k followers here on Tumblr, I wanted to host a smut writing challenge with the topic of “Maneaters”, aka fem doms.

FemDom is a large term that includes many different kind of dominant women. It originates in the BDSM community and it indicates activities and relationships where the female partner is in charge. There’s different type of femdoms, for example the gentle kind that combines sexual dominance with nurturing elements (example: mommy kink), or the more widely known dominatrix kind that enjoys dominating in a cruel, strict way.

Fem!Dom readers x Sub!Male character is a pretty rare trope in the Marvel fandom, but I hope that by hosting this challenge I will inspire more people to write this type of content.

Let’s go over the boring rules before we can get to the fun stuff:

You can write for any characters played by Sebastian Stan (ex. Bucky Barnes, Lee Bodecker...) or Chris Evans (Steve Rogers, Andy Barber). Any other Marvel character, like Sam Wilson, is also fine.

The story must be a reader insert (character x reader). So no OC’s and no character x character. Poly and multiple characters x reader is fine to me.

The closing date is September 9th, my birthday! No pressure if you can’t get it done by then.

You must be 18+ to participate.

No word limit, but please use ‘read more’ if your story is longer than 250 characters.

Due to the nature of the challenge, all stories must include smut. You can make it nsfw of any kind, as any genre is welcome: fluff, angst, dark (dub-con, non-con), hurt/comfort.

Any AU, trope and kink is welcome except: scat, snuff, gore, underage, bestiality.

Send me an ask or a dm with the prompts you’ve chosen. Choose at least one. You can pick as many as you want from all categories. No limits of # people per prompt.

I’m going to reblog and comment each story I get, and I will eventually create a masterlist with all the submissions I get.

If you have any doubts, please don’t hesitate to contact me.

I picked over 50 prompts in total, so I hope you’ll find at least one that will inspire your creativity.

The prompts are listed below the cut.

Lyrics (You can use the whole song or the lyrics I selected as inspo):

Maneater by Nelly Furtado: I wanna see you all on your knees, knees, you either wanna be with me or be me. Maneater, make you work hard, make you spend hard, make you want all of her love.

Bubblegum Bitch by Marina and the Diamonds: Candy bear, sweetie pie, wanna be adored, I'm the girl you'd die for. I'll chew you up and I'll spit you out, 'cause that's what young love is all about. So pull me closer and kiss me hard, I'm gonna pop your bubblegum heart.

How to be a Heartbreaker by Marina and the Diamonds: Rule number one, is that you gotta have fun, but baby when you're done, you gotta be the first to run. Rule number two, just don't get attached to somebody you could lose.

CryBaby by Megan Thee Stallion: Uh, his friends and his dad hate me (yeah), I broke his lil' heart, he a crybaby

Heart of Glass by Blondie: Once I had a love and it was divine, soon found out I was losing my mind. It seemed like the real thing but I was so blind. Mucho mistrust, love's gone behind.

Daisy by Ashnikko: Make your man call me daddy, he talk too much, he's too chatty.

Get on your knees by Nicki Minaj: You gotta beg for it, beg for it, I wanna see you lookin' up. Baby I'ma need you to beg, beg beg for it. Get on your knees, get on your knees, get on your knees.

Poker Face by Lady Gaga: Russian roulette is not the same without a gun. And baby, when it's love, if it's not rough, it isn't fun.

Prompts

Mommy kink

Dacryphila

Gagged and Bound

Anal Plugs

Chastity belts

Humiliation

Degradation

Omorashi

Body Worship

Loss of Virginity (Virgin Character)

Innocence Kink

Corruption Kink

Men wearing panties and stockings

Faceriding

Cuckolding

Revenge/Makeup sex

House Husband kink

Mistress kink

Pegging

Lactation/Breastfeeding kink

Breeding kink

“How quick can you make me cum?”

“I’m not touching you unless you beg me to.”

“Bad boys don’t get to cum.”

“Take it.”

“Please, mommy.”

“You look so pretty on your knees.”

“I like men better when they shut the fuck up.”

“Did that hurt? (...) Good, because it was meant to.”

“Keep making those noises for me, baby.”

“You’re not coming unless I say so.”

“You’re in so much trouble, baby boy.”

“Should've thought about it before you decided to piss me off.”

“Jealousy looks great on you.”

“I’ll be so good to you.”

“I’m yours, all yours.”

“Please, gimme more.”

“So fucking tight.”

“You’re such a pathetic little slut.”

“Look at you, drooling all over yourself.”

Situations (You don’t have to use these, but I thought I could give you some extra inspiration):

Jealous reader shows character who he belongs to;

Reader pegs the ‘_’ (insert whatever annoying behavior you want) out of the character;

Reader cucks disobedient character;

Character surprises the reader with a maid costume;

Reader makes character wear a sex toy (anal plug, vibrating panties, chastity belt) in a public setting;

Seemingly innocent and sweet reader surprises character with a kinky side;

Seemingly kinky and experienced character reveals a soft, innocent interior;

Reader gets revenge on her cheating partner;

Reader verbally humiliates the character;

Character accidentally call the reader “mommy” in the middle of sex;

Yandere!Reader is obsessed with character;

Yandere!Reader thinks that the character is cheating on her with another woman.

Tagging some writers who may be interested. Please don’t feel pressured to join.

@buckycuddlebuddy @msmarvelwrites @sweeterthanthis @whateveriwant @imanuglywombat @nsfwsebbie @jtargaryen18 @jobean12-blog @world-of-aus @river-soul @buckyownsmylife @burnthematches @sherrybaby14 @sinner-as-saint @kleohoneyao3 @literate-lamb @candy-and-writing @cap-n-stuff @docharleythegeekqueen @darkficsyouneveraskedfor @honeyloverogers @honeygingergemini @fafulous @foxgloveprincess @giorno-plays-piano @gotnofucks @gogolucky13 @cherienymphe @mcudarklibrary @emilykjh @overr-written @teamcap4bucky @threeminutesoflife @iraot @sebbysbaby @propertyofpoeandbucky @hailmary-yramliah @cryptidcasanova @asadmarveltrashbag @angrythingstarlight

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #steve rogers x reader #andy barber x reader #stucky x reader #writing challenge

420 notes · View notes

trash-for-seabass · 2 years

Text

The knots in your brain

Pairing: Stucky (mostly bucky) x MassageTherapist!Reader.

Warnings: none this chapter but eventually there will be some

Authors note: I got a new job as the front desk person at a massage parlor (🥳) and tbh I Fucking HAD to write this. also please forgive me I know this chapter is dog shit.

•••

Tony Stark

He was a bit of a narcissist but I couldn’t deny he took care of his team well.

The Avengers had the best medical coverage in all of America, hell probably even the world. Everything from therapy, to steam rooms, even Hair Prosthesis were offered for the renowned heroes.

But I definitely got the most work.

When Mr. Stark had first approached me with an offer to become the avengers personal massage therapist I thought ‘hey what the hell’, he was offering me good money and come on who wouldn't want to work with earths mightiest hero's. But with time I had learned this wasn’t just a walk in the park like I had initially assumed. I worked so often I had gotten to know almost every Avenger personally.

Captain America, Steve as he insisted I call him, always asked for a deep tissue massage, mainly focused on his arms and upper back and honestly his hard super soldier muscles hurt my elbows and forearms. Dr.Banner often requested a relaxing full body, but I always paid special attention to his scalp, trying to ease the doctors headaches. The Russian spy, Natasha, preferred I work on her legs and hips, and she liked it rough, her flirty attitude could make a dominatrix blush. My employer, Tony, liked a chest massage (and a “shaft massage” that he requested one time. I almost put my foot up his ass for that). The hawk, Barton, surprisingly wanted me to focus on his shoulders and neck.

I nodded a hello to my receptionist Ben as i walked through the door. He looked as tired, and hungover, as i felt, bags covering his eyes and his normally neat blonde hair tousled. Never again would we attend an Iron man party.

"Alright" I began, easily recognizing the look of shame on his face "Who did you try to go home with?"

His face turned a dark shade of red and he buried it in his hands, knowing I was gonna rip the answer out of him one way or another. ".....Vision"

I choked on my morning peppermint tea "Are you serious Ben?" I yelped, laughing so hard my sides began to ache.

Ben glared at me, "Hey he's sexy and you know it!"

The statement sent me into another round of laughs, making me wheeze as i made my way back to my studio, the relaxing music filling my head and finally calming me down as I wiped a tear away from my eyes. Thursdays were always slow days, but still i had a few clients here and there. I went to work plugging in the warming bowl full of Himalayan salt stones, and turning the temperature up to a nice warm heat on the wet cloths. Retrieving a fresh sheet from the dryer, I prepped my massage table and lit a few of the scented candles, filling the room with an aroma of eucalyptus.

As I stood back to admire my nice little studio I could faintly make the sound of Ben’s voice out through the wall. Well actually it was the sound of Ben’s flirting voice to be exact. I quickly whipped out my phone and checked my schedule, seeing if someone had made a last minute appointment. It was probably Sam Wilson, the falcon, as he much preferred to just walk in instead of making appointments like a normal person. Still i could never stay mad at him, he always insisted on buying me drinks and his flirting made me smile. Quickly scrolling to today’s date I noticed a new set of letters adorning the client line.

JBB

Who the hell was JBB?

The icon flicked from a solid blue to a fluorescent pink letting me know the client had arrived. Bewildered, and a bit curious, my feet led you to the door separating the studio and the lobby faster then I’d like to admit. Swinging the door open, my jaw nearly hit the floor when you saw him.

James Buchanan Barnes.

The winter soldier.

Steve had mentioned him enough that i never imagined I would actually meet him. He was extremely introverted, preferring to be left alone even on missions, and I couldn’t blame him. Everyone knew the story of the winter soldier by now, a brainwashed man forced to fight, and kill, for the organization HYDRA. Steve had mentioned Barn’s PTSD in a past session so I didn’t think I would ever find him in my little studio, tucked away in the avengers compound. Not to mention the elephant in the room.

Or the vibranium arm in this case.

It was hard not to take the super soldier in, the tight black tank and gym shorts he wore didn’t leave much to the imagination, but the gleaming smoky silver metal held your eyes. And when Ben cleared his throat I realized I had been staring.

“Ah! So sorry Mr. Barnes I’m just surprised to see you here. Please this way. Also I’m (y/n) hi!” The words tumbled out as I extended my hand. A quick glance at Ben told me I were acting like an idiot. But Mr. Barnes didn’t look appalled or annoyed, rather he slightly raised an eyebrow and the corners of his lips turned up ever so slightly.

He slipped his hand into mine, his large palm and long fingers completely covering the appendage and he gave my hand a gentle squeeze. It was hard to suppress the shiver that ran down my spine. After he released my hand I turned and lead him back to my studio, quickly retrieving my patient intake form clipboard from Ben.

“So” I begin, trying to use my professional voice to hide the blush dragging its claws over my heart. “Are there any medical conditions that might prevent you from getting a massage?”

“No”

A man of few words, got it. “Alright” I continued, jotting the few things I had learned about him onto my clip board. “Is there any particular area you want me to focus on? Or are you just here for a relaxing massage?”

In the dim light I can just barley make out the sight of him tucking the tip of his bottom lip between his teeth, and the slight worry that flickers across his gaze. He reaches out with his right hand to squeeze the his left shoulder, right where metal and flesh meet. I reach a tentative hand out and lightly brush my fingertips over his arm, the cold metal causing my fingers to tingle. I flick my eyes up to meet his hazel blue ones, perfectly framed by his long chestnut hair, and give him a gentle smile. That seems to ease him a slight bit, but thankfully its just enough for him to ask. “Relaxing sounds nice. I...I don't know if that would work here though” He gives his shoulder a squeeze “Honestly your the professional, so whatever you think would work”

I smile, knowing Steve had said something to him about me makes me feel,,,,warm? Kinda fuzzy? I nod, moving my hand to ever so lightly rest my palm on the sleek metal. I shouldn't be doing this, this was beyond unprofessional, and yet there was something about James Buchanan Barnes that made me stop caring about the world for a single moment. I hold my hand there for a heartbeat longer before turning around and pulling things out of my cabinet.

I start talking again as I work on fishing out my massage oil, specifically the lavender scented one. “Alright so you'll dress down to your comfort level and lie down on the table, and if at any point you want me to stop for any reason please just-” I turn back around and my jaw nearly hits the floor. Bucky stands before me completely shirtless, every ridge and curve perfectly accented by the cheap plastic candles scattered around my room. I swallow hard, trying to pull my eyes from his abs. I quickly step towards the door, saying some bullshit about having to bring the paperwork to Ben and grab my water bottle.

The second the door closes behind me I audibly wheeze. Ben quickly minimizes the webpage of magic the gathering cards and spins to look at me. I don't even need to say anything, he just gives me a knowing look. I shoot him a glare, warning him not to make a comment, and hand him the sheet to scan into our system. Then I quickly grab my water bottle, chugging the whole thing and running back to refill it before knocking against the wooden door and pushing it open when I hear Bucky give the all clear.

Bucky is sprawled out on his stomach, the white table sheet pulled up just enough to kiss his lower back, while his rippling back muscles are out and on display. I have to take a moment to remind myself that I am a god dammed professional before I close the door and get to work.

The massage is almost completely uneventful, rubbing massage oil over his back and gently working out the knots that live there. When I reach his scalp I’m pleasantly surprised to discover his hair is soft and silky and then it’s time for his Vibranium arm.

I gently take his forearm in my hands and instruct him to move it so it’s hanging off the edge near his face. The area where flesh and metal meet is decorated with scars, one long one stretching to his spine. I reached out and touched the tip, tracing it back to its source. Bucky whimpered slightly, the sound of servos and gear whirring hummed through the room and he balled his metal hand into a fist.

“Are you sure you still want me to do this?” I ask, leaning over the table and lining up my elbow with the scarred flesh.

He only gives me a tiny little “yeah” in response but it’s not even slightly convincing.

So I give him an idea. “I can tell you don’t like to talk much, but I’ve seen people with….” I try to choose my next words carefully “traumatic injuries before and 9/10 times, it’s helped.”

Then Bucky does something that surprises me. He laughs. It’s a very small laugh, more of a chuckle really but it is a laugh, but it’s still a laugh. “What about the one guy?”

“Well that was his traumatic injury so” I say without even thinking about it. I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth but then another chuckle rumbles through his chest.

I can’t help but laugh back, it’s odd the winter soldier has such a contagious laugh. Gently I bring my elbow down and rest it on his back, waiting for him to start talking.

“….does Steve talk about our childhood often?”

“Not really” I say with a shrug. “He talks more about current events”

“Well there was this one time on Halloween where, oh fuck that’s the spot” he purrs when I run my elbow over a particularly tight muscle. Bucky takes a moment then starts up again. “On halloween when we were both 15. We had this neighbor, mrs. Mildred who was a total hag. So Steve and I had made these really crappy masks out of paper and Ah~”

“Shit you ok?” I ask, freezing like a deer in headlights.

“I’m better then ok doll”

Hearing him call me doll sends butterfly’s shooting into my belly. I place the palm of my hand into the scarred tissue and start rolling the muscle underneath which makes Bucky purr a bit more before he continues his story. “Well Steve and I rang her door bell and the minute she opened it I threw a sack of flour in her face and we ran”

He pauses to laugh a bit, the deep rumble in his chest vibrating through my finger tips.

“Now of course back then Steve was a string bean with a host of medical problems, and I turn to see he’s falling behind” I can’t see it but I can hear the smile in his voice. “So I turn around, pick him up and start carrying him bridal style!”

I can’t be sure, and it doesn’t seem possible, but it feels like his laughter is helping losses the knots in his shoulder. With no regard for the words coming out of my mouth I say “So your caring, funny, and can carry someone bridal style. Sounds like your gonna make a girl very happy.”

His laughter ceases and it feels like his body goes cold. The sound of whirring gears draws my attention to his metal arm as he lifts his hand and flexes his fingers. “Yeah well most women arnt looking for a partner that’s damaged goods”

I stop massaging the knot in his shoulder and let my fingertips trace up the line of his arm to the cold metal vibranium palm, and I whisper, so quietly only a super soldier could possibly hear me say it. “I don’t think your damaged.”

He relaxes his arm again and a heartbeat later he’s telling me another story about his childhood with captain America. We go on like that for the next half an hour, all the way until my phone buzzes letting me know our time was up. I leave the room to grab him a glass of water and let him get dressed. He comes back out, rolling his shoulder and grinning from ear to ear, drinking the small cup of water in one gulp. Then he waves me goodbye and heads out the door.

~~~

It had been 4 weeks since I had met Bucky and he had been in to see me at least twice a week. Sometimes he would catch me in the halls of the avengers tower, or he would somehow find me on my morning jog, slowing his pace just to get a chance to talk to me.

Then, in the first week of February, I didn’t see him at all. He hadn’t booked any appointments, hadn’t shown up on my run, nothing. Like he had vanished into thin air. As I walked to my studio that morning I contemplated giving him a call just to check up on him. I paused though when I saw Steve Rogers sitting in my office and talking with Ben, an hour before his appointment was set to start.

The minute he saw me he stood up, clearly nervous about something. He asked if we could talk somewhere private so I nodded, leading him back to my studio.

The minute the door closed I piped up “hey uhh how’s Bucky doing?”

Steve’s eyebrows rise but not in a shocked way, more of curious stare. “That’s actually what I came to talk to you about.”

My body goes into full panic mode. “What happened is he ok?”

Steve gently puts his hands on my shoulders, giving me a gentle squeeze. “Relax doll, it’s nothing to panic about. It’s actually umm”

His hesitation only raises my curiosity more.

“Well you know how I mentioned Bucky has PTSD?”

I nod my head, trying to wrap my brain around what he’s saying.

Steve looks down at the ground, removing his hands from my shoulders and fidgeting with his fingers. “Well you see the thing is….he used to have panic attacks pretty regularly but ever since he started coming to you he hasn’t had a single one”

“Wow” I say, trying to throw on my most convincing smile. “That’s wonderful to hear. I’m glad I can help” I pray the slight disappointment isn’t obvious in my voice. “But then how come I haven’t seen him all week?”

Steve becomes even more fidgety, scratching the back of his neck and looking anywhere but my eyes. “So him and I were talking the other night and we had this crazy idea but we both know you probably wouldn’t be into it and it’s a huge leap after knowing you such a short amount of time and-“

“Steve with all due respect if you keep me in suspense like this a moment longer I’m going to explode. Please just spit it out”

Steve audibly gulps but he locks eyes with mine and the next words out of his mouth nearly make my jaw hit the floor.

“We we’re wondering if you would like to be our roommate?”

•••

Y/n after Steve asks you to be there roommate:

#bucky barnes #Bucky #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes x female reader #Steve Rodgers #captain america #winter soldier #marvel #sebastian stan #Chris evans

104 notes · View notes

heli0s-writes · 5 years

Text

VII. Blessed Be the Mystery of Love

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes Summary: An epilogue. Six months later. A/N: The last chapter! And with that, Mystery of Love has concluded :)

A large hand paws lazily at your back as you fix the blouse you’d just slipped on. It had taken you almost an hour to get out of bed and even longer to get ready today, so you’re in a bit of a mood when the same hand starts walking itself up your shirt. You slap it with a sharp thwack and it retreats with a sniveling whine.

There’s a rumbling of laughter that follows as you slip your blazer over your shoulders.

Rolling your eyes, you land them on the bed where your two lovers lie. Steve is nursing his offending hand under his cheek as he peers up with his signature ocean gaze. Bucky is lying on his back, inoffensive limbs tucked neatly behind his head, telling you: look at me, I’m a good boy.

They’re both shirtless, taut chest and abs radiant in the chiaroscuro light your vanity table provides. The striped comforter comes up to reach just beneath their waists and you know for a fact Bucky’s completely nude this morning, but avert your gaze.

“Brat...” You shoot at Steve instead, who pouts even more. In the mirror, you swipe on a quick layer of mascara before slinging your purse over your shoulder.

Crossing your arms at the foot of the bed, you regard the men lying in it, eagerly awaiting your attention. It’s such a comical sight, you think, as you step from one heeled foot to the other, blazer fixed neatly and buttoned. You, nearly 70 years younger than them, look like some kind of sugar-momma or dominatrix, in complete command of two compliant subordinates.

As naughty as they were, keeping you up last night after they returned from a three-day-long mission, you couldn’t help but melt under their coquettish-bitten lips and puppy-dog sulking eyes. You’d been woken up past midnight and weren’t able to sleep until nearly three in the morning, and they both knew you had to be up at six.

It wasn’t entirely their fault, of course, since it only took half a mischievous bite to your neck from Bucky before your clothes were completely shed.

“Boys, this is ridiculous.” You want to be stern, but their absolutely endearing expressions melts your mood right off. A tiny quirk of your lips appear and they quickly match your countenance.

“Does that mean you forgive us?”

Your smile says more than enough. Yes, of course. Always.

“Good. I’ll drive.” Steve rises from the bed and Bucky follows. They head into the restroom to brush their teeth before pulling casual clothes on in a rush, eager to spend as much time with you as possible. You’d been taking the car by yourself for the past week, but you do love it when Steve drives. They’re much better company than what your radio can give you.

At the car, Bucky pinches your bottom and climbs in before he shuts the door.

“You know,” Steve grumbles, squinting at the rearview mirror image of Bucky nipping at your ear, “I thought you’d sit up here with me.”

“Nah, pal. I’m much better company. ‘Sides, you don’t need any distractions while you’re driving. But me? I’m a free agent back here.” He starts peeling your skirt upward, “How bout you, hon?”

You only laugh, catching Steve’s eye before intertwining your fingers in Bucky’s and kissing him, leaning your head against his shoulder. Steve puts on a song and starts singing along.

The drive is a lengthy one, and it gets even more tiresome when you get into the city. Steve is in bumper-to-bumper traffic as you gaze off in contemplation.

The last six months of your life have been the absolute nuttiest, you think, watching the streetlights go past against a gradient of orange, pink, and blue hues. Sunrise has started coming up a little bit later, now that it’s well into fall, and the chilly morning air lets Steve roll the windows down a bit.

He’s taking you to work, and it’s a procedure that you’re still trying to get used to.

You started two months ago at Cooper Union- just a visiting artist position, but still one that you take very, very seriously. Byrne kept good on his promise after the show and had given you a list of opportunities to interview for. It’s all by choice, anyway, since the profit from the show totaled more than enough to set you up comfortably for at least five years. And that’s saying quite a lot considering that you live in Manhattan of all places.

You wanted to start your job with baby steps to avoid overwhelming yourself in an academic setting. Being a visiting artist gave you a lot of freedom and just the right amount of responsibility.

The position entailed no more than three public speaking events, your own studio to develop a show at the end of the semester, and the opportunity to work closely with a mixed group of graduate and undergraduate students as their mentor. You were required to be on-campus at least once a week, but you usually went in twice just to keep your office open.

So far, it had been smooth sailing.

You look from Steve up front to Bucky at your shoulder, sighing happily and nuzzling deeper into his chest, flicking his nose with your finger. He growls playfully in response.

This had been smooth sailing too, save for a couple of rainy days and one very turbulent storm. All natural and expected aspects of being in a relationship. The biggest fight you’d had so far was a furious row after a mission where you were so cross afterward that you didn’t speak to either of them for an entire night.

You had sat in on the debriefing out of curiosity and learned that they’d taken an impulsive risk that had put their lives in more danger than the mission anticipated. Even worse, this was a regular occurrence. Tony called them the “Super-Annoying Soldiers”.

That night, you slept in Bucky’s room and ordered them into Steve’s.

The next morning, they both came in, stammering, apologetic, promising that they would never, ever be that careless again. The make-up session lasted four hours and you emerged around noon thoroughly convinced and dog-tired.

The three of you learned new things about each other every day.

For example, Bucky religiously ate bad Chinese take-out and Steve danced in the shower. Steve loved it when you pulled his hair and Bucky loved pulling your hair. The three of you spent nights fumbling all over each other when they had time at the compound, and if one of them happened to be away, the other two would Facetime when possible. It wasn’t a necessity, by any means, it was more of consideration; they were also content to let each other be with you privately.

Jealousy never arrived to bother any of you.

In fact, you often let the boys have time to themselves. Especially on your days at work. There had been many evenings when you’d come back to the compound after dinner and they were cuddled up on the couch, enjoying a movie or a nap. It was the sweetest thing. Sam and Clint took many pictures and both turned red after you casually mentioned that they should see pictures of what else the Steve and Bucky get up to when you’re not around.

“Because... they get up to a lot. I’m not always a necessary part of the puzzle, you know.” A single wink was all it took for your friends to high tail it out of the room.

It was a running joke with the team that the three of you had a very adventurous sex life together- as predicted by Tony. Admittedly, yes, it was exciting, but beyond the sex (and there was quite a lot of it- so many positions and scheduled water breaks), you were more than happy to just sit with a cup of tea and a board game, or going for walks, or watching them spar. You had even started to go on short jogs and spent time working out with them as well. It was painful at first (leg day was fine, chest day was the devil’s invention), but the showers together afterward really made up for it.

Every day brought something new to the table.

Last night, after Bucky fell asleep on the edge of the bed a little past three, Steve settled in the middle and you laid your head on his chest, kissing the sweat-slick skin beneath your lips.

“Hey...” You began slowly, pressing your mouth to his neck.

“Mhm... Hey back,” he parroted, slurring through the sleepy fog. “What’s on your mind?”

“Honestly, kind of a lot...?” You felt yourself come down from the high peak of love and marching up a peak of anxiety. You had started to babble about the mechanics of domesticity because the television prompter in your brain began to marquee way too fast. This ritual of sleeping together and waking up together had been blossoming into some future fantasies that you’re not sure how to bring up. You supposed this was as good of a time as any.

Steve was a bit stunned from your sudden outburst, “Hold on honey... Let me wake up for this.”

“Sorry... But Steve,” You rambled onward, “What about being Captain America? And how does that I don’t know- what does that mean when it comes to a family? Marriage? Children?” Your face burned at the thought of a little blue-eyed toddler running around by your feet, perhaps fair-haired, or rowdy and cleft-chinned.

You’d been dreaming about it at night, blanket forts and stuffed animals, a nursery, and a crib, and a mobile full of stars. The rational side of your brain chastised it- you were too young, you wanted to keep exploring the world, getting used to your position, and your relationship. The rational side also continuously brought up the fact that the father of your children would be one of two Super Soldiers- Jesus, maybe both, whose lives were always precariously balancing on … God, you didn’t know what.

Underneath you, Steve buzzed awake—as much as he could.

“Well… I’d love that.” He exhaled a deep breath, arm coming up to rub your shoulders. “Always wanted to be a dad, but let’s start with uh, maybe sleep for now. What do you say?”

You mumbled against him, “I didn’t mean to sound like I’m rushing you into those things, by the way. I suppose it was just a natural discussion to bring up.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Steve had rubbed his nose against your ear, breath warm and inviting. You distinctly felt a smile grow on his face. “I also know Bucky would appreciate being in the loop. Let’s save it for the morning.” He placed a hand on Bucky’s bare back, drawing circles along his spine as he groaned in his sleep.

You kissed your man sweetly, and before you knew it, you’d fallen dreamlessly asleep in his arms.

“Ready, honey?” Bucky squeezes your thigh, snapping you from your daze. He’s a little concerned that you’ve been so quiet for the whole trip, and grumpy that he’d been subject to Steve’s awful bellowing. The car’s parked on the street, about a block away. “You okay?”

“Yes, sorry... just thinking about our conversation last night.”

Bucky’s eyes light up delightedly, “Kitten, I don’t know if dirty talk counts as a conversation... but I’m all ears.”

“Buck, you fell asleep early. We talked about havin’ kids, pal.”

“Mhmmm—what?” After a pause, with you and Steve exchanging concerned looks, Bucky grips your hand so tightly it almost hurts, “Babe, I... I... wh-” The expression on his face changes from shock to concern, then finally, it knocks the air from your lungs when he looks at you.

“I can’t... I can’t.”

You see the storm over the horizon in Bucky’s eyes. His blue fades into grey, and billowing clouds have cast a shadow over the sloping mountain of his nose and the sharp plains of his cheeks. You can only console him with a sad smile and kisses along his jaw. He’s lost, now, in the past of his actions, in the raging tempest of thunderous roars and lightning strikes in his mind. It’s all scorched earth and barren wasteland to him. It’s filling your chest up with embers—not for yourself, but for him, and you are struggling to speak calmly.

“It was just a thought, Buck. For the future. Don’t think about it too much.”

You exit the car, kissing both your Soulmates softly. Steve gives you a final lingering look before you disappear down the campus street, starting to fill up with student bodies. Bucky is motionless in the back as Steve shifts gears and takes him back home.

They spend the next hour arguing in the bedroom, taking their squabble from the car to the garage, to the common area where Natasha raises an eyebrow too sharply for Steve’s comfort. Bucky’s pulling his hair and stomping, Steve’s sitting with both fists clenched on his knees, head leaned back in frustration. It’s moved beyond just the possibility of children, and deeper into the territory of Bucky’s repentance.

It’s a conversation Steve is sick of having because he doesn’t think Bucky needs to repent for anything. Steve has physically fought for this; he’s bled for this. But every time it seems like he might have pushed his boulder to the peak of the hill, it rolls back down on top of him.

“Buddy, you gotta stop.” Steve admonishes, feeling the aggravation building, deflecting a glare from his friend, “We’re not talking about if you deserve kids, Buck. We’re just … talking about kids. That’s it.”

“Look at me, Stevie, what th’ fuck am I gonna do with a kid?” Bucky sputters and waves his arms around, and then he takes his flesh one and points it to his cybernetic one. “Look at me!” There’s a panic in his eyes- the same one that’s lasted for over an hour with no sign of quelling. “She... sh-she can have your baby. I’m not... I can’t be a part of that.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he feels himself clench up with a devastating truth that hurts too much to imagine.

Steve crosses his arms and stands, using his full height to stare down at Bucky. He’s not that much taller, but it’s enough for Steve to say with his body I’m bigger than you and you need to listen to me. Bucky flinches at the hard stare and puts both hands over his face with a groan.

“There is no that without you.” Steve says firmly, arms tucked under each other so tightly his biceps bulge like boulders against his chest. He’s trying not to get angry because he knows it would be like squirting kerosene into a burning building. He needs to smother the fire, not encourage it.

“There is no this without you. We are Bound, all three of us. Buck, this isn’t happening tomorrow, or even next year, or even the year after that. We just talked about the possibility of it in the future.” His voice grows softer the longer he talks, and Bucky’s fear begins to slow to his pace, fizzling out like a candlelight.

“Pal, can you blame her? She’s twenty-three. She’s in love... with you of all people. Gee, Buck. Someone’s in love with you so much they think about havin’ a baby with you... And ya run for the hills.” Bucky mulls it over as Steve approaches, and there’s regret sinking into his stomach as he thinks about your sad eyes in the backseat of the car. He thinks about how you still kissed him before you left.

“Shit. I screwed it up, didn’t I? God. We got the sweetest girl and..” He grimaces, eyes flickering with anxiety.

Steve pats him on both shoulders before pulling him into his arms. Bucky is hard, tense muscle and warm breaths as he leans into Steve and they embrace until he calms down again.

They’ve always been happy to give and receive hugs as friends, often patting each other on the back fondly or comfortingly. It’s been moreso as of late- a result of spending more time together intimately. The hugs are more tender, more loving.

When Steve wakes up in the middle of the night in-between two bodies, he often looks over at Bucky, too, admiring the way he looks when he’s at peace. It’s something Steve’s wanted to see since he found Bucky; it’s something he sees more of every day. He wants to keep it that way.

“Think she’ll forgive me?”

Steve can only laugh as he brushes the hair out of Bucky’s face, rubbing his knuckles over the bristles along his jaw. “Yeah, Buck. Of course.” The sigh against his shoulder once more is a response all on its own.

Steve thinks back to the night he woke up and you were sitting on the sofa crying. It was your first time without Bucky since the three of you had started sharing a bed together. It was the first time you hadn’t slept with both in almost a month; it was long enough to pine for and ache about. You were used to being in the middle, he had thought, so maybe piling pillows on the empty side to simulate a presence might help. You stirred anyway.

He quietly sat down next to you, kissing your bare shoulder that peeked out from under the throw blanket. There were tears in your eyes as he cradled you in his arms.

“I miss him too. He’ll be back soon.”

“It’s not that…” You sniffled, “I was just thinking about... something Pietro told me.” You turned to him, crossing your legs and opening up the blanket to invite him in. Steve wrapped the edge as much as he could around his large frame and pulled you into his lap.

“What’s that?”

“Remember that day I came back, and you saw me by the pool?”

He nodded. Of course he remembered. He had spent three days in agony, feverish at night, freezing in the morning, waking up dripping in sweat. His chest hurt every waking moment and only ached even more in Bucky’s presence as if it was the Binding’s reminder to them that there was a missing piece that wouldn’t be forgotten. Seeing you by the pool that day extracted all of Steve’s pain in a single scoop. He had almost slipped running out of the room to catch you.

“Pietro said... There are two meant to love you. You never have to wonder, it is wonderful.”

He didn’t understand why you looked so sad until you glanced over to the bed where the pile of pillows had been kicked off, exposing the vacancy. “Do you think… Bucky knows that? I don’t wonder about the future and think that either of you will leave me, and I don’t think about me leaving either of you.”

You paused to wipe your cheeks, “But does Bucky know? Does he still think that he’s unlovable? He never tells me the truth, but I see it when he’s just looking at me. It hurts, Steve. I’m so worried all the time. I don’t want him to wonder about us.”

Steve Rogers kissed you that night with the intensity of a lover leaving for war. He held onto you so tightly you thought you might sink inside of him. He made love to you on that sofa in the darkness and caressed the tears on your cheeks so sweetly you cried. He had seen more and more of your heart every day, and it filled him with so much love it sometimes hurt. You loved them, together, equally, and separately, with their individual flaws and quirks.

And God, Steve thinks, there are a fucking lot of flaws.

“Buck,” Steve says, taking his friend’s face in his hands, fingers running through the dark mane. “She loves you. She loves you more than she knows what to do with. You can’t treat yourself like this. It hurts all of us.”

Another silence envelopes them as Steve holds onto him, massaging the back of his head tenderly. They break apart after another long moment before sending each other half-smiles and understanding nods, affirmations exchanged through smiles and blinks. Bucky speaks first.

“I love you too, Steve.”

The boys arrive around two to pick you up and wave from the car, parked outside of the Art Building. The students surrounding you eventually let you go but stare open-mouthed at the shiny classic Mustang and Bucky’s vibranium-black hand holding your favorite drink. It’s his own personal white flag. The conversation is casual throughout the whole ride as they sit up front and you in the back. You tell them about your day and the work you’ve been up to, mentioning a few favorite teaching moments with students. They listen intently and coil their intended conversation slowly around your own, reading your mood with prudence.

At the compound, it’s turned up many notches when Bucky falls to his knees and lays his head against your tummy.

“I’m s’rry, babe.” He mumbles “S’rry I jumped t’ conclusions and... I’m such an idiot. Please don’t be mad with me, even if I deserve it.” His twang comes back when he’s emotional. The slurring of his ‘r’s and dropping his vowels brings a slight pinch to your chest when you think about all of the things he’s been through and how he could have so easily have just been another soldier returned from war, living out the rest of his days as a Brooklyn boy. But the path he’s been on has led him to this moment, to this darkness inside of him.

You pat his head gingerly, watching the smile grow on Steve’s face as he stands beside you. You know this is his doing, pulling Bucky from his own trap and bringing him back out. You’ve spent enough time with him to know that without help, Bucky will torture himself for days, biting off his own tail in a box of his own design.

“Bucky, the problem isn’t that you jumped to conclusions; the problem is that you think you’re an idiot. And that you think you deserve it.” You’re stern with him but continue to pet his hair.

He nods, over and over frantically, but you’re not sure if he really hears you. He wants this moment to be finished, you think, and so for now you’ll let it be. Sometimes you had to pick the right battles to fight, and for now you were content with this battle ending how it will. You don’t mind repeating it later, you know Bucky needs more assurance than most, and you’re happy to a part of that constant thing for him.

For now, he wants to be touched. It’s how he knows you still love him.

So you do. You kiss him all over. Steve latches on to his wrist and takes him to the bed. You both undress him and then yourselves. Bucky lies on his back, still sorrowful and regretful, but as the two of you hang over him, fingers intertwined, he feels his sadness vanish into the sheets.

Between your soft hands and Steve’s firm grasps, Bucky falls apart completely.

When Bucky goes to starts the bath, you spend a few minutes lying in bed with Steve just to caress him. You want to let him know too that he’s just as important, that you care just as deeply and passionately for him.

“You’re amazing.” He says, eyes dancing under your gaze, “He’s just stubborn. Always has been.”

“Mmm,” you smile back, “Reminds me of someone I know.”

“Who’s that?”

You pretend to contemplate it before planting countless kisses on his lips. “Come on, he’ll get fussy if we’re late.”

He gives you a piggy-back ride to the tub.

They take turns lathering you up and each other in the water, in-between playful splashing and affectionate touches. The three of you are a sight to behold, all covered up in soap suds with mops of wet hair. Steve dutifully washes the shampoo from Bucky’s locks as you lean your head on his shoulder, patiently waiting your turn. They start getting into a powwow about whose turn it is to do the laundry next and you space out, smiling into the mass of bubbles when you feel Steve’s fingers spitefully leave Bucky’s hair and go to yours.

You know he’s stubborn. Steve is too. And so are you.

It doesn’t really bother you when Bucky gets into one of his moods, because you know he’ll always come back. It doesn’t bother you either when Steve’s impulsive on missions because he always comes back too. They both know that they must… simply because you’re home expecting them. Unless they’re acting dangerously- which, they’ve promised that they’d stop- you give them all your trust, just like you’ve given them your heart.

You have the rest of your life with them to figure the remainder of it out.

It sinks in, like the soap and bubbles, like the perfume of the shower gel and the gentle motions of Steve’s hands on your body. It sinks in that for the rest of your life, you’ll have them, both of them. No matter where your paths take you, you’ll be walking hand-in-hand with two perfect Soulmates by your side.

In the background, Bucky and Steve nag and jab each other with their sarcastic taunts and jibes of past embarrassments. There’s name calling and noogies, pinching, and snapping of teeth against fingers. Bucky blows bubbles in Steve’s face. Steve flicks droplets in Bucky’s eyes.

You lean forward against the edge of the porcelain tub, draping yourself over it and grin at them.

“What’s on your mind, sweetheart?” Steve asks, quieting the chatter and rubs his hand against your spine.

The look you give him melts him on the spot. There’s an unfathomable light in your eyes, swimming in something unspeakably loud but necessarily silent. He wants to pull apart the puzzle of it, finding the pieces that you’re keeping to yourself, but something keeps him immobile. Bucky splashes as he leans forward too, intrigued by the look on your face.

Saying nothing, you turn back around, humming a tune and motioning for Steve to continue. You’ll let them contemplate, you think, because eventually they’ll arrive at the same ending that you have. Bucky might take a while longer than Steve, but that’s okay too.

It’s kind of funny that you’d gone through so much of your life fearing love to the point of near madness and physical ailment. It’s so strange to think of how in the span of six months, you’ve transformed into a person so far removed from who you were then.

At 23, you had once rejected love.

But also, at 23, you’ve solved the mystery of love. Its disarray of angst and apprehension that’s long gripped your mind has been untangled by your dutiful hands. It’s Gordian Knot has been completely dissembled, slipping away into the depths along with your fear and anxiety.

You now tread over its strands, blissfully following the trail leading to your lovers’ embrace.

#mcu #marvel #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #Mystery of Love heli0s #reader insert #fanfiction

1K notes · View notes

ticklikeabomb · 5 years

Text

One-shot : Bad Guy

Pairing : Steve Rogers (NOMAD) x Fem Plus Size Reader

Warnings : Language ; DOM Steve ; SMUT -> 18+ !!!

Word Count : 2.2k

A/N : One-shot inspired by the song “Bad Guy” by Billie Eilish and cause I’m a slut for bearded Steve <3

Steve has been on the run for a while now. It felt bittersweet to abandon The Avengers behind, his way of lifestyle but he knew deep down he made the right choice. Sam and then Natasha followed his footsteps, having his back meaning he wasn't completely alone in the world. Even though, something was missing ; not only Bucky or Peggy but something more meaningful, a sense of danger he always thought was for the good cause. Now he wanted to face danger for thrive, not because it was the a certain way to accomplish good. Just feeling like he could do something bad, something out of his comfort zone. Refusing to sign the Sokovia Accords was the first drop of blood. Once he tasted "blood" he wanted more. The second step was to let his hair and beard grow ; an act of rebellion from the sweetheart looking face and the perfect persona people put on him since, well ever. He was feeling good, probably more than ever and was about to show it.

A new undercover mission was on the menu for the three former Avengers : infiltrate a famous and private nightclub, gather intel related to a growing terrorist agency and identify the hierarchy of the organization. The potential default? It wasn't just any club. Let's just say that it was the sort of club where latex, whips and orgies were the main course. The Chaud Club. Before, it would have been an obstacle to the famous Captain's moral but today, he was begging for it. The thrive at its essence. The sort of thrive that gets any teenager excited after a short eggplant & peach text.

[Verse 1] White shirt now red, my bloody nose Sleepin', you're on your tippy toes Creepin' around like no one knows Think you're so criminal Bruises on both my knees for you Don't say thank you or please I do what I want when I'm wanting to My soul? So cynical

[Chorus] So you're a tough guy Like it really rough guy Just can't get enough guy Chest always so puffed guy I'm that bad type Make your mama sad type Make your girlfriend mad tight Might seduce your dad type I'm the bad guy Duh

I'm the bad guy

Black pants, dark boots and a leather jacket were the only clothes Steve supported before making his way among the club's regulars. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Natasha in a vivid red leather dress at the bar, while Sam sat at the VIP section feeling like Poseidon surrounded by an ocean of mermaids who fought for his attention. The Moses arriving, the crowd dissipated slightly at every firm step of Steve's; admirative of his chiseled chest and the pure alpha vibe emanating from him or of pure fear, thrill? No one knew, maybe it was a little of both. Either way he was loving the feeling he provoked. A drink in hand, he scrutinized the crowd. His eyes locking with a potential member of the agency. He was about to close the distance when Natasha cut him through the comms exclaiming the man in question wasn't part of the terrorist organization.

Steve stood now in the middle of the room. Trying to blend in, he grabbed the first arm closest to him and let the woman in front of him wander her fingers on his chest, while grinding on his tight. He played the game. Lifting his head up, his gaze fixed on a gorgeous plus size woman, standing at the corner of the room. It occurred to him that she was out of place, not the same expression painted on her face as the others in the room. He noticed her eyes carefully travel the room, catching every single detail around her. Steve whispered to the comms to his partners, "We may have a third player in the game", before indicating them your position. At the end of his phrase he saw the woman already looking at him with a piercing gaze, a smirk at the corner of her lips.

You looked over the crowd attentively until your eyes landed on your target. His face was currently being eaten out by someone, their tongues intervened, battling for dominance. Who would have thought that one of the most Humanitarian organization member, militating for world peace would consecrate his free time to wild nights at the Chaud Club. Never judge a book by its cover, right. And there he was, a total sub in front of the latex wearing dominatrix, ready to make him comply. Not far from him, the VIP section. Who said Sam Wilson, said Steve Rogers and probably Natasha Romanoff. You quickly found her next to the bar, her disguise working for everyone else except you. You would recognize her anywhere and anyhow. Another swift on your right and there he was, Steve Grant Rogers, a finger pressed on the side of his ear. Before he had the chance to lift his head, you saw Wilson and Romanoff looking your way and knew they had an eye on your persona. "This should be fun", you thought.

Even with the club's neons, you still could distinguish the blue of his eyes once he looked at you. A staring contest took place between you. Neither one of you flinching, even though, the woman grinding on his leg was trying (in vain) to get his attention. A deep and dark chuckle escaped from you, the whole thing entertaining. You marched towards him and jerked the woman from him before capturing her lips in a bruising kiss. Shocked she didn't respond right away. You didn't care, the kiss wasn't for her anyway but for him. To get a reaction of him. You disengaged from her and looked at him ; his eyes dark screaming 'envy' and his teeth clenching on his inferior lip. Closing the gap, you grabbed the back of his neck in a strong grip and caught his inferior lip between your teeth, making him groan. Releasing his lip and neck, you took a step back and winked at him before taking the direction of the bathroom, knowing you had him under your fingers.

I like it when you take control Even if you know that you don't Own me, I'll let you play the role I'll be your animal My mommy likes to sing along with me But she won't sing this song If she reads all the lyrics She'll pity the men I know

It didn't took long before he joined you in the bathroom ; locking the door behind his entry. You both stood there, contemplating each other. Your eyes wandering from the edge of his new hairstyle to the belt of his pants, while his eyes followed the curves of your thick and plum figure. "Are you gonna stand there the rest of the night?", you spoke up. His jaw clenched, the inner battle evident : Fight his instincts and be careful or let go. You chose for him, "You have 3 seconds to make a move." He stepped your way, his body an inch from you and whispered in a raspy voice, "I don't think you have a saying here." You chuckled but it was shut by his plump lips fiercely pressed on yours, his teeth biting yours in a carnal way. Even if you didn't want it, a moan escaped from you making him smile but vanished as fast as it came when you pushed him against the door. He hold you tightly against him, his grip shaping the form of the future bruise on your waist. His lips attacked your neck while you fumbled on his belt but he stopped you. "Nah-han. Strip", he breathed out. Raising an eyebrow you wondered if he really wanted to go that road. "I said STRIP", he exclaimed with a predatory voice. "There we go", you smiled brightly. "Finally you've come to your senses." His hand went to your throat and his teeth on your earlobe, biting it. "If I'll have to repeat again, you will regret it", he mumbled. "I guess I'll do", you replied more than happy to push his buttons.

He groaned and ripped your blouse in pieces before his hand went to your skirt. "No", you stopped him. "You don't want me to go home naked do you?", you smirked. Stepping back, your hands went to your skirt's zipping and turned around, providing him with the perfect view on your round ass. Sensually discarding your skirt, you faced him again and saw the tent in his trousers. You motioned him to come to you and he was in front of you in a second. His beard tickling your neck and collarbone heavenly while his teeth marked you. "You have no idea what you're doing to me", he told you through greeted teeth. You slid down on your knees and waited his command. "Show me", you said sensually. He discarded his pants and boxers down, his thick and veiny shaft in front of your lips. You couldn't help yourself and kissed the base slowly making him moan. Before he could come back to his senses, you wrapped your lips around the present that was his dick and sucked him. "Fuck", he groaned. His hand took hold of your head, stopping your movements to jerk his hips forward, sinfully fucking your face. You were at his mercy and you both loved it.

You pushed him further alternating between licks, kisses and sucking before he pulled you up strongly on your feet and planting his lips on yours in a heated kiss, tasting his pre-cum on your tongue. He lifted you up and dropped you on the counter, his mouth travelling down your body. "Let's see how sweet you really are." He latched on your soaking pussy and dove right in, sucking your clit in his mouth and filing you with two fingers. His moan vibrating down your private part was making you wetter and desperate for more. Your hands reached his hair and managed to pull him deeper but he stopped before you were reaching your climax. Grabbing your hands in his he said, "You don't get to touch me. Is it clear? And you only get to cum when you deserve" With your big mouth you counterattacked, "What are you gonna d-, Ahhhh", your voice cracked once he filled you up without warning. He started slowly but quickened his pace like an enraged animal. Moaning out loud, he pounded in you roughly like it was the last thing to do for survival. "Fuck me harder, please", you moaned. You felt him twitch inside you but knew he wouldn't come before you did. Reaching down, he flicked your bundle of nerves rapidly making you see stars, your orgasm exploding like TNT. He was still thrusting in you at a fast pace and your hands reached his cheeks. "Let go Steve, you can let go", you encouraged him. His eyes widened at the mention of his name before letting go and cumming at full force, renovating your walls with his white juice. Heavily panting, you dropped a chaste kiss on his lips, the evident contraste of that sweet gesture compared to the roughness of the sex you just had.

You quickly put your clothes back on, feeling his presence doing the same behind you. "How do you know me?", he asked. You chuckled and walked at him, stopping inches from his lips. "You really think a beard and longer hair are gonna fool people? Either way I like it", you said before unlocking the door. "Will I see you again?", he asked almost desperately. You smirked and got out of the bathroom, joining the main room. He followed you and stopped in his tracks when you neared the exit. A scream was heard among the crowd and he his gaze landed on the fuss behind him. A corpse on the ground, the man militating for world peace. "What happened?", asked Steve through the comms. "The third player? The woman? She killed him", exclaimed Sam. "That's impossible she was with m-", Steve couldn't finish his sentence because he saw the same looking woman merge with you. 'Enhanced', he thought. He saw you smirk and wink at him before vanishing the place.

He didn't know how to feel. The undercover mission was a total failure and a man got killed but on the other hand, Steve never felt more alive. He didn't know what the future hold for him but there was one thing he knew : his path would cross yours again.

[Bridge] I like when you get mad I guess I'm pretty glad that you're alone You said she's scared of me? I mean, I don't see what she sees But maybe it's 'cause I'm wearing your cologne

[Outro] I'm a bad guy I'm a bad guy Bad guy, bad guy I'm a bad

* gifs not mine, credit to owners*

PERMANENT TAG LIST : @arrowswithwifi @poetic-pixie @theshortegg @kyber-hearts-and-stardust-souls @prettybubblesintheair @yafriendlyfangirl @marshmallow-witch @ms-cellanies @the-feckless-wonder @cfisher290 @thefangirltheycallviolet @river-fics @lilulo-12 @fanfictionrecommendations-com @spetzerfehn @angieptt @wayward-timetravel-collecter @ashley17jacobs @lokithedancingqueen @wildsoul1221 @robertconradjr @francezka10 @titty-teetee @breezy1415 @lunarprincess3977 @thelostallycat @introvertedsin

#steve rogers x plus size reader #Steve Rogers #Steve Grant Rogers #nomad #plus size reader #enhanced #marvel #mcu #fanfiction #fanfic #one-shot #steve x plus size reader #sam wilson #natasha romanoff

143 notes · View notes

mypoisonedvine · 3 years

Text

𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙮 𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘝𝘐) || sub!bucky barnes x dominatrix!reader

(𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘐) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘐𝘐) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘝) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘝)

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 || James needs something new this week, something that will put you both to the test.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 || 4.5k

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 || smut (oral m receiving, brief rimjob, sensual sex, oversimulation [but it’s not bucky this time 👀]), ANGST!!, like seriously so much angst, heavy BDSM, blood (don't say I didn't warn you), whipping, bondage/chains (standing bondage? if that's a warning), pain kink, emotions (bucky's emotions, reader's emotions, my emotions, and probably your emotions)

new parts posted on thursdays (typically)! follow my reblog account to be ‘tagged’!

When you realized your true feelings, you truly considered calling it off.

For a thousand reasons, it would break your heart to end your professional relationship with James, but it seemed like the right thing to do. It wasn’t fair to either of you when clearly real feelings were getting involved.

So, in a certain sense, you’d already decided to end it. But, in another and much more important sense, you had been putting it off for weeks now. There was never a ‘good time’ to do it— you always seemed to struggle to find ‘good times’ to do things it just so happened that you didn’t want to do. That was why you ended up going through with three more sessions, letting yourself live each one within the fantasy that you were quickly becoming addicted to.

The Boyfriend Experience. After all this time playing the game and wearing the heels and living the lie, you never thought you’d fall for it; but now you couldn’t help but wonder if you were getting more out of James than he was getting out of you.

Speaking of what he was getting out of you, you smiled when you saw a notification of an email from James— but your grin of glee started to fall as you read what he really wanted.

I need more this week. Chains, preferably standing up. The crop, or a whip would be better if you have one. Something to break the skin.

Go hard on me, I can handle a lot.

It wasn't out of the ordinary for you, in fact it was much closer to your normal style with all your other clients. That was exactly what worried you about it: since when did James want what your other clients got?

This was a new feeling for you— well, not new, but rare. The last time you felt this way, it was when you were about to go onstage to sing for the entire fourth grade and their families for your small (but not small enough) role in Seussical the Musical. It was like your stomach would sink until it hit your feet, like your head was buzzing with enough anxious energy to make lightning shoot out of your ears.

And although your body was reacting in a similar way, stepping up to face James— naked as the day he was born (presumably; you weren’t there, after all) with his arms pulled up above his head by the shackles hooked to the ceiling— was very different from stepping onto the school auditorium stage to sing The People Versus Horton the Elephant.

His eyes didn’t look up to scan your body as you approached him, but you gave him a thorough glance as you slowly thread the end of the whip between your fingers. “You want me to hurt you, James?” you asked, breaking the longest silence you’d had in a while.

He nodded, the long ends of his hair shaking a bit as he did it.

“Use your words,” you reminded him.

“Yes— hurt me, Mistress, please,” he answered dutifully.

“Good boy.”

But he didn’t have the reaction to it that you were used to; because unlike before, he didn’t believe you.

You traced the whip gently over his chest first, before suddenly hitting him once on his side; he winced, barely, but hardly reacted— so you did it again. And again. And one more time, until you could see welts form alongside where his ribs were visible through his skin when he took a deep breath.

Hurting him was harder on you than you expected, or wanted. Certainly harder than you were prepared for. But you kept going, because it was your job. You hoped he didn’t see the way you winced, too, when you hit him.

You went harder on his back, you figured he could take more there. He started to groan louder with each one, though it was still pretty quiet compared to the sound of the whip cracking and the shackles clinking above his head.

"Color?" you asked suddenly, breaking a tense silence.

"Blue," he answered quickly. More… you could give him more, but it might take something out of you.

You honestly sort of spaced out, because you knew it would break your heart to focus on this too hard. Of course it was a bit dangerous to not have your full attention on him in a time like this, but when had this not been dangerous?

You knew better than to get feelings involved, you knew it you knew it you knew it and you still couldn't stop yourself— and now here you were, beating the man you loved bloody, for money.

"Harder," you heard him beg, moaning loudly when you obeyed. "Fuck, more, please…"

You really let him have it: it was like you were moving on autopilot, like you did with everyone else. The noise he made was clearly that of a sob suppressed— he needed to cry, but he was fighting it, wouldn’t allow himself the release he needed.

It was another painful reminder that he wasn't everyone else. He was James.

“It’s okay,” you softened slightly to inform him, “it’s okay to cry.”

“Wanna be strong,” he explained with a whimper.

“You are,” you assured, “but I wanna see you cry— be my good boy and cry for me.”

He shook his head.

“Tell me what you need," you requested instead.

“Hurt me.”

You swallowed before answering. “Why?”

“Deserve it,” he answered tensely. “Did bad things… hurt people. I need the pain…”

“You want me to punish you?” you pressed.

“Yes, please,” he sighed, closing his eyes. He looked exhausted— not underslept, though… something much deeper than that.

“What for?” you asked.

“Everything.”

“Tell me what it is about pain that excites you, James,” you whispered.

“Everything,” he repeated, even more tense than before. “Like that it hurts. Like that if I ask, you’ll stop.”

You tried to keep your face neutral as your heart twisted. “Tell me who hurt you,” you requested, running your fingers over his scars.

“Everyone,” he whimpered. “Everyone but you.”

He protested with a whine when you reached to unshackle him.

“N-no, don’t wanna stop,” he shuddered.

“I think you need to,” you explained.

“No!” he yelped, scaring you slightly, before tightening his face and body as fear shifted to simmering rage: “No. I need to… I need to learn to control it. I need to control it.”

You didn’t understand entirely what that meant, but you pushed past your discomfort to give him what he was asking for as you lowered your arms and left his chains untouched. “Give me your color.”

“Blue,” he snarled.

“How hard do you want it?”

“Wanna bleed.”

And he did. The first drop that rolled down his back made you grimace, another made your eyes sting until you had to sniffle slightly and hoped he wouldn’t hear you on the verge of crying.

It wasn’t the sight of blood itself that disturbed you, in fact it sometimes soothed or grounded you. But it was his blood, it was his pain, and you were crushed with the truth that love is not pain. That love is not suffering. And that you never want to hurt the person you love, even when he asks you to.

Some dominatrix you were; Love had transformed you, softened you— and, you feared, ruined you. You wouldn’t be able to give him what he needed anymore. He would leave. You would be alone.

So you kept hitting him, watching the cuts line his back in stripes, hearing his yelps and growls as he tried to keep from crying. If only he knew that you were probably trying even harder than him.

You let up on his back for a moment and suddenly his chest; that must’ve been what pushed it all over the edge, because finally, the tears started to fall— slow at first, then a rush. To your surprise, they were his. “Color?” you asked quietly.

“Green,” he whispered huskily between sobs. At least he didn’t say ‘blue’ again.

You hit him again and heard him cry a bit harder— it took a lot but he was finally letting go and letting it out. Each impact pushed another sob from his chest, especially a hit on his thigh that seemed to catch him off-guard. He threw his head back and shut his eyes tight, breathing through his clenched teeth. When he gasped and whimpered and shuddered after every crack of the whip, you could see on his face the way it melted his defenses away. He wasn’t wrong before, he clearly needed the pain, and he clearly needed to cry like this.

That said, you couldn’t push him much harder than you already had; you had limits, too, and you’d broken enough of your own rules for a while.

"You've had enough," you decided when tears covered his face and wounds decorated almost all of him.

"N-no," he whimpered.

"I said you've had enough," you repeated firmly, though you softened out of your dom voice immediately and reached up to the metal around his wrists. "I'm gonna take you out of these, okay?"

Finally, finally, he nodded and you began to unlock the shackles on his wrists.

He crumpled into your arms the second you released him, his limp weight requiring all your strength (and then some) to get him onto the bed where you tried to set him down but he instantly pulled you on top of him.

“Just hold me,” he pleaded in a whisper, his hand clenching as he grabbed at the back of your dress; you were glad his eyes had fallen shut so he wouldn’t see yours water.

“Need to take care of you first,” you explained as you slipped away to the bathroom, dampening a rag and grabbing some hydrogen peroxide from your cabinet.

Gingerly, and with as much precision as you could muster, you tended to his cuts and wounds.

“Might sting a bit,” you warned before you dabbed at him with the hydrogen peroxide. He winced but said nothing, letting you patch him up. You caught him looking at you while you did it, his eyes moving from your hands to your face and back. In a moment where your curiosity overpowered your respect for his privacy, you blurted out the question that had been burning in your mind since this all started: “Is this what you really wanted?”

He didn’t seem to understand, or at least he was pretending not to.

“Did you really just want to be cared for, and the only way you knew how was to be hurt first?”

This time, he must have understood, because his jaw tightened and he looked away. You set your rag aside and rested your hand on his chest, pulling him into you.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, “I’m here. I care. You’re safe.”

Until the exact moment that his arms wrapped around you, you thought you’d done something wrong. But he gave in and embraced you tightly, his body nearly enveloping yours at this point. The skin on his back was cool to the touch and you frowned. “Baby, you must be freezing…”

You didn’t even notice the casual pet name you’d called him— normally you stopped that kind of talk when the scene ended.

But, normally you didn’t fall in love, so…

The two of you just held each other for a while, and it made you hopeful that you could still give him something he needed even if you had lost your ability to beat him up. You found yourself idly playing with his hair, before he suddenly rolled away and laid back on the bed, closing his eyes. "God, I'm so stupid," he sighed.

"Shh, don't say that," you frowned, reaching forward to keep combing his hair with your fingers and even hold his face for a moment.

"It's true,” he assured. “You're like this with everyone… it's not real."

You stopped moving, unsure how to respond. "I don't… I don't do this with anyone else."

He breathed out quickly; almost like a laugh, but not quite. "You don't need to flatter me. It's okay. This is your job."

You sighed a little as you sat up, guiding him to do the same until he sat at the edge of the bed and you carefully got on top of him, straddling his legs. It reminded you a bit of the first session you had with him, and shocked you with how much has changed since then.

You searched for words as you held his face in your hands, but where you looked for words you just found feelings, and desires. For once, you let yourself act on one. Gently, hesitantly— tenderly— you leaned closer and pressed your lips to his. Your eyes fell shut first, and you felt his lips reciprocate your subtle movements at the same time that his fingers brushed over your back.

Butterflies… you hadn’t felt these in a while. You hadn’t gone into something not knowing how it would go in years, probably. It made you nervous, fuck, it made you terrified, but you loved it. You kissed him harder, you moved your hands to his shoulders, you sighed slightly when you felt him pull you closer.

You were disappointed when he pulled away, but that quickly faded as he started to kiss your neck instead; you couldn’t remember being this sensitive here before, but right now it made your toes curl inside your heels. “Is this okay?” he asked against your skin.

“Yes,” you sighed, almost moaning it out, “anything’s okay, James…”

That seemed to surprise him, understandably. “Anything?” he asked in a whisper against your skin.

“Whatever you need,” you clarified. “Do you need to feel good?”

He hesitated before nodding— you felt it against your neck, along with his sigh— but you used his hair to gently guide his head away from your back and up to look at you.

“Let me spoil you,” you offered— oh who am I kidding? You were begging him for it. “Let me make you feel good. No pain, no torture, no denial. Just…” love, you wanted to say, but you stopped yourself. “Just pleasure.”

His mouth fell slack but he said nothing as he nodded slightly.

You smiled as you gently pushed him to lay back on the bed and began kissing down his chest, taking the time to lick over the fading marks that you’d left on his body. He healed quickly, you’d noticed, and he seemed to begrudge it considering how he always wanted more bruises to take the old ones’ place. You hoped he wouldn’t want that anymore.

It was nearly silent, but you could just barely hear his breath catch when you circled a nipple with your tongue, his skin pimpling into goosebumps. You didn’t stay with it very long, too excited to move lower to where his cock was leaking and bobbing against nothing.

Your instincts told you to tease him for it, mock his eagerness, but that wasn’t what you wanted to do today. It didn’t mean you had to stay silent.

“Love how hard you are for me,” you praised instead, looking up at him from between his thick thighs. “Wanna taste it, James— wanna taste you.”

You didn’t wait for permission, because the stunned look on his face combined with the precum leaking out of his slit seemed like approval enough. Wrapping your hand around the base of him, you moaned a little as you stuck your tongue out and pushed his head against it, savoring the taste along with the way his body jerked a little.

“Tastes so good,” you hummed, “fuck, I want more…”

You closed your lips over the head and swirled your tongue as you sucked; you savored it, something you didn’t usually get to do when you had to keep part of your attention on how best to tease and edge him. You took him deeper with every bob of your head, and though you mostly kept your eyes closed in order to focus on the weight of him on your tongue, you opened them for a moment and caught a glimpse of him clutching the sheets in his fists at his sides.

You stopped only to look up at him with a small smile. “You’re not tied up anymore… you can touch me,” you reminded him.

“O-okay,” he stammered, sighing slightly as you got back to it.

He was hesitant as he reached out and brushed his hands over your face, your hair, your neck, while you slowly bobbed over his length again. But you could tell he’d wanted to do this every time you’d sucked his cock. If anything, you were a little surprised he didn’t just grab your head and fuck your throat right there. You wouldn’t have minded, but it made your heart sing when all he did was caress your jaw while you continued your work, running his thumb over your hollowed cheek.

You pulled off of him with a pop! and a smile, lowering your head to lick and suck his balls a bit until he shivered under you. Your tongue laved over whatever you could reach, your eyebrow raising as you had an idea.

"Can I put my tongue somewhere new?" you asked gently, letting the tip venture a little bit lower so he'd hopefully know where you were referring to.

"Oh," he sighed, like the wind was knocked out of him just from your words, "um, yes, please…"

You smiled and pushed his legs up slightly, just enough that you could lean down and slide your tongue between his cheeks, both of you groaning when you circled his sensitive rim.

That pretty face turned pink, tossed back in pleasure… it was a sight to behold. It made need pang between your legs, your insides clenching around nothing. You lapped at it eagerly for a little while, still using one hand to stroke his spit-slicked cock.

“Mistress,” he blurted out at one point, somewhere between a moan and a sigh and a sob. It made you smile around your extended tongue; it also made you sit up and look down at him proudly. You knew what he wanted next, but you also knew he was too afraid to ask for it— so you asked instead.

“Can I ride you?” you requested quietly.

“Please,” he groaned, and not one to make him wait (anymore), you quickly hopped up to straddle his legs while he sat upright again. He pushed your dress up your thighs and over your hips while you carefully pulled your thong aside, before you lowered yourself onto him as you both sighed in relief.

“Yes,” you moaned, your head falling back as your hips met his. “Oh… oh my god, James— so good, you feel so good.”

He made a sound you thought you might’ve never heard from him before. It had that weak, sobbing quality to it like a lot of his moans did, but this time it was less shaky, less desperate, with confidence around the edge instead. He reached up and held your hips, guiding you at the pace he wanted— and you loved that he was finally learning how to take pleasure from you after he’d taken so much suffering.

“Fuck,” he groaned, and when your name tumbled from his lips, he suddenly glanced to you as if he was afraid you’d be upset for not saying ‘Mistress.’ But you smiled down at him and carded your fingers through his hair, kissing him again while you rode him faster. It was a needier kiss than before: hungrier, less delicate, and you moaned into it when his hand found the back of your head and pulled you deeper into it.

The pleasure had you tempted to throw your head back, but the kiss kept you bent down towards him. When you tried to bounce up and down, the metal hand on your hip kept you held tight and close, until all you could do was grind back and forth on him. Not that you minded that— it made your clit rub up against him and it made you both breathe heavily into each other’s mouths.

“James,” you whispered.

“Yeah?” he answered.

“I just wanted to say it,” you smiled. But he was very serious as he said your name back to you— dead serious, even, and it made your heart clench in the right way, for once.

You could come like this, honestly, and it wouldn’t even take you much longer… but you had better ideas, so good that you couldn’t help but blurt it out.

“Do you wanna get on top?” you asked, smirking slightly.

The conflict was obvious on his face: he was afraid that if you gave him any control, he’d take all of it. How ironic that for everything you’d done to him, he was so terrified to hurt you. But you understood. “I don’t… I don’t know if I’m ready,” he mumbled.

“It’s okay if you’re not,” you relented, “but I think you are. I think it’ll feel so good to be under you, to let you do whatever you want to me. I think it’ll feel so good to be yours, James.”

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, and you felt his cock flex inside you. For a moment you thought he’d shake his head and tell you to keep riding him, but instead he quickly flipped you onto your back and hovered above you. “You’re sure?” he whispered.

“Fuck me,” you instructed, hoping a brief venture into your dom voice would get him to do what you knew he wanted to.

He was still slow and measured with it, more than you expected, but it felt fucking amazing to be caged in by his body and open wide for him.

“God, yes, just like that,” you encouraged, “fuck you’re so good, baby, your cock feels so fucking good…”

You loved the way your praises made his cock flex and his mouth fall into a gasp: so you kept going.

"My perfect boy, fucking his Mistress so good— I'm so proud of you, baby," you purred.

"Fuck, Mistress," he sighed, dropping his head onto your chest. "Mistress, Mistress, Mistress…" he chanted under his breath

"That's it, keep going, baby," you moaned, gasping when he suddenly slammed right into your spot. His head popped up again as he smiled at you.

"There?" he realized.

"Yes," you hissed. He gave you a hard, sudden thrust that made your legs quiver.

"There?" he repeated, grinning proudly.

"Yes," you answered again, though it was really more of a plea for more than it was a real response, made even more clear when you compulsively repeated it with every one of his movements. He held himself up with one hand as he hastily pulled your dress down with the other— when it didn’t give way easily, he growled and quickly ripped it. You gasped, though you smiled too, and he ignored it completely as he dove down to suck on your exposed breasts. “Fuck,” you moaned, even louder than you expected to.

He moved faster, fucked you harder, pushed you deeper into it until pins and needles started to spread over your body, forewarning of the onslaught of sensation that was about to hit you.

You bit down on your lip to try not to get too loud, but stopped when James suddenly kissed you again. You moaned into it, wrapping your legs around his hips as he gave you all of him with every thrust— and all of him was a lot to take, but you had been drenched and ready for it the second you had his cock in your mouth.

“You feel so good,” he whispered into the kiss, his words almost lost against your lips. “You feel so fucking good, how do you feel this good? Fuck, you’re perfect…”

Not true, but hot anyways.

“So tight,” he groaned, “I can’t believe I fit inside you, Mistress, but I do… feels like we’re made for each other.”

Of course that would be the thing to push you over the edge, sooner than either of you expected. “James!” you yelped as you reached your peak, back arching and legs quivering.

“Did you just come?” he asked, as if it wasn’t extremely obvious. Your eyes fell shut but you nodded through the haze and bit your lip. “Think you can do it again?”

“Fuck,” you sighed, eyes shooting open again to see his smile as he looked down at you. “You’re always full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Wanna make you come as many times as you made me come,” he explained.

“We’ll be here a while,” you chuckled.

“You have no idea,” he smirked, leaning in and kissing your neck softly. “I’m including every time I got myself off at home, thinking of you, remembering how good your body feels, remembering how I love being your good boy…”

Ironically, the words “good boy” seemed to do more for you in that moment than him; you purred through a grin, writhing slightly beneath him, but he pulled another gasp out of you when he pulled your hips up into the angle he wanted— which was, apparently, the angle that pushed his cock so deep that you choked on your own breath. “Oh fuck!” you gasped, feeling him smile wide against your shoulder before he bit it softly.

“You’re close again already, aren’t you?” he noticed.

You weren’t used to him being cocky (though it was still pretty soft, certainly not taunting), but you didn’t really mind it— especially since he was right.

Of course you'd always known how hard overstimulation can be on someone, you wouldn't subject your clients to something you didn't understand. But it was so different with James bringing you to the edge over and over, sending you into a seemingly-endless series of orgasms. After a while, each one was starting before the previous had even fully ended, overlapping pleasure making your head foggy and your body numb.

"Is this good?" he asked you as he breathed heavily, so oblivious it was almost funny, but you weren’t in the mood to laugh.

"So good," you growled, "so fucking good— my good boy."

"Fuck," he sobbed, "gonna come. Can I?”

It was sort of cute that he still asked. “Inside,” you pleaded, “come inside me.”

He groaned and fucked you faster and deeper, pinning you under his weight with each brutal thrust.

"Are you mine, James?" you asked between failed attempts to catch your breath.

He nodded breathlessly.

"Make me yours."

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #sub!bucky barnes x dominatrix!reader #sub!bucky barnes x domme!reader

1K notes · View notes

mypoisonedvine · 3 years

Text

𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙮 𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 || sub!bucky barnes x dominatrix!reader masterlist [completed]

𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 || working as a dominatrix is never exactly easy, but a new client brings challenges you never expected.

𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 || 30k

𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 || smut (including cnc, oral m and f receiving, penetrative m and f receiving), dom/sub relationship, ‘mistress’ title, pain kink, whipping, blood, orgasm denial/control, slapping, objectification/degradation, angst and hurt/comfort, dacryphilia, touchstarved!bucky || please read individual chapter warnings

𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐

𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘐

𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘐𝘐

𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘝

𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘝

𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘝𝘐

𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘝𝘐𝘐

#sub!bucky barnes x domme!reader #sub!bucky barnes x dominatrix!reader #bucky barnes x reader series #bucky barnes smut

2K notes · View notes

mypoisonedvine · 3 years

Text

𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙮 𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘝) || sub!bucky barnes x dominatrix!reader

(𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘐) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘐𝘐)

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 || you and James both have a very long week, for reasons less different than you expected.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 || 6.2k

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 || smut (technically no sex, but oral m receiving), long-term edging, multiple orgasms (just two tho), orgasm denial/control, come play/come eating/come feeding, a touch of humiliation, discussions of pegging, mention of spanking, descriptions of male and female masturbation, use of a toy (fleshlight), degradation/objectification, more bondage (basically every chapter has had bondage so far lmao), face slapping, very brief forced feminization (more just like a mention of it)

new parts posted on thursdays! follow my reblog account to be 'tagged'!

You grinned so wide when he told you over the phone he wanted to be edged this week.

All week.

James was a crier, this much had been well-established, but you wanted to see how much you could make him cry before he broke completely.

It began with the first session on Monday, where you didn’t even touch him. You just had him sit on your couch and follow your instructions, forcing him to tease himself while you simply watched and occasionally did little things just to drive him crazy: you know, slowly crossing your legs, biting your finger playfully, licking your lips… that sort of stuff.

It seemed to work, too, considering he started getting unbelievably desperate for only the first day.

But you sent him home with a raging boner and pouty frown of disappointment, promising to call him the day after next to talk more about his little predicament.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one left hanging by the whole thing, though… because for those two days, he was all you thought about. You were massively distracted, trying to imagine what his daily life was like and how he would go about it while edging and denying himself. Could he just lock himself in his room and watch movies to distract himself from his unaddressed desire? Or did he have to go out into the world, pretend to be normal like you did— and if so, was he struggling with it as much as you were?

“So… Grey Goose or Skyy?” your friend Grace asked, holding up two bottles to compare.

“Yeah, sure,” you mumbled, staring off into space. I wonder if James is thinking about me right now...

“Hello?” she snapped, tapping you on the shoulder to knock you out of your trance.

“What?” you choked.

“Dude, it’s an either-or… which one?” she asked as she presented the bottles again.

“I have no idea,” you finally sighed.

“You’re so useless,” Grace groaned, setting the Grey Goose in her cart and continuing down the aisle as you followed.

“Sorry! You shouldn’t have brought me for party supplies acquisition knowing I know nothing about vodka,” you shrugged.

You followed her to the next aisle over, but stopped dead in your tracks when you caught a second glimpse of a man down the way,

Just across the aisle, examining a bottle of wine, you almost didn’t recognize him… but you did: Kerry, a client of yours, a regular for the past three years.

“Oh fuck,” you blurted out, spinning back out of the aisle to press yourself against the end cap.

“What are you doing?” Grace asked you, just a little too loud, making you wince and tug her arm to pull her closer.

“Shh!” you hissed, glancing back briefly in the aisle to make sure Kerry hadn’t noticed, which he hadn’t seemed to.

“What? What’s your deal?!” she frowned.

“I know that guy, and I don’t want him to see me here!” you explained in a harsh whisper.

“What, that guy?” she confirmed, leaning her head back into the aisle.

“No, don’t look!” you demanded.

“I wanna know who you’re talking about!” she defended. “How do you know him?”

“Work,” you answered instinctively. “He’s a client.”

“He’s a client at your firm?”

Right, ‘I work at a consulting firm,’ your cover story.. For such a consistent lie, sometimes you forgot that you even told it. “Y-yeah, he hired us to, you know, consult,” you stammered.

“And why is it bad for him to see you here?” she wondered.

“Because I’m dressed like this!” you explained, motioning to your yoga pants and hoodie. Of course, she probably assumed you wouldn’t want him to see you in something that wasn’t professional, like slacks or a conservative dress. In reality, he’d seen you almost naked so that wasn’t exactly your concern. You just didn’t want him to see you without a whip in your hand or covered in latex. Could the dynamic you’d carefully curated with him over the past few years recover from such a domestic moment as this?

Kerry, especially, was a terrible client for this to happen with. He was a big worshipper, he spent all his time grovelling over you while you degraded him with insults that would make the demon chick from The Exorcist blush. He needed to believe in this fantasy where you were a goddess and he was just a lowly piece of scum— and believe it or not, that illusion might not withstand him seeing you at a liquor store without a spot of makeup on your face and wearing a t-shirt that says WHAT THE FRAK?! on it.

(Don’t judge yourself, it was laundry day.)

“Okay, fine, we’ll skip this aisle,” Grace relented. “This is all wine anyways, we just need some tequila— oh shit, and margarita mix. Will you get the tequila while I look for that?”

“Sure,” you agreed, focused mainly on avoiding Kerry, “what kind?”

“I dunno, something that looks fancy— but you know, not too expensive,” she explained, already rolling off with the cart to search for margarita mix. You winced and tried to hide your face as you dashed down a few aisles, past Kerry and hopeful to another part of the store that he wouldn’t venture to.

The tequila selection was rather small, actually, just one vertical column in the middle of an aisle. You stared at your options, not really sure where to start. Some of them had the dead worm in them, and even if that’s apparently normal for tequila it kinda freaked you out so you didn’t want to deal with those. The one on the very top shelf looked pretty enticing— fancy bottle, but cheaper than you expected. It seemed close enough to Grace’s brief, so you stood on your tip-toes to try to reach it. Damn, were these shelves taller than usual? You even jumped a little bit and managed to poke it, but that made you realize you were playing a dangerous game with a high risk of shattering some liquor bottles, so you opted not to try that anymore.

You caught someone rolling into the aisle in the corner of your eye, and when you instinctively glanced over, your heart stopped at the sight of Kerry. He wasn’t looking at you yet, so you just whipped your head around and tried to reach for the tequila again, hoping to grab it and dash out before he noticed you. But it was still too damn high, so when that failed you just nervously stared straight ahead, trying to act natural and focus on what was in front of you rather than what was behind you.

You heard his cart roll by slowly, stopping just behind you as you unconvincingly pretended to peruse, and you prayed silently to a few randomly-assorted higher powers that he wasn’t going to see you or, god forbid, try to talk to.

A tap on your shoulder made you jump.

"Hey," you heard Kerry behind you, and you sighed in defeat as you turned around and looked up at him.

“Um, hi,” you greeted in return, staring at his blank smile and terrified he was going to say something horribly inappropriate.

“I saw you jumping to try to reach that,” he motioned to the tequila, “you’re lucky you didn’t break it!”

He reached above your head to grab the bottle for you, handing it to you with a friendly nod.

“Here you go.”

You took it from his hands and looked back up at his face one more time, noticing his uncomprehending stare— like a cow lifting its head to look at a train as it passes the countryside. “Oh, thanks,” you nodded awkwardly, watching him continue down the aisle and turn the corner to finish his shopping.

He hadn’t recognized you. He looked you right in the face, right in your eyes, and didn’t recognize you. It wasn’t just that he had been pretending— you would’ve known if he knew. You’d been so afraid for him to see you without latex and makeup on… but it turns out he couldn’t see you without it.

Three years working with this guy, weekly, and he didn’t know you at all.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, not because of what it meant for your dynamic with Kerry (if anything it was a massive bullet dodged), but because of what it meant for you and James. It made you remember that that was all you were to these men, that when you didn’t fit their fantasy you didn’t serve a purpose anymore. Sure, James seemed more sensitive than most, but he was a rookie, you were his first dom. Maybe all subs have a soft spot for their first dom— how should you know?

Here you’d been, craving a taste of the real James, and maybe he thought he wanted to know the real you, but he didn’t really. Like that thing where guys think a girl looks better “without makeup” but they really just want something slightly more subtle than blue eyeshadow and a bright red lip. It’s all about the illusion of something natural, with none of the real imperfections. None of the flaws, none of the imperfections, none of the yoga pants and WHAT THE FRAK?! t-shirts.

And it was probably better that way.

You promised to call at 6, but you waited until 6:01 just in case. He answered halfway into the first ring, “hey.”

You smirked to yourself. That was fast. “Were you just waiting by the phone?” you scoffed.

“Yes,” he admitted. “It’s been a long day.”

“I bet it has… tell me, have you been a good boy, James?” you asked darkly, hearing his breathing pick up slightly.

“Y-yes,” he answered quietly.

“Have you been touching yourself every night like I showed you?” you pressed. That was one of the things you had him do for you on Monday, to get the week of edging kicked off. You knew he was too sensitive to handle it if he was fully jerking himself off every day, so you taught him how to tease himself with just a few fingers. And, as a bonus, it was horrifically degrading, which he seemed to appreciate as well.

“Yes,” he agreed, a bit more confident, “just three fingers like you said, just the pads of my fingers.”

“Do you wish you could wrap the whole hand around it?”

“Of course,” he groaned. “But I’m trying so hard to be good for you, Mistress.”

“I know, baby,” you cooed, “poor thing…”

“Your voice… it makes this even harder,” he admitted. “I think if you talked enough I could come just from listening to you.”

“Ah, but you can’t,” you reminded him. “No matter what I say, you need to keep it together. You need to be my good boy.”

“Hhng,” he choked on his moan, “fuck, don’t say that. I… I can’t control myself when you call me that.”

“Yes you can,” you denied, “you can do anything I tell you to. Because you’re so. fucking. good.”

“M-Mistress,” he stammered over a gasp, “fuck, my cock is throbbing.”

“Are you touching it?”

“I haven’t touched it all day. I was afraid I would come if I did…”

“Go ahead and take it out now, baby. I’ll tell you what to do next.”

The sound of his belt jingling through the phone made your mouth water a little; you realized, with a shiver that ran up your spine, that since he couldn’t see you— no one could see you— then you could theoretically touch yourself during this conversation. As long as you kept quiet, he wouldn’t know.

It felt like a bad idea in a dangerously attractive way; it felt forbidden, gave you a thrill that you had long-since forgotten after years of doing taboo things every day just to make a paycheck.

Before you could overthink all the very valid reasons why this was a terrible decision, your fingers dipped down between your spread legs.

“I-I have my cock out now, Mistress,” he informed you, “what do I do now?”

“Just one finger, baby. Drag it up from the base to the tip, nice and slow.”

“Oh,” he breathed, and you would’ve given anything to see the look on his face as he did it.

“It would feel better if it was my finger,” you reminded him.

“Yes it would,” he agreed. “That’s all I’ve been thinking about, every day… I swear Mistress, I can’t think about anything but you.”

Was it wrong that it made your heart twist at the same time it made your clit throb? Probably, but you could only address the latter directly at the moment. You started to circle around it, holding your breath so he wouldn’t hear any difference. “Tell me what you’ve been thinking about,” you instructed in a whisper.

“Your body,” he admitted, “those legs— you never let me touch them and I just know they’d feel so amazing. Your lips… I wish I could kiss them. I know I can’t… but sometimes I wish I could.”

Sometimes I wish you could, too.

“And your… your cunt,” he hissed. “I honestly try not to remember how it felt to be inside you. If I do, it kills me that I can’t get it every day. You are fucking addictive.”

Your walls fluttered around your fingers, your breath stopping suddenly in your throat.

“Please, can I touch it with two fingers now? I’ll be good, I won’t come,” he promised.

“Okay, baby, but take it slow.”

You heard his weak moan and knew he’d already done it, letting your eyes fall shut as you imagined how he must look like this. He wasn’t the only one wishing your fingers were on him now.

“Anything else on your mind?” you pressed, ostensibly to embarrass and edge him further, but actually to hear more of his voice for your own benefit as you curled your fingers harder against your spot.

“God, everything,” he sighed. “Been thinking a lot about your tits. I bet if you let me suck them long enough, I could get off just from that.”

I bet if you sucked them long enough, I could get off just from that, you thought to yourself. “Yeah? That’s cute. You could hump my leg again while you did it,” you suggested.

“Fuck, I think about that every day,” he hissed. “I didn’t even know I was, you know, into that. I’m not even sure that I am, it’s just that it was you…”

You closed your eyes, trying to force yourself not to take his words too personally. He was infatuated with the person he had built and requested from you, not the real you. But god, it sounded real. It felt real.

“Wearing your collar felt so good,” he admitted under his breath. “Maybe just because I realized I was your pet whether or not I had it on.”

Seriously, it’s like he was trying to drive you crazy with this stuff. But two can play at that game. “You looked so pretty in that collar, James, it made me wanna play with you all day,” you hummed, letting a hint of your own moans blend in with your voice since it fit with the tone at the moment, “and spank that ass raw.”

“O-oh, fuck, I need to stop,” he hissed. “I’m getting too close.”

“That's my good boy, take breaks when you need,” you encouraged. He might as well give himself breaks since you weren’t going to be so kind when you saw him in person. You stopped touching yourself, too, just for fun. “While you take a little while to cool off, why don’t you tell me how you slept last night?”

“I didn’t,” he answered quickly, “I was so hard it hurt… I actually started, um, humping a pillow, I was so desperate…”

The image of that in your mind made you smile wide. “But you didn’t come?”

“N-no, I didn’t, but I really fucking wanted to,” he groaned.

“Good boy,” you praised one more time.

That was pretty much the gist of every call that week, where you guided him in teasing himself and used your words to get him just that much more worked up. Of course, as soon as you were off the calls with him, you went to town with your vibrator and came so hard you saw white. And while that might sound like it would take the edge off, and while it did do that to a certain extent, it didn’t actually satisfy you. You needed more, you needed to touch him again, you needed that fucking cock inside you even though you promised yourself you wouldn’t make it into a habit.

And you knew if you let yourself ride him again, you’d never stop doing it.

By the time his next session rolled around, the one that was meant to end his edging, you wondered if you were just as starving as he was.

But then he actually got there, and you actually opened your door, and you realized he was definitely worse off. Just the way he stood in your doorway was drenched in desperation; you could see the toll a week of edging had taken on him.

“You’ve been hard all day, huh?” you realized with a smirk.

“Just let me in, please,” he sighed, more commanding than perhaps you’d ever seen him. You were strictly a dom, but even you could admit that a little edge of dominance looked good on him. You stepped aside and let him barrel into your apartment, shutting the door behind him as he instantly began to strip on his way to the bedroom.

“What, no small talk first?” you joked, following him.

“Need you,” was all he said as he pulled off his underwear and presented his wrists to be bound.

You took a moment to drink in the sight of this man completely at your mercy, perfectly trained, before you picked up the ropes and tied his wrists like he silently requested.

With him tied up and already writhing without even being touched, the real fun could begin. Slowly, you knelt onto the bed and crawled up to him, watching his eyes hungrily scan your entire body.

You found your place between his legs and started to gently rub his thighs, his head falling back with a sigh. He was always a bit touch-starved, but this was a new level. You moved higher and higher until you finally let your fingers just barely ghost over his cock, and his toes literally curled just past where his ankles were tied. “Oh, you’re really sensitive…”

“Of course I am,” he shot back, and you smacked him across the face.

“Don’t talk back to me,” you reminded him coldly.

“Yes, Mistress, I’m sorry,” he hissed, “I just… fuck, I’m so— I need it so bad, please…”

“If you really need it then keep your attitude right or you won’t get it,” you instructed firmly, watching him nod quickly. You ran your fingers down his chest this time, stopping to circle a nipple which made his cheeks pinken instantly. “Oh, it must feel good or you wouldn’t be so embarrassed,” you grinned. “It must make you feel emasculated that you like being touched here. Do you not want to be Mistress’ little sissy boy who likes his tits played with?”

“F-fuck,” he whispered, “I— they’re not usually… it’s not like that, they just aren’t normally so sensitive. It’s— the edging…”

“I wonder what else has changed, hm? Maybe you’re more sensitive here too?” you hypothesized as you ran your nails down over his inner thighs and watched him visibly shiver.

“I’m more sensitive everywhere,” he assured, making you smile proudly.

"Good, that's how I like you," you winked. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna tease you too much, in fact I’m feeling uncharacteristically nice today.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“You could use a little nice today, couldn’t you?” you pressed.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Um, yes, Mistress.”

But he should’ve known not to trust that; you grinned mischievously as you leaned in closer to him, so close he started to lean forward like he thought you would let him kiss you. Which you, obviously, would not. “I could be really nice,” you suggested lowly, “I could ride you again, would you like that?”

“Fuck, yes,” he hissed.

“But I don’t think I’m that nice,” you frowned.

“N-no, please, Mistress, let me… let me feel you,” he begged weakly. Maybe you were just dangling this in front of his face to see him be as upset about it as you were. You were just a lot better at hiding it.

“Sorry, baby, but you’re not ready for that today. We both know you’d come right away and we can’t have you coming inside me, dumb fucktoys don’t get to come inside me,” you reminded him sternly. “But, I figured since you’re a fucktoy, you might as well get comfortable with one of your own kind.”

And that was when you showed him the fleshlight.

“No, fuck,” he sighed, “not that. I need something warm, I need you.”

“I bet you don’t,” you smirked, “I bet you’re gonna come just fine in this fake cunt— because I told you to.”

You leaned forward again and gently slipped the fleshlight down onto his cock but pulled it right back off immediately, making him sob and thrust his hips up to chase it.

“Poor baby,” you cooed. “You wanna fill up this toy so bad, huh? So desperate to come that you don’t even care it’s only a plastic pussy?”

“Please let me come,” he whimpered, “I-I’ve been so good…”

“Yes you have, you’ve been the best little boy for me,” you praised with a smile while he whined from the pet name. “Which is why you can hold on just a bit longer. You’re almost done, baby, you’re so close, keep holding on and it’s gonna be so worth it when Mistress finally lets you come.”

He nodded breathlessly. “I know, I know,” he sighed, biting his lip when you slipped the fleshlight over his head again but not any more. He just looked so precious trying to thrust his hips up into it, desperate to get deeper.

“You are so fucking pathetic,” you laughed. “It’s really sad, actually, watching you beg to fuck me when you know you’re never gonna feel this pussy again.”

“You're so… you’re so... “ he stammered, and you waited patiently for him to finish his sentence.

Mean? Cruel? Evil?

“Perfect,” he finished with a sigh instead, and you looked down so he wouldn’t catch your shock.

You slid the toy back onto his cock, pumping it a few times until he started to whine a little and you pulled it off again. “You’re not gonna take very long, are you?” you realized.

“What are you talking about? It’s taken me all week,” he laughed breathlessly, and you smiled back.

“Yeah, fair enough,” you shrugged, both of you slipping partially out of the scene dynamic for a moment, but you got right back into it as you buried his cock in the fleshlight again, reaching down with one hand to grip and rub his balls gently.

“Fuck,” he groaned at the sensation.

“These must be so full, and sore,” you noticed.

“Please let me come,” he begged under his breath, “please, please…”

He was putting everything into not coming, and you weren’t even moving the toy on him yet. You caught a tear rolling down his temple, and maybe if you hadn’t seen that, you would’ve gone easier on him. But now that you’d gotten a free sample, you wanted to see this man broken and sobbing.

You silently, slowly, pulled the fleshlight off of him again and he shivered with every movement.

“Cry a little more for me, pet,” you cooed. “I wanna see those pretty tears of yours. Then I’ll let you come.”

Apparently, that was all the invitation he needed; he instantly started to sob, especially when you put the fleshlight down over his cock again, about halfway before you started to pump it up and down on his length. “Fuck, please,” he whimpered. “please, Mistress, I just need to come, I’ll do anything, please!”

You decided not to say anything, afraid the sensation combined with your voice would be just a bit too much for him. Those phone calls had been rough on him, he’d made that perfectly clear each time.

He seemed to alternate between speaking loudly, almost screaming over his sobs, to whispering beneath them, until eventually all of it was barely intelligible. Tears coated his face, ran down his neck and chest and even wet the end of his hair where it hung by his jaw. You moved the fleshlight faster, taking it to the base of him each time, as you started to feel your own unchecked arousal pang between your legs and even run up your spine for a second.

“You’re so good,” you whispered to him, “I’m gonna let you come soon.”

“Please,” he sobbed again, biting his lip and thrusting up into the toy even though you could tell he was trying not to. It was so precious to watch what he knew he should do go to war with what his body needed.

“I know you’re close, baby, I know you’re so fucking close, just hold on a little bit longer—”

“I can’t!” he yelped. “Mistress, I can’t, I’m sorry, I need to fucking come, I need you…”

“C’mon baby, just keep it in, you made it this far,” you encouraged him, pumping the toy as he tugged on the ropes with his hands and feet. You caught the one by his left hand beginning to fray and fear shot through you as you wondered if he might tear it again. You’d gotten much stronger ones for him, but you figured they wouldn’t be enough to stop him. Maybe they’d slow him down, though.

You had an idea, one that might backfire, but once it crossed your mind it was just too good to pass up. You moved the fleshlight faster, harder, until you suddenly pulled it off and watched his cock flex into nothing.

“Come,” you commanded him, and it fucking worked— instantly he cried out and started to paint his chest, his entire body shivering.

He came for a long time, coating himself in it, moaning loudly with each pump of hot, white spend spilling forward. Three times in a row, you thought he was done but he actually let out one more thick drop that rolled down his shaft until finally he relaxed and slumped back against the headboard, his arms still held up by the ropes but everything having gone limp.

Well, not everything: he was still hard.

“Wow, good job,” you purred, “look at this beautiful mess you made.”

You dragged a finger through a stripe of the warm liquid on his chest, bringing it to his lips for him to lazily suck off of your skin.

“Mm, how’s it taste? Do you like the taste of your own come, James?” you asked, letting your tone become a bit more mocking.

“I like it when you feed it to me,” he mumbled, sticking out his tongue for more which you gave to him happily.

“I don’t think you’re gonna be able to clean this all up by yourself,” you realized. “I think I need to help you.”

He was already gasping as you started to lean down, gripping his cock tight to guide the head to your tongue; you gave a long, slow lick over his slit and he made a shaky, high-pitched moan that was like music to your ears. You took him into your mouth, sliding down to the base in one go, and he cried out while he struggled beneath you. “Mistress, please— s’too much, can’t take it…”

You pulled off of him slowly, sucking hard on your way up, before popping off with a grin. “Oh, you’re gonna take it, baby. You’re gonna let Mistress clean you up and make sure all that come you’ve been holding in this week is out of you.”

When you got back to work, you let one hand stroke the base of him in time with the bobbing of your head, while the other cradled and massaged his balls; the feeling of his body convulsing under you was matched only by the sounds of him crying for you.

His cock began to flex weakly against your tongue and you hummed proudly as you pulled off, licking widely over the underside of his shaft while you looked up at him. “Can you come again, James? Are you close?”

“Fuck,” he groaned, “I-I think so.... feels so good when you suck me, Mistress.”

You grinned and took his balls in your mouth instead, one at a time, as he let his head fall back in a moan. “Such a sweet thing you are for me, my good boy.”

“Yes,” he cried, “please…”

Taking him in your mouth one more time, you focused on sucking the head and stroking the rest, loving the way his shaft seemed to pulse in your palm. It didn’t take much longer for some more come to spray onto your tongue and throat, making you moan happily around him. He whimpered and writhed, pumping forward into your throat a bit though you were careful not to let him come straight down it.

You had much better plans for his come than just to swallow it right away.

When you were confident he was finished, having squeezed his cock to push the last drop out onto your tongue, you came back up with your lips held shut and guided his slack mouth to open wider with your thumb. He seemed to already understand what you wanted— that or he was just too exhausted to care either way.

You leaned forward and let his come drip out of your mouth and into his, his eyes rolling back a little as his own seed ran down his tongue. Best of all, he shut his mouth and swallowed it without even being asked.

Dropping your head down a bit, you whispered huskily in his ear: “you did so good for me, James…”

When you pulled back slightly, though, with his face so close as he still panted with each breath, there was... a moment. That’s what you decided to call it later: you had a moment. His eyes glanced down to your lips, and you found yourself looking at his for a second, too. It made you think of what he’d said over the phone a few days before, when he said he wanted to kiss you and how much hearing him say it stirred feelings in your chest you would rather not deal with.

It made you imagine, for a moment, that this wasn’t work and that he was really yours. If he was, you wouldn’t have thought twice about kissing him. Instead, you watched your finger glide up his chest and over his neck, right by his pulse which was beating a thousand times a minute at this point, and he gasped and dipped his head back.

“Pretty baby,” you cooed. “My sweet boy…”

“Yours,” he agreed, so quiet that if you were any further away you wouldn’t be able to hear it. “Yours, Mistress.”

And it was like a punch to the gut, because until you heard him say ‘Mistress’ just then, you hadn’t realized you were expecting to hear your own name instead. You had let yourself forget, for a split second, that he was devoted only to the role you played for him— for money. He paid you to do this, and when he found someone who would either do it for free, or was worth giving up this life for, you’d be down one client and back to more of the same.

You leaned back and ignored the way his eyes chased you, silently but obviously pleading for more.

“Good job today,” you congratulated stiffly, aloof as ever, as you reached above him to untie his hands. “Might take you a while to clean up, though…”

“Yeah,” he agreed with a sigh as he looked down at himself, “uh, consequences of a very long week.”

“But it was what you were wanting, right? I wasn’t sure if I should’ve booked you every day for the week so I could really—”

“Oh, nonono, I couldn’t have handled that,” he laughed breathlessly. “I would’ve absolutely came in my pants if I had to see you every day without… yeah, that would’ve been impossible. I actually almost did, once— come in my, uh, pants, I mean.”

“Really? When?” you asked as you grabbed him a warm, damp washcloth.

“Earlier today,” he explained as cleaned up carefully. “I was so worked up that when the cute barista at my regular coffee place took off her jacket and had on this tight little shirt underneath, I nearly lost it right there.”

What was that feeling poking at the pit of your stomach? It couldn’t be jealousy, right? “That’s cute,” you mumbled. “It’s a good thing you didn’t, I would’ve felt really left out if I didn’t get to see you come all over yourself in a coffee shop.”

Of course he had some adorable, innocent crush on a fucking barista. It was the classic guy thing: she’s just out of reach, attainable yet forbidden. She’s wholesome, she’s domestic; you see her in that little apron making your coffee and you get to imagine her cooking for you, playing house with you.

She’s everything you’re not. You might be the turn-on, but in the end, she’s the real fantasy.

You pushed down your horribly-inappropriate emotions and send him on his way soon after, sighing as you leaned back against the front door you’d just shut.

You’d spoiled yourself, using your vibe after phone calls with him. Your pussy was fucking throbbing in anticipation of attention after seeing James come all over himself like that. And fuck, he did look pretty damn good doing it.

Knowing already that it was only a matter of time before you gave in, you decided to save yourself the drama and just head straight for your bedside drawer now.

The next week, you greeted James in a new outfit— a red velvet dress, something a little softer than the latex or leather, something more delicate. He obviously noticed it, but said nothing as he entered your apartment and took a seat on the couch.

“Was it nice to get back to your regularly scheduled programming this week?” you asked as you approached him, opting to stay standing and relish the temporary height difference. “After a week of edging, I mean.”

“Yeah, definitely,” he chuckled. “Jerking off in my morning shower was always a bit sacred, but especially now…”

He trailed off, and you could see it so fucking clearly: that body with hot water running down every perfect inch of it, his hand stroking himself, his lip between his teeth as he pictured… what would he picture? Could it be you? You cleared your throat before you broke the silence. “Anything special on deck for today?” you asked. “I didn’t hear from you this week about what you were wanting, I wasn’t sure.”

“Yeah, I was kinda… waiting, to ask in person. I couldn’t bring myself to say it all week, actually.”

That piqued your interest. “Really? And what did you want to ask?”

"I, um… I wanted to ask you if we could… maybe try something, uh, new…" he stalled.

You smiled, always loving the sight of him flustered yet brimming with ill-concealed need. "What did you have in mind?"

"I just got to thinking the other day that it would be… interesting if you, uh, maybe… pegged me?"

You grinned wider than ever, stepping closer as your heels clicked on the floor. "Really? What made you think about that?"

"I-I dunno…" he stammered.

You leaned down to look at his face a bit closer. "And when you thought about that, how did it make you feel?"

"So hot," he groaned, making you lick your lips as you watched him avoid your gaze, clearly blushing and failing to hide it.

"Did you touch yourself, James? Did you stroke that pretty cock of yours thinking about spreading your legs for me?"

"Yes," he sighed, eyes fluttering shut as you delicately grazed your fingers over his neck, "I came so fast…"

"Slut."

He choked a bit, the cutest whine catching in his throat as you laughed at him.

"I'll give you what you want, sweetheart, as long as you ask really nicely," you promised, voice dropping to a whisper.

"Please, please Mistress, I want you to f-fuck me, I mean really fuck me."

"Yeah baby? You want my pretty, pink, plastic cock?"

"Yes," he nodded eagerly.

"Then say it."

And then your plastic cock wasn't the only thing pretty and pink anymore; his cheeks were flushed instantly, his eyes fluttering a little as he looked to the side. "I… I wantyourprettypinkplasticcock," he rushed, like he couldn't get it out any other way.

You leaned in and carefully used a finger to pull his chin up, making him look up at you with those gorgeous blue eyes wide and conflicted with shame and desire. "Good boy."

#sub!bucky barnes x domme!reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #sub!bucky barnes x dominatrix!reader

1K notes · View notes

mypoisonedvine · 3 years

Text

𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙮 𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘝) || sub!bucky barnes x dominatrix!reader

(𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘐) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘐𝘐) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘝)

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 || you and James try something new, and another boundary is accidentally broken; more about James’ identity is revealed.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 || 4.5k

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 || smut (pegging!!! it’s happening!!), use of a collar and leash (aka continued mild pet play), spanking, choking, angst (L-bomb alert), canon compliance, alcohol consumption

new parts posted on thursdays... usually! follow my reblog account to be 'tagged'!

It wasn't realistic-looking: really, it wasn't meant to be. The only real purpose was to curve right into his prostate, which is why the pink silicone had a slightly interpretive shape. It wasn't meant to be too big either, but he was still noticeably intimidated by the idea of it inside him.

"Don't worry, baby, gonna warm you up first," you soothed. “Bend over.”

For a guy who looked pretty frightened just a second ago, he sure did obey that demand quickly, making you laugh a little.

“Good boy,” you hummed, stepping closer to him and admiring how good he looked in this position. The choke collar leading to the leash in your hand certainly looked nice on him as well.

You applied lube liberally to the finger of your black latex glove— not the medical kind, certainly, although definitely safe to put inside him. Although, if you were being honest, it was too bad you weren't going to be able to feel the warmth of his body through the material.

The glistening end of your glossy, gloved finger circled his rim, and he jumped a little before relaxing. Gently, you pushed in the tip and just that made him tense up and exhale suddenly.

"Just that got you worked up, honey? How are you gonna take my strap?"

"I can take it," he sighed, "please, just push your finger a little deeper…"

Which you did, still moving slowly as you heard him breath carefully, resisting the urge to up the ante already. His hesitance quickly faded into desperation as he started to move slightly against you, so subtle that you almost didn’t notice it— but of course you did, and smirked as you watched him rock back on your finger. “You really like this,” you noticed.

“Yeah,” he admitted.

“How long have you been thinking about someone doing this to you?” you wondered aloud.

“Ever since I found out it was a thing someone could do to me,” he answered, smiling like it might be funny but clearly not at all joking. You figured he might have found out about this more recently than most.

“You’re acting like you’re ready for another finger, but I don’t know if you can take it…” you spoke, almost a taunt but not quite said like one.

“N-no, I can take it,” he whimpered, “please.”

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna hurt you,” you cooed, pressing the second finger right up to his rim but pulling back when he tried to push himself back onto it, clicking your tongue in feigned dissatisfaction at his neediness. “I’ll know when you’re ready, needy boy.”

“Please,” he repeated again, and as much as your brain wanted to tease him longer, your body wanted the same thing he did and so you found yourself pressing a second gloved finger in beside the first. Maybe it was a little too soon, but the way he moaned was entirely worth it: the sound went right to your core which was unfortunately not going to get much attention tonight due to the nature of the session, but it was dripping wet regardless.

You twisted your fingers slowly, only barely moving them in and out at this point, biting your lip hard to cope with how tightly his body was clenching down on them. “Color?” you asked him quietly.

“Blue,” he breathed.

The color system didn’t get a ton of use with James compared to other clients, but days like this absolutely required it; you couldn’t help but worry you were hurting him considering how tight he was, but he apparently didn’t mind.

“More, please,” he begged, “another finger, Mistress, I’ll be good…”

You had to stop yourself from reacting out loud to that, because how could he be asking for three fingers already when you’d only just started? It made you wonder how much he’d experimented with himself in this way, how many of his own fingers he could get in himself, how big of a toy he’d filled himself with before…

And that made you so turned on that you, against your better judgment, gave him the third finger like he’d asked.

“Fuck!” he groaned loudly, rocking back on your fingers even though his legs were shaking slightly, making you quickly tug on the leash until the collar choked him slightly.

“Such a filthy little slut,” you smiled, “riding Mistress’ fingers already. You want to get fucked, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he sighed, “oh god, yes, please— Mistress, fuck me…”

“Mm, not yet,” you grinned, “but you do sound so cute when you beg like a naughty little puppy.”

He gurgled slightly at the name, and you wrapped the leash around your hand a few times to give him less slack. Your plan had been to finger him until he was begging to be fucked, but it seemed that came a lot sooner than you expected. New plan: finger him until he starts crying from begging so much.

Your fingers carefully explored inside him, and he whimpered when you hit a particularly spongy spot, making you smile. "Is that it, baby?”

He nodded slightly, his mouth falling slack as you curled your fingers against it harder. Just when you thought his moans couldn’t get more perfect, the way he reacted to this was indescribable— he made weak little noises, broken and whiny, but he pushed back against you more wantonly than ever.

“Has anybody ever touched you here before?” you asked, noticing the way his face and chest were completely covered in a blush now.

“N-no,” he admitted.

"How does it feel?"

"I…" he began, swallowing and starting again with a breathless laugh. "I can't describe it. It's good… it's strange…"

"Is it what you thought it would be like?” you continued.

“No, it’s better— it’s so much better,” he sighed. “Don’t stop, please.”

If only he knew how long it would be until you stopped. You didn’t know exactly how long it was either, but you glanced at the clock a couple times throughout and knew it must have been at least thirty minutes, most of which he’d been begging you to just fuck him already.

“I can take it, I promise, I can take it please— fuck me, Mistress, I need it, god,” he groaned, gripping the sheets beneath him, shivering each time you rubbed his spot with the tips of your fingers.

For once, you actually believed that he needed it. But that didn’t mean you were going to give it to him yet.

The tears started flowing not too much longer after that, when it had been nearly 45 minutes of him begging and whimpering so sweetly that it took all your willpower not to give into him.

“Please,” he sighed shakily, his lip starting to quiver and his eyes watering. “I’ve been good, right? I’m your good boy?”

“Yes, of course you are,” you assured.

“Then why are you punishing me?”

Your heart broke a little, but you tried to answer him without letting that show in your voice. “No, baby, I’m not punishing you. I’m just getting you ready for me—”

“I’m ready!” he interjected. “I’ve been ready for so long, I just need you to fuck me, I need—”

You pulled the leash until he was choked into silence, leaning down a bit to speak closer to his ear as he gaped for air uselessly. “Don’t interrupt me, puppy. You’ve been so good and now you want to be naughty? It’s not gonna get you what you want. The only thing that will make me give you what you’re asking for, is me wanting to do it. Is that clear?”

You released the tension and watched him gasp, nodding quickly. “Yes, Mistress, I’m sorry,” he sobbed.

“It’s okay, I’m going to be nice and fuck this pretty ass anyways, just like you’ve been begging for for so long,” you promised, gently pulling your fingers out of his hole and watching it shrink and pulse— it was still gaping a little bit, which made your chest tight with desire.

You looked down at the strap sticking out from where it was attached between your hips by the black leather harness. It wasn’t that big, but it wasn’t too slim either— you were pretty surprised when he picked it out from the line-up, you wouldn’t have blamed him at all for going for the thinnest one. You guided his hand behind his back to stroke the toy, making him shudder slightly.

“You feel how thick it is?” you prompted, seeing him nod a bit. “Answer me.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he breathed, “it’s thick…”

“And it’s all gonna be inside this pretty little hole… I’m gonna stretch you out, James,” you promised darkly, watching him arch his back harder as a result— a silent plea for exactly that.

You carefully guided the toy to his entrance, moving yourself and using one hand to adjust his hips as well.

"Fuck," he hissed when you circled the end of it around his rim. You just barely ventured the very tip in before pulling back, making him growl a little, clearly irritated. He earned a tug on the leash for that, and a quick scolding.

“Don’t be impatient or I’ll make you wait another hour,” you warned.

That certainly made him correct himself quickly. "S-sorry, Mistress."

You lined it up again and slowly pushed your hips forward, watching as his hole swallowed up the pink silicone, a low moan echoing from his chest.

Although you were still slow and careful, you began to move immediately, glancing back to see his toes curling which made you smirk to yourself. You found a slow but reliable rhythm, purring when he sighed and visibly relaxed.

“Is this what you wanted, baby?” you smiled.

“Yes, fuck,” he breathed.

“You want it harder?” you assumed.

“I want it however you wanna give it to me,” he answered.

“Oh, there’s my good boy,” you chuckled, seeing him arch his back deeper from the petname. “You’re taking it so well, do you like it when Mistress fucks this needy hole of yours?”

“Yes,” he groaned, “oh god, yes, it feels so good…”

You sped up slightly, more for yourself than for him, still holding the leash in your hand but gripping his hips as well to keep him steady as you thrusted even deeper.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop— fuck,” he whimpered, and this time you let him technically make a command just because he sounded so cute doing it, and you had no intentions to stop anyways. In fact you just sped up instead, not too brutal yet but certainly giving him more than you expect to so early on. He took it all like a champ, though, rocking back against you again and throwing his head back to moan loud enough that it echoed around your bedroom.

“Mistress,” he breathed, in that way that made you sure he was about to ask for something. “Please…”

“What do you need, baby?” you asked gently.

“Spank me,” he blurted out, and he’d barely even finished when you hit him hard with the palm of your hand, smiling when he yelped in response. So you gave him a few more, hearing him get louder each time.

"Whose ass is this, huh?" you asked lowly, with another smack for emphasis.

"Yours," he panted, "yours— fuck!— all yours."

"Yeah? Your whole body is mine, isn't it?"

"Yes,” he answered instantly, groaning through his teeth from another spank.

"Mine to play with whenever I want. Mine to fuck. Mine to use."

"Yes," he whimpered, weaker than before. You pulled the leash until the collar choked him, hearing his breath peter out into silence for a few seconds before you let go and he choked on a sudden gasp. “Fuck!”

You stopped when his ass was so red that you knew bruises would form soon. You hoped it meant he would have trouble sitting down the rest of the day. “Gimme your color, baby,” you breathed.

“Blue,” he groaned.

And maybe it was just because you were so turned on you were going to lose your mind soon, but it made you decide to really go in on him: if he wanted more, he was going to get more.

You let go of the leash to grab the back of his head, tugging on his hair until he hissed before shoving his face down into the mattress. He arched his back harder, he had no choice but to, and you heard yourself panting from the exertion as you fucked him hard and fast.

For the first time you could see his face with it turned to the side like this, his eyes fallen shut and squinting occasionally when you went especially deep, his mouth slack and that pretty pink tongue threatening to hang right out as he panted and moaned and whined for you.

“This is what you really wanted, huh? To get face down ass up and let Mistress fucking ruin you?”

“Yes!” he sobbed. “Oh fuck… I’m so close, t-touch my cock, please," he whined.

"I don't think I need to," you smirked. "I think you'll come just from this… don't you wanna be my good boy and come for me without being touched?"

He didn't respond right away, so you pulled his leash until his back arched and he choked again, forcing him back onto his hands.

“Get up, have a little self-respect, Jesus Christ,” you sneered. “You are so fucking pathetic… and answer my fucking question, if you can even talk while you’ve got my strap in you.”

"Y-yes, Mistress,” he managed to choke out, barely finding his balance again, “I'll come— I'll be your good boy. I'm— ah, right there— I'm close…"

"Yeah, you like being on your hands and knees for me, huh? You like getting fucked? You like being my little bitch?"

"Yes," he cried, "oh my god, I love it— please don't stop…"

"M'not gonna stop, just be my good boy and come for me," you encouraged, your tone still just as harsh as before even if your words were significantly kinder. It worked for him, though, if his response was anything to go by.

“Mistress, I— I’m coming,” he sobbed, face falling forward into the mattress and his cuffed hands clutching at the sheets.

You wished more than anything that you could see this, see his cock getting come all over the place without even being touched, but his stupid perfect body was in the way. Of course, once he let out a long sigh that made you figure he had finished, you stopped your movements and tugged him up by the leash until his back was against your corseted chest.

And yep, there were stripes of come on the bed, the last of it only a little drop rolling down his shaft now.

“What a messy little slut you are,” you grinned. “Clean that up, puppy.”

He whimpered slightly as he shakily bent down and started to lick up the come with a wide tongue, wincing slightly as he tasted it, still catching his breath after coming.

When he sat back up, you ran your hands over his chest and hummed proudly. “Such a good boy,” you cooed.

“Yes, your good boy,” he agreed breathlessly, whimpering slightly as your hand trailed lower and lower.

“I bet you want me to touch it, even though you just came,” you smirked. “Isn’t that right, greedy boy?”

“Yes, p-please touch my cock,” he begged, moaning loudly when you did just that, wrapping your fingers around him and using what was left of his come as sticky lube while you stroked slowly.

The strap was still inside him, but you weren’t moving; instead, each time he thrust up into your hand, he inadvertently rode the toy. The result was moans like you’d never heard from him before, desperate and overwhelmed and balancing constantly between pleasure and struggle. Soon, you just stayed still while he just went for it all on his own, his cock throbbing in your hand as the strap kept bumping into his prostate. “Feels good, huh, puppy?” you mocked.

“Yes, so good, Mistress, feels s-so fucking good,” he babbled, head falling back onto your shoulder.

He kept whimpering out broken fragments of praises and pleas as he continued, looking beautifully brainless as he chased his pleasure and abandoned his dignity.

"Fuck, I love you," he sobbed, both of you halting in your tracks when you realized what he'd said.

A tense silence weighed heavy in the air; you felt your face get incredibly hot all of a sudden, your chest freezing up as you held your breath for a moment. His head shot up from where it was resting on your shoulder, and all you could see was the back of his hair, still a little messed up from when you’d pulled it, as he looked off to the side.

"Um, how much does it cost for you to forget I ever said that?" he asked awkwardly.

"First one's free," you mumbled, still a bit stunned.

"Thanks," he sighed, "I didn't mean to— I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable. And I don't mean it, you know, I just… force of habit I guess."

You weren’t sure if the ‘I love you’ or the ‘I don’t mean it’ hurt more. "No, I understand," you nodded sternly.

“If you… if you need to stop, I get it,” he offered.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

“Then I’m gonna keep going,” you decided.

You slowly began to stroke his cock again, carefully, hearing his breathing get a bit heavier as you want.

“Tell me how it feels,” you instructed softly.

“Good,” he blurted out, clearly still tense as you both tried to forget what had just happened. “It feels… feels good.”

"Can you come again?"

"Yes," he sighed, "please."

You focused on the head as you continued, mainly because it made him pant and squirm the most. “Good boy,” you heard yourself mutter somewhat absent-mindedly.

“Mistress,” he breathed, bucking up into your hand. “I’ll come,” he started to warn you after not too much more stimulation, whimpering as your other hand reached down to squeeze his balls, “fuck, I’m gonna come…”

“Then come,” you encouraged softly, looking at his face fallen slack in ecstasy as he painted his chest and your glove in another wave of pleasure, moaning brokenly all the while.

You waited until he was done to very carefully pull out of him, and from then on it was a particularly silent wrap-up: less small talk than usual as he cleaned up and you washed the silicone strap-on. You kept your mouth shut mainly because you had so many questions, none of which should be asked.

‘Force of habit,’ he’d said, when he was tripping over himself to explain that he didn’t love you. What fucking habit?!

The thing is, even when he first said it— that he loved you, that is— you didn’t believe it. He tried to convince you that it was just a mistake and honestly, you didn’t take much convincing. Because of course it was a mistake, you never expected real feelings past perhaps a misguided infatuation. Maybe, for a moment, he thought he loved his Mistress, but he didn’t love you— he could never love you.

A girls night out for drinks at a local bar was supposed to distract you from James, but it ended up sort of backfiring: why, oh why, did you feel guilty when Grace tried to set you up with some guy from her gym? Why did you feel like you were cheating on someone by even considering it?

“I’m just not interested in meeting anyone right now,” you tried to tell her, but she knew you too well— she saw right through you.

“Oh please,” she scoffed, “I know that look. Did you meet somebody?”

“Um… sort of?” you admitted nervously, making her laugh excitedly before she took another sip of her martini.

You stared at your own drink and silently blamed the alcohol for your honesty.

"So who's this mystery guy, huh?" she pressed, poking your shoulder.

"I… met him at work."

"Consulting?" she clarified.

"Yeah."

"What's he like?” she continued her interrogation. “What does he do? Is he rich?"

"I don't know that much about him." I know he likes being slapped, and choked, and chained. I know he comes hardest when I'm degrading him for it. But I don't know his last name… though I have my suspicions.

“Okay, then tell me what you do know,” she offered.

“He’s… really sweet. Sensitive,” you shrugged, smiling slightly to yourself. “I don’t think many people get to see that side of him, so I’m glad I do. To be honest he seems a little troubled.”

“Okay, so he’s got issues. Sounds like exactly your type,” she grinned.

You scoffed. “Yeah, I know, but like... he treats me well.”

“Oh, so not your type at all.”

“Maybe he could be…” you imagined for a second, “but I don’t think he really… feels the same way I do.” Sure, he might have blurted something out in the heat of the moment, but that didn’t count. He backtracked immediately, you promised him you’d forget it ever happened. You broke that promise… you’d been thinking about it nonstop since.

“He’s not attracted to you?” she assumed.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” you smirked, taking another sip as memories of James worshipping your body flooded your mind.

“Oh my god you already had sex with him,” she realized with a playful gasp, and your snort of a laugh kept you from denying it any longer. “I knew you were getting laid, you’ve been suspiciously happy lately.”

“I have?”

“Yeah, less tense. Not so grumpy,” she elaborated. “He must be good.”

“Oh, yeah,” you nodded fervently. “He’s.... different.”

“Yeah, how different?” she grinned. “Eight, nine…?”

“I’m not telling you that,” you laughed. “And I didn’t exactly mean it like that. I mean, he is… yeah, he uh… we… he’s got that covered,” you finally managed to stammer out, feeling your cheeks warm from more than just the sting of the mojito. “He’s just, I don’t know, passionate? Sometimes with guys, it just feels like… well, it feels like work.”

“And with him, it feels like fun,” she finished for you.

“Yeah. Fun,” you agreed, finding more truth in her words than you had expected. “It feels easy. He makes it easy.”

“So what’s the problem?”

You chewed your lip, not sure how to answer that strategically. “I don’t know how to ask him out. I don’t know if I should, really.”

“You’ve… already had sex but you haven’t asked him out?” she realised.

“It’s complicated.”

She rolled her eyes, “of course it is. Because you always make it complicated.”

“Hey, just because you’re right doesn’t mean you have to say it,” you scoffed.

“I wanna meet him! I wanna see this guy that’s got you all giddy and flustered.”

“Oh, no. Definitely not,” you shook your head vehemently.

“What? Why?” she frowned. You glanced at her, sitting beside you at the bar, and shook your head as you tried to process this discussion.

“He… we don’t… I don’t know, it’s not like that.”

“Can I at least see a picture of him?” she bargained.

“Try the Smithsonian,” you suggested, glancing down to the drink in your hand bewilderedly when you heard your own words. “Did I say that out loud?”

“What are you so embarrassed about? Is he married?”

“I’m, like, 98% sure he’s not.”

“Is he older?”

You scoffed. “A bit.”

“That’s hot though,” she grinned, and you rolled her eyes because her proclivity for an age gap was no secret.

“It’s not the hot amount of older,” you corrected.

“Oh,” she nodded, “so is it like, a May-December thing?”

“Pff, more like December 1941,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. Fucking hell, what is in this drink?!

“Oh my god, it’s—” she choked, eyes wide and her fist landing playfully on your shoulder. “You’re kidding! That Winter Soldier guy, Bucky… Bucky something!”

“Shh, shh, keep it down,” you hissed at her, glancing around the crowded bar. “And it’s Barnes. James ‘Bucky’ Barnes.”

You couldn’t believe you were telling her this, considering James hadn’t even told you yet. He probably expected you to figure it out at some point, hence his demands in the very beginning of total secrecy, but you figured there was a reason he didn’t talk about it. Most of your clients spent at least some time venting about their life to you, but all you knew about James’ life outside of sessions was that he had a crush on his barista. Well, you actually knew a lot more than that since you found his Wikipedia page, but that was beside the point.

Grace seemed impressed, like you’d accomplished something when all it was was business. “All these years in New York and I’ve never bumped into an Avenger, and you’re fucking one?!”

“I don’t think…” you trailed off, starting over again with a groan. “Listen, he doesn’t want anyone to know who he is, okay? He doesn’t want me to know.”

“Oh, he must be a demon in the sack,” she giggled happily, ignoring the point entirely. “I mean come on, that man is just pure dominance.”

You smirked to yourself. “Uh huh,” you agreed half-heartedly.

“Do you ever make him speak Russian in bed?” she teased.

“Ew, no,” you shuddered. “Can you promise you’re gonna keep this quiet? If he knows I told you… if you tell anyone—”

“Babe,” she interjected solemnly, resting her hand on your shoulder, “you know I would never expose your secrets. I know you have a lot more that you aren’t ready to tell me. I’m just thankful I get to share this one with you.”

You smiled slightly, surprised that she knew you were hiding so much; honestly, odds were high that she knew more than she let on. “Thanks,” you mumbled.

“Any time,” she shrugged, smiling. “Another round?”

“No, definitely not,” you laughed, “or I’m gonna end up telling you way more than I should.”

“Yeah, that’s the point!” she grinned. “Just one little thing, please, I need to know. You’re not gonna see it on deuxmoi tomorrow.”

“Do what?” you repeated in confusion, furrowing your brow.

“I’m not gonna tell anyone, that’s what I mean,” she sighed. “It’s just for me. Just tell me something about him that nobody else knows.”

A million things rushed through your head at that moment, little morsels you could give to satisfy her for now. The way he begs and his voice gets so much whinier. The way he breathes and it makes the hair that’s fallen in his face float for a second. The way he cries and his cheeks and nose turn red in an instant. The way he laughs sometimes, how good happiness looks on him, but it’s so temporary and you just wish you could always see him like that. The way he looks at you, the way he looks at you, the way he looks at you.

Any of those would’ve been a reasonable glimpse into your relationship with James to keep Grace happy and get on with girls’ night out. But you didn’t say any of those.

“I’m in love with him,” you heard yourself say instead.

#sub!bucky barnes x domme!reader #sub!bucky barnes x dominatrix!reader #bucky barnes smut

1K notes · View notes

mypoisonedvine · 3 years

Text

𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙮 𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘐) || sub!bucky barnes x dominatrix!reader

(𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐)

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 || your newest client asks you to give him a real challenge, and you’re happy to oblige.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 || 6.3k

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 || smut but no actual sex (lots of handjob stuff though and some brief oral m receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, more cnc (because of the overstimulation), bondage, edging, impact play (riding crop), brief cock torture (she just hits him with the crop a couple times), implied “kink as trauma response” (this is gonna be a theme throughout the whole fic), forced to break a rule/doomed to fail/impossible challenge (idk how to warn for this but yeah), forced voyeurism?, thigh riding (reader rides bucky’s thigh), some degradation/dumbification, brief/implied dacryphilia, a bit of angst/feelings

new parts posted on thursdays! join the taglist here

“Can’t,” he sighed, “can’t come again.”

He looked so painfully adorable when he begged like that, his brow glistening with sweat as he jerked under your touch. “Aw, poor baby,” you pouted, twisting your hand when it stroked over the head of his cock, “yes you can. I know you can. Just gimme one more.”

“F-fuck,” he whimpered, “Mistress, please— just stop, please, I can’t… can’t take any more…”

“I know you can, sweetheart— I know you can be my good boy and keep coming for me. Tell me your color.”

“Yellow,” he whispered.

“Think you’re almost done?” you pressed, smiling when he nodded breathlessly. “Yeah, there’s my good boy— gonna come again for your Mistress?”

“Yes,” he breathed, baring his teeth as his hips bucked wildly to try to avoid further sensation, “y-yes, one more, just one more, I’m gonna— fuck, gonna come, just don’t stop… fuck, it hurts.”

“I know, but you’re being so good for me,” you purred. “You like it when I milk your pretty cock, don’t you? Even though it hurts?”

He winced but nodded. “C-coming, Mistress, fuck, I’m coming…!”

Since it was his fifth of the evening, he could only give you one thick drop of come that gathered at his slit before running down over your hand which finally slowed to a stop.

You both sighed with relief as you pulled your hand away and leaned back, admiring how beautiful he looked as he caught his breath, covered in come and sweat.

"Good job," you praised with a chuckle, "I hope I didn't go too hard on you."

"N-no, that was… that was really good," he sighed, slumping back onto the bed. "Can I use your shower before I go?"

"Yeah, totally," you nodded.

After a long pause, you gave him a confused look.

"I thought you were gonna shower?" you reminded him.

"Oh… I guess I have to get up for that," he sighed, making you laugh.

"Rest a bit longer. You've had a… challenging afternoon."

He nodded a little and you got up from the bed to go wash your hands and freshen up a little, smiling at your own appearance in the mirror— sometimes you forgot how you looked when you did this, but there was an undeniable aura of power around you… especially after a session like that.

This was only your third week with James, and already the dynamic felt so natural between you— and yet, so fresh compared to your other clients. Normally it took longer for a newbie to get comfortable with you, yet most of them had had multiple doms before and here was James, totally inexperienced and taking it all like a champ. There was an air of innocence about him, you figured, in contrast to this undeniable strength and intensity that you caught glimpses of from time to time.

Sometimes, it felt like he was chasing an innocence he lost a long time ago. Whatever it was that drew him to this, you were happy to help him along the way.

It was probably a little dangerous to enjoy sessions with a client so much; even though you often pretended that everything was about your pleasure and not theirs, obviously since they were the paying customer it was the complete opposite in reality. But there was an equity to the dynamic with you and Bucky, he served you with a real dedication rather than for his own gain. And you, meanwhile, had rediscovered the fun in this career that had originally drawn you to it in the first place. It was less like a science now, more like an art— you let yourself go with your instincts and do whatever felt right in the moment, and both of you benefitted for it.

“Come on, get up and clean yourself off,” you encouraged— gently, of course— as you left the bathroom and returned to find James laying sprawled out on the bed.

“I know you said falling asleep here was a one-time courtesy,” he remembered with a smile, “but I could use it now a lot more than I needed it then.”

Honestly, you didn’t see him smile that often. It was pleasant; you hoped to see it again. He did get up, though, and take the washcloth you handed him to wipe off the come that had gotten all over him. “What are you thinking for next week?” you asked as you leaned against the wall. “Any special requests?”

“We can discuss all that over the phone,” he decided. You still didn’t understand fully why he didn’t like to discuss future scenes in person; it was like he wanted the in-person interactions to be as ‘in character’ (if you will) as possible.

“Alright, just keep me updated,” you requested with a shrug.

You got changed while he took his shower, and when he emerged to the living room he seemed surprised to see you sitting on your own couch. After a moment, you realized it was the fact that you were in normal clothes that threw him off. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in jeans before… or pants of any kind.”

You looked down at your outfit with a smile, glad it was at least still professional and not sweats and a t-shirt or something. “Yeah, I guess you haven’t. First time for everything, right?”

“Yeah, had a lot of first times with you,” he chuckled. “Most significantly less mundane than this.”

A brief silence filled the room but it wasn’t exactly awkward, at least not for you.

“Well, I’ll see you next week,” he decided as he grabbed his jacket from your chair and slipped it on. You’d been spending most of this session trying to forget how good he looked in the leather motorcycle cut, so that was out the window now as you tried to keep from visibly biting your lip while he walked towards the door.

Damn, he was fine. But there were more pressing matters at hand. Like preparing yourself and your apartment for your next appointment. This guy wanted to get slapped around until he cried… shouldn't be too difficult, but your arms would probably be sore tomorrow.

Opposite of last week, I really want you to edge me tonight, as long as possible.

Don't go easy on me, make me hold it in. I need a challenge this week.

-J

It was odd how emails from James made your week.

He seemed to prefer to communicate his desire with you this way; maybe it was easier for him, and you couldn’t really blame him for that. The nice part was that you didn’t have to temper your reactions, if you had any, since you were always alone when you got his messages. You might be old hat at it now, but you could remember a time that you had to hide a grimace when a client told you to your face what he wanted. Not that you would shame them for it or anything (unless, you know, they paid you to), but you didn’t enjoy everything you did with these men.

Did you enjoy everything you did with James? Yes, but you were pretending not to— for your own sake.

You dressed a bit differently for today’s session, more conservatively… not that it was especially conservative by any other person’s standards. But it left your legs and chest covered, somewhat in the spirit of ‘mean corporate businesswoman’ aesthetically. For some reason you felt like using a riding crop required wearing pants.

James certainly didn’t seem to mind, with the way he nervously cleared his throat after you opened the door.

“Good to see you again,” you greeted formally, “please, come in.”

He stepped past you, still looking at you and not at what was in front of him, meaning he ended up slamming himself gut-first into your kitchen island.

“Oh! Are you alright?” you smiled when you noticed.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he nodded, rubbing his stomach for a second but recovering quickly. “I told you I can take a lot of pain,” he joked.

“Well, we’re going to put that to the test today,” you promised cryptically. “You must’ve seen the crop on the table.”

He nodded again. “Yeah....”

“Are you looking forward to it?”

“Yes,” he answered, a bit too quickly.

“Then let’s get you tied up, James.”

Straddling his lap, you realized the rope was a bit too tight when you saw it digging into his skin; maybe he wouldn’t mind that, but you did, so you pushed the rope back through itself to loosen it slightly.

“How long did it take you to learn all these knots?” he asked casually, watching your fingers nimbly work the ropes around his wrists.

“Not too long,” you shrugged, “I’ve only been doing this a few years… but I knew them before that.”

“Boating school? Boy Scouts?” he suggested jokingly.

“Just a hobby,” you decided, dodging the covert question about your past. “Were you a Boy Scout?”

“Do I look like a Boy Scout?” he countered with a scoff.

“Not anymore,” you shrugged, “but I bet you did once. You’re sorta innocent, you know.”

He swallowed dryly, and you raised an eyebrow as you glanced from the knot you were tightening to his face, which looked a bit flustered. “R-really?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, leaning back on your heels to look at him straight-on. “Are you surprised to hear that?”

He nodded quickly, and you laughed.

“Aw, you thought you were so kinky, huh? So dirty,” you purred, running your hand up his leg until he tugged slightly on the newly-tied ropes— a subtle way to get him to test them for you. “But you’re really not. You’re just my sweet, innocent boy.”

He whined— really, properly whined— and you dug your nails into his skin until he hissed instead.

“I don’t think you believe me,” you noticed, leaning back to reach for the crop behind you. “You think you’re so filthy and perverted, right? Are you a pervert, James?”

“Yes,” he breathed, shivering as you let the crop slide gently over his skin— his abs, his hips, his legs which were already quivering so adorably. “Yes, Mistress.”

“And how’s that?”

“I think about… getting hurt,” he admitted weakly, “when I touch myself. And I touch myself all the fucking time.”

“Yeah? How many times a day do you stroke that pretty cock, James?”

“Twice every morning,” he blurted out, “after that it depends.”

You didn’t let yourself show your surprise at that number. “Depends on what?”

When he hesitated, you hit him sharply on the thigh and he winced. “Depends on what I… what I end up thinking about. Sometimes… sometimes something reminds me, and I have to get off.”

Something told you not to press on what it was that he needed to be reminded of, and why it made him want to jerk off so bad. Something told you he wasn’t ready to tell that story yet. “Did you touch yourself today already?” you asked instead.

“No, no ma’am,” he shook his head, voice wavering as you brushed the crop over his chest, “it’s… it’s different with you.”

“Yeah, I bet it is,” you smirked, hitting him on the stomach quickly. “I bet you’re finally satisfied, right? Nothing’s ever worked for you before.”

“Yes,” he moaned, crying out slightly when you hit him on the arm (flesh— you were too afraid what sound the metal one would make) much harder than before. “The nights I see you, I… I can sleep.”

“You sleep better?”

“No, I just… sleep.”

You tried not to react to that, moving to a new question instead. “Do you want me to hit you again? Or do you want me to stroke your cock for you?”

An obvious choice to some, surely, but he seemed to really struggle with it.

“Which one do you think you deserve?” you asked instead.

“Hit me more,” he decided.

Instantly, you struck him once on the face and again on the shoulder, then moved down to his legs for three in a row in spite of the way his body jerked away instinctively.

“Fuck,” he sobbed, “don’t stop— I need more…”

You focused on his legs, on the inside of his thigh where he seemed the most sensitive. His twisted joy turned to true fear, though, when you brushed the end of the crop over his balls. “Do you want me to hit you here?” you challenged.

“I… I don’t know,” he stammered.

“Let’s make a deal, James,” you offered, “wherever I hit you, I’m gonna kiss it to make it better.”

“Then hit me wherever you want,” he nodded, almost smiling at you. He cried through his teeth when you whipped his shaft with the crop— not especially hard, in fact quite delicately, though the second was harder. And the third, though not much more aggressive, was right on the sensitive tip; his eyes shot open and his hips jerked away.

“So good, such a good boy,” you whispered proudly, putting the crop aside to lean in and kiss his cheek where you’d hit him before, his shoulder, his arm.

You worked your way down carefully as he breathed heavily beneath you, whimpering slightly when you kissed his thighs and notably ignored his flexing, leaking cock. “Please,” he whimpered.

“Shh, be patient,” you soothed, “be my good boy.”

“Your good boy,” he repeated, trying to restrain himself but already bucking up into the air again, “fuck, wanna be your good boy, Mistress.”

“Are you already close, pet, just from getting hurt?” you asked in a faux pout. “You’re not gonna come if I give your pretty cock some kisses, right?”

“I— I won’t come,” he promised. “Not until I get permission.”

“Baby, it’s gonna be a long fuckin’ time before you get permission,” you promised with a toothy grin. “Look down at me, honey, I want you to see this.”

He hesitated for a second but obeyed, looking down at you with an expression that was full of awe as you gripped his cock and gave gentle, teasing kisses up his shaft. It bobbed in your hands with each one, and he let out the most beautiful sigh when you kissed the tip carefully.

A wide lick made him jerk beneath you. “F-Fuck,” he stammered.

“You said you wouldn’t come,” you reminded him. “Can I keep going? Are you gonna be a good boy?”

“Don’t stop, please,” he breathed, “I’ll be good.”

Taking the head between your lips, you suckled gently as he shivered and moaned. You weren’t sure you’d ever been with anybody— on or off the clock— who was so sensitive. And you loved it, honestly; who could resist those precious noises he made?

As much as part of you wanted to go nuts and really push him to the edge, you tried to be gentle and careful so as not to make it impossible for him to hold back. But even then, when you gently grasped his balls in one of your hands and squeezed them, he apparently couldn’t take anymore.

"S-stop," he hissed, and you pulled back, sitting up.

"You were close?" you asked, and he nodded a little. "Oh, what a good boy."

He whimpered briefly. "Yes, your good boy, Mistress…"

Your fingers trailed delicately up the underside of his cock, making him shiver violently. "I know you want to come, but you want to be good even more. You're such a sweet little pet."

It seemed like the praises did more to keep him on the edge than the touches, so you kept both going; wrapping your fingers around the ridge of his head, you gave the most gentle and subtle strokes, and leaned in to whisper against his ear.

“Is this why you wanted me to edge you today, James? So you could show me how good you can be?”

“I-I don’t know,” he blurted out, rocking his hips as best he could while restrained, “I just wanted to… I just wanted you to make me wait.”

“Well, you don’t need to worry about that,” you laughed slightly, “I can make you wait all day. Is that what you want?”

“No, that’s— not that long, I can’t wait that long,” he shuddered.

“Mm, that sounds like your problem, not mine,” you smirked. “Not sure why I asked what you want, honestly… cause I don’t fucking care.”

His choked-out whine was too perfect to ignore.

“Oh, what a pathetic little moan that was, poor baby,” you cooed mockingly, “are you regretting it now? You’re probably wondering what you got yourself into, ‘cause you’re worried Mistress is never gonna let you come.”

“No, I don’t regret it,” he denied weakly, “whatever you want— do whatever you want to me, just… give me what I deserve, please.”

You stopped touching him completely and he straight-up sobbed. “You don’t deserve anything from me, James. You don’t deserve me at all.”

He told you before that he liked when you rapidly cycled between soft and mean. Kept him on his toes, apparently. Honestly, you felt a little guilty talking to him that way sometimes, but his cock leaking enough pre-cum to soak the bedsheets beneath him was a sign you were doing something right. “I know!” he cried. “I know, fuck, I’m sorry, but I need you. I fucking need you, Mistress, please— you know I’ll do anything.”

“I’m feeling generous today,” you shrugged, “so I won’t ask you for much. Just beg me a little more.”

“Please, pleasepleaseplease,” he rushed, “touch me. Anywhere, whatever you want, I just need to feel you. I know I… fuck, I know I don’t deserve it, but let me try to— to earn it. Please.”

You knew if he had it his way, he wouldn’t do much talking at all. But you couldn’t just let him have it his way, now could you? It was better to make him just the right amount of nervous, just the slightest hair uncomfortable, by making him talk to you. And, of course, you liked the way his deep and rough voice got all whiny and needy like this.

One finger under his chin guided him to look up at you, those pretty blue eyes watery and sparkling and wide with misplaced innocence.

“Tell me who you belong to, James,” you instructed darkly.

“You, Mistress,” he whispered, “I’m yours, I— oh fuck…”

Unshockingly, he was reduced to only moans again when you started stroking his cock, the slick precum making every movement smoother. “All mine, huh? My little toy?” you confirmed, but he could only nod and swallow thickly.

You sped up quickly, getting faster and faster until you were really, properly jerking him off and he was biting hard on his lip. Just when he seemed to really fall into it, get almost comfortable, you had to stop.

"Oh, fuck—" he gasped, bucking his hips up to try to chase your hand when you pulled away, but it was no use with him tied up. You watched his cock bob in the air and smiled.

“Did you think it was going to be that easy?” you smirked.

Shaking his head, you tilted yours to look at him, reaching up to trace your fingers over his chest.

“Don’t lie, baby, you thought I was gonna let you come, didn’t you? You’re so sweet, James, and so, so stupid.”

He gasped, and for a second you thought you might’ve gone too far, but it shifted to a moan quickly and you realized he was having the time of his life.

“Just my dumb, brainless little toy,” you continued with a snarl, watching him tug at the ropes as his eyes fluttered shut. “It’s okay, James, it’s okay… you don’t need to think, I don’t want your mind. It’s useless. I want this pretty cock, that’s all I want from you.”

“It’s all yours, Mistress,” he promised, cheeks burning bright red and eyes forced shut. “All of it, I swear.”

“I know,” you cooed, holding his face gently to soothe him a bit. But then your other hand wrapped around his cock and he was anything but soothed. “Shh, shh, don’t make any sounds, you’re just a toy and toys need to stay quiet.”

You missed his noises, actually, but he looked so cute biting his lip and struggling to suppress them. His cock was so swollen in your hand that you honestly wondered if it was somehow getting bigger. Was that even possible? Your mouth was watering regardless.

“I’m gonna give you a little break,” you promised gently, “but I’ll be honest, pretty boy… I don’t think you’re gonna like it one bit.”

The look he gave you beautifully balanced fear with anticipation, and you stopped stroking him to reach over towards the bedside drawer and pull out a vibrator.

“Your Mistress is feeling a little.... self-indulgent today,” you winked. “And since I, unlike you, don’t need to hold myself back from coming, I think I might as well get myself off if I want to.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed dryly, watching you closely as you stood up off the bed and started to carefully undress yourself. It was a lot more fun to get naked when you were wearing something that didn’t actually show much skin— the button-up seemed to really get him going, his tongue mindlessly darting out to lick his lips as you opened one button at a time.

Once it was off your shoulders and on the floor, and he could see the almost-transparent bra you had on, you moved to opening your trousers as well. Just to be mean, you faced the other way as you pushed them down over your ass; you heard his breath catch and you smirked to yourself, spinning to face him again in just the matching, dark red bra and panty set.

“What do you think, do you like this better than the black ones?” you asked coyly.

“I like you naked better than both,” he answered, and you grinned.

“I’m gonna let that backtalk slide just once because it’s not worth my time to go over there and slap you for it,” you decided. “But don’t test me, James.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he answered dutifully, sounding a bit out of breath as he watched you climb back onto the bed, positioning yourself carefully.

You faced him straight-on and laid your legs over his, meaning your lace-covered pussy was in full view and only inches from his leaking cock— the damn thing looked sore by now, purple at the tip and just as desperate for attention as the rest of him.

When you pulled the fabric aside to show him your cunt, he hissed and looked away.

“Look at me, James, keep your eyes open,” you demanded, seeing how totally wrecked he looked when he turned his head back to you and stared down at your body with half-lidded eyes. “Look at how fucking soaked my pussy is. You remember how it feels to be inside it, don’t you?”

He swallowed, sighed, and finally (just barely) nodded.

“You remember how hot and wet and tight it is, don’t you?”

“Y-yes,” he choked.

“Well, that memory’s all you’ve got to work with, sweet boy, because I don’t think I’m ever gonna let you fuck this pussy again.”

He really, properly sobbed, tears streaming down his cheeks, and those arms flexed against the ropes defiantly. “N-no, please—”

“I’m gonna make myself come with this,” you promised, interrupting him as you grabbed the vibe, “and I want you to remember how it feels when I come around you, okay?

Turning it on, you wasted no time pressing it to your clit, moving the end of the toy in slow circles and keeping a close eye on him as he watched you. Your intention had always been to give him a show, but the embarrassing thing was how little of it was an act. Ironically, even though you’d been edging him this whole time, having to touch him that way without any pleasure for yourself was almost as torturous. You’d soaked through your panties by the time you had him tied up, to be totally honest. So, giving into it and letting yourself feel good was a breeze.

“Think about when I was riding you, James,” you instructed, your own voice clearly affected by your pleasure now. “Think about how good it would feel if I let you come inside me.”

“Oh, god,” he cried, leaning his head back.

“Think about my pussy milking every fucking drop of come out of you. You know I wouldn’t let you stop until I was completely full of your come, I bet you’d like that. I bet you’d like to eat your come out of me, you sick little pervert.”

“Fuck!” he yelped, tugging at the ropes harder now— for a second you thought he might really break them and jump you. And for a second, you knew you’d let him. It made your walls clench as you imagined facing the consequences of driving a man to the brink of insanity until he couldn’t help but fuck you like an animal. It was a good thing he didn’t see you bite your lip as you imagined that.

“You know what I’m thinking about?” you taunted.

“God, don’t tell me,” he sighed through his teeth, but obviously you ignored him.

“I’m thinking about what a good boy you are for me,” you cooed, your hips starting to rock up against where you held the end of the vibrator; you pressed it down harder onto your clit and moaned instantly. “Yeah, I’m thinking about how pretty you look when you’re all desperate and needy and fucking pathetic—”

“Oh—” he choked.

“My dumb litlte whore, that’s all you are, James,” you groaned. “I know you wish you could touch me, it’s all you can think about, right? That pretty head of yours would be completely empty if it weren’t for thoughts of me and how badly you want me. Right?”

“Yes,” he whispered huskily.

A shiver ran up your spine when the vibrator bumped into a more sensitive part of you, and you did it again and again until you thought you might lose it a bit faster than you meant to. “This toy feels really good,” you informed him in a purr, gasping when you slipped the vibrating body of it into your pussy, “but it doesn’t feel as good inside me as you do.”

His eyes fell shut but he still winced a bit every time you made a sound; he couldn’t run from this, no matter how hard he tried.

“Oh James,” you moaned loudly, fucking yourself with the vibe for a moment before you pulled it back out to focus even harder on your clit, “I’m gonna come. I’m so, so close… I can feel it getting stronger, I think I might make a mess on these sheets. And the only way I’m ever gonna let you come is if you watch me do it. So open your fucking eyes.”

He blinked quickly as he opened them, gaze scanning your whole body before settling on your cunt; you were sure he could see it pulsing as you got closer and closer, you knew he was imagining how it would feel. You only spared a brief glimpse at his cock, bobbing between his legs, and wished you could just slip it in you now and come while it stretched you out.

But that wasn’t what he was here for, sadly, and you were sure you were the only being truly denied of your desires, despite how it probably seemed from the outside.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, numbness starting to tingle in your legs as your orgasm built up quicker than even you expected. “I’m coming— James, I’m coming, oh, fuck… right there— yes!”

A gush of heat warmed your cunt at the same time that shocks ran up your spine and down your limbs; you could feel your legs shaking, and you knew he could, too.

It got so intense for a second that you had to pull the vibrator away, though you didn’t stop coming until a few moments later, eyes falling shut without you meaning for them to.

You actually laughed a bit, breathlessly, as you turned the vibe off and set it aside, although you weren’t sure exactly what was supposed to be funny about this per se. When you opened your eyes, you saw James looking down and looking positively defeated. But he looked tense, too, and you sat up on your wobbly legs to get closer to his face.

“Relax, James,” you told him firmly as you examined him.

“I— I can’t,” he whispered.

“Why not?”

“I’ll come.”

Nothing could fight your wide grin anymore, not when you heard that. “Oh, baby… are you about to come without even being touched? Is that how much you liked watching Mistress come?”

He nodded, ever so slightly, and you laughed. Not quite a mocking laugh, moreso impressed. Prideful, even. You leaned in to give a wet kiss to his neck, licking over his pulse as he shivered violently.

“That’s my good boy,” you whispered against his skin. He whined and you cooed soothingly right away, “oh I know, I know. It’s so unfair, isn’t it? Mistress gets to come and you don’t…”

“Please,” he stammered, “I’m so close, let me come, please.”

“But I don’t wanna see you come, baby— I wanna see you cry.”

You started to slide your hand down his chest and he jumped up to attention as he tried to squirm away. “No, please, don’t— don’t touch my cock, not if I can’t come.”

“You can hold it in, can’t you?” you pouted.

“No, I can’t, I can’t,” he sobbed, watching fearfully as your hand moved down to his stomach and over his hips.

“But I thought you were my good boy,” you frowned, suddenly wrapping your hand tight around his cock as he choked on a gasp.

“Mistress!” he sobbed. “Please, don’t— don’t move your hand, I’ll come.”

"Never fucking tell me what to do," you instructed firmly, just barely stroking as he cried weakly. "I'm gonna touch you however I want and you're not gonna come because you're my good boy, right?"

"No, Mistress, I can't stop it, I'm gonna come— stop, please…"

"You'd better not fucking come," you hissed through your teeth, speeding up your movements and watching his eyes shoot wide open, "you'd better hold it in until I'm done with you."

"I'm trying— please slow down, can't take it—"

You shook your head, tutting disapprovingly. "No, baby, I tell you what you can take."

"Oh— oh god, Mistress, please, please stop, please, I c-can't— fuck!"

You pulled your hand away the second his cock started to flex but it was too late: come was shooting from his swollen tip and painting his chest and stomach. You didn't even wait until he was done to backhand him across the face.

"I'm sorry!" he yelled. "I'm so sorry, I couldn't help it…"

You softened slightly when you heard his broken voice, saw the desperation and fear on his face— it was real, more real than the fake ‘no’s and the encouraging pleas for mercy. "Baby, it's okay, you tried so hard," you soothed instantly.

Hope filled his eyes just as much as tears as he looked up at you. "Am I still your good boy?"

"Always," you smiled, caressing his face where it was already turning red from your slap.

You reached down and caressed his cock with the back of your fingers, watching it flex weakly.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, alright?”

His lip twitched, almost like a wince. “Do we… do we have to stop?”

You quickly glanced at the clock. “Um, no,” you mumbled, “we still have time. Just tell me what you want.”

“I wanna watch you come again…” he admitted softly. “Is… is that okay?”

Although you weren’t sure what you’d been expecting, you were still surprised. “Yeah, sure.”

“But… but closer this time,” he added, “not so far away.”

You were literally laying on top of him, how did that count as far away?

“I wanna see your face,” he clarified.

“Okay,” you nodded, deciding to indulge him. It was sort of like aftercare, except that this wasn’t exactly the ‘after’ part yet.

On your knees beside where he was leaning back against the headboard, you slipped your hand down into the lace panties again, finding your clit still swollen but not too sensitive. A little gasp fell from your lips when you touched it, rubbing it carefully with two fingers while he looked up at your face.

You felt slightly exposed when he watched you this close, and you didn’t know where to look to avoid direct eye contact. Looking at his lips was just a little too tempting, so that wouldn’t work.

“My hands are a little tired,” you explained, “they might cramp up. Maybe I could use your thigh…”

“O-okay,” he nodded, and you removed your fingers from your panties to sit down on the thick muscle of his leg. You felt him tense up under you slightly, and you carefully began to rock your hips until your clit rubbed just right against the inside of your underwear. Surely he could feel how wet you were— actually, you both could hear it, almost a wet clicking-like noise as the soaked lace slid against your skin.

The dynamic shifted slightly, not that you minded it, as he watched you ride him carefully. Just as he couldn’t hide much from you when he was naked and tied up and baring his soul to you in the kinkiest way possible, you couldn’t hide your pleasure from him when he was looking at your face so up-close. You let your hands carefully roam his body, narrowly avoiding the trails of cooling come he’d left on his stomach and chest, until you found his strong shoulders and held onto them for balance.

“Fuck,” you mumbled to yourself, biting your lip as your sore clit throbbed against his hard, muscular thigh.

“Will you… could you kiss me?” he requested quietly, and your heart broke a little bit. You shook your head, and he nodded in understanding.

“I’ll kiss you here,” you offered instead, whispering against his skin before you pressed your lips to his forehead, then his cheek, then his jaw. “Is that better, James?”

“It helps,” he agreed in a sigh.

“I’m close,” you warned quietly, pressing your cheek to his and weaving one hand into his hair. “I’m gonna come again, on your thigh.”

“Let me touch you,” he begged, “just a little, please…”

You nodded, about to reach forward to untie one of his hands, but he snapped the ropes and you had totally forgotten he could do that. He quickly ran his touch all over your body, calloused hands and bound wrists in stark contrast to your soft skin. The metal one was a little cold but it didn’t bother you; the other was almost too hot, and it was like being warmed and cooled all at once.

He ran his fingers down your spine, he gripped one of your shoulders, he rubbed your legs: he did everything he must have been wishing he could do this whole time, even gasping as he ran one hand up your chest and over a cup of your bra. Just as you sensed that he was about to ask if he could touch you there, you nodded and felt his metal hand tug down the red lace and grab your breast— thankfully not very hard, though he did give your nipple a quick pinch which made you gasp.

Burying his face in the crook of your neck, he finally settled his hands on holding your hips, just tight enough to slightly guide your movements as you rocked faster and more desperately. “Please come,” he begged weakly, “Mistress, please… use me.”

It sort of hit you all at once then, like a punch to the gut. Except, you know, a lot more fun than getting punched in the gut.

“James,” you gasped, legs quivering where they straddled his as a new patch of slick soaked the lace (and presumably his thigh as well). He held you tight, kept you moving through it while your fingers tangled in his hair and your mouth fell slack for another, louder moan.

The way his lips moved over your skin, laving your collarbones and pulse point and the innermost corner of your jaw, was positively worshipful; reverent. “Mistress,” he whispered, almost sounding like praise but tinted with awe. Your movements slowed down to a stop and the two of you breathed a sigh together, unintentionally. “Thank you,” he mumbled.

“What for?” you asked, blinking quickly and looking down at him, coming back to reality (though you weren’t quite sure where else it was that you had just been).

“I dunno, everything,” he decided.

“Don’t thank me,” you smiled. “Keep paying me, though.”

He laughed a little, glancing away. “Yeah, and I’ll pay you back for these ropes… sorry."

"No, hey, don't be sorry," you dismissed, getting up off of his leg and standing up to go grab a towel for him. "I'm just sorry we still haven't found anything strong enough to hold you."

"It's fine, they're strong enough to make me stop myself when I want to do something I shouldn't, that's all that really matters."

You nodded to yourself as you dampened the towel and came back to wipe him off.

"I can do that for myself," he reminded you, sounding a bit embarrassed, but you thought it was sweet.

“You just focus on getting those ropes off of yourself,” you decided with a little smile.

#sub!bucky barnes x domme!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut

2K notes · View notes

mypoisonedvine · 3 years

Text

𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙮 𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐) || sub!bucky barnes x dominatrix!reader

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 || every client is different, with different needs; but this client is, in every way, exceptional.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 || 5k

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 || smut (cnc), dom/sub relationship, ‘mistress’ title, pain kink, cockwarming, orgasm denial/control, use of a cockring, slapping, objectification/degradation, some angst and hurt/comfort, crying after sex, touchstarved!bucky

new parts posted on thursdays! join the taglist here

"And you can promise complete and total discretion?” the deep and husky voice on the other end of the line repeated, low enough that it was almost a whisper.

You laughed a little. “Of course,” you answered. Most clients were serious about privacy, but this guy was next level. He must be famous, you thought to yourself, or married. Or both.

But just as much as your clients wanted to keep you separate from their personal life, you would rather they know nothing about who you are. Of course it was always a risk, since nobody could hide their face and you had to work out of your apartment, but you did what you could to keep your job just that— a job.

You told your friends you were a consultant, because people didn’t question that. Sure, it was hard to keep up the lie sometimes when you got last-minute bookings and had to cancel plans, but it was worth it for the money these men were willing to pay.

And this new guy? He was shelling out all kinds of cash, on a long set of conditions. Including an NDA. You wouldn’t have given him up either way, but if the contract made him feel better (and made him pay more) then you were happy to sign it.

“So it’s all anonymous, then? No ID, no credit card…?” he pressed.

“I mean, if cash is easier for you—”

“It is.”

You were starting to worry that this was a major red flag, as if he didn’t want to be traceable back to you at all. It was almost a dealbreaker, until you glanced down at the legal pad you’d written his offer on and remembered that you couldn’t afford to turn him down. “Then cash is fine,” you decided, making a note to yourself to have 911 already dialed when he came by in case his aversion to ID was really about a desire to get away with something.

“When can we start?”

“Um, well the soonest I can do is tomorrow at seven” you explained.

"Great, I'll be there," he answered firmly, apparently about to hand up.

“Hey, hey, slow down!” you chuckled. “Can I at least get a name?”

“I didn’t think we needed to do names.”

“We don’t… but if you’re willing, I’d like to know something to call you.”

“James,” he answered after a tense pause. “James is fine.”

“Alright, James, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Upon opening the door, you instantly noticed three things about him: he was tall, he was big, and he was sexy.

You had sort of been hoping that his appearance wouldn’t match his voice, but it did, and it was going to make this so much harder. Maybe easier in a few ways, but overall worse. It was important that you didn’t get too emotionally invested with your clients.

His eyes were dragging over you like he was just as taken aback. Which was odd, because he must have seen your picture online before he called you.

“James,” you greeted. “Glad you made it.”

You stepped aside to let him enter, guiding him to take a seat in your living room. Before clients came by, you hid any signs of life and kept the space as neutral as possible, which was why the only furniture was the white couch he sat on, the black chair across from it, and a glass table in between.

You sat in the black chair and crossed your legs, noticing with pride the way his eyes studied your every move.

“It’s important that we have a discussion about boundaries and limits before this goes any further," you explained sternly, and he nodded slightly. "Tell me what you do and don't want."

“Uh, well, I guess I was just looking for… somebody who can administer, um, discipline… you know, someone who sets rules and enforces them. But could also be kind of, uh, sweet I guess, to. Not too sweet, just… not too mean either."

You smiled a little; he sounded right up your alley. "I can do that."

"You should know I… I have a… disability. My left arm it's, um, it's a prosthetic."

"How would you like me to accommodate that?"

"Just don't say anything about it, please. Treat it like a normal arm. And, uh, if you could ignore my scars, too…" he added awkwardly.

"Of course,” you nodded, “I would never want to make you feel insecure."

"Well, I mean, I'm not against degradation," he admitted sheepishly, making you smile a little.

"Right: that's different. Anything else you're distinctly not against?"

“I can take a lot of pain,” he explained matter-of-factly. “However much you think I can handle, double it. I wanna feel it.”

You could almost hear the words he wasn’t saying: I wanna feel something.

“Okay, we can do that. You’ve probably heard of the color system," you posited.

“I haven’t.”

"Oh." That threw you off slightly… how new was he to this scene? “Well, it’s traditionally green, yellow, red; like a stoplight. Red means stop. Yellow means proceed with caution. Green means continue.”

“Sounds simple enough.”

“Too simple for me, in fact. I have my own version: ‘red’ will make me stop what I’m doing, but only ‘black’ ends the scene entirely. And then there’s ‘blue.’ That means you want more.”

He smirked a little; a strong show of emotion compared to his stoicism so far. “I think I’ll use that one most.”

“Just don’t be afraid to use anything else, alright? I’d never be disappointed in you for safewording, or even just needing a break.”

He nodded. “Can we get to it then?”

“You’re rushing as always,” you laughed. “I’m not charging you for this part. We have plenty of time— don’t we?”

“Yes, but—” he sighed. “You look really… I walked in and, I guess I’m just really looking forward to this.”

You almost would’ve smiled at the compliment but you thankfully suppressed it. “And what is it that you’re looking forward to? What do you want me to do to you?”

His jaw tightened as he looked away from you. “Um, there’s a lot.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Ropes. Strongest you have. I can buy you stronger ones if you need them, for next time…”

He’s already thinking about next time? He’s already thinking about buying me things?

“Alright, I can do ropes: wrists and ankles? Or more than that?”

He seemed a bit confused by that question. “Is there anywhere else?”

“Torso,” you enumerated, “neck—” you stopped because you saw his reaction to that, and it made you smile a bit. “Okay, so maybe the neck is something to try. Do you like being choked?”

“I… I don’t know…” he sighed.

“Have you ever been choked before?”

“Not… sexually...”

You felt your eyebrows rise, but didn’t want to press; a story for another time, perhaps.

“We’ll have to discuss silent safewords and signals so you can tap out, but if you’d be willing to try it—”

“Yes.”

You laughed. “Eager, are we?”

He swallowed, and you wondered if you shouldn’t have let your ‘dom voice’ slip out in that moment… but he looked so good flustered like that. He adjusted himself slightly in his chair and you hoped he was already hard. And with that thought in mind, you couldn’t stop yourself from teasing him further.

“Do you like being called certain things?” you asked, voice lower as you leaned forward. “How do you feel about ‘pet’?”

He almost kept up his poker face, but his gaze faltered at the same time he moved in his chair again. “Um, ‘pet’ is okay.”

“Baby boy?”

“Not really my speed,” he shrugged.

You slipped out of your chair and stood up, approaching him slowly as the click of your heels echoed across the tile. He watched you with wide eyes and quickening breaths.

“What do you like? Tell me,” you demanded, though you kept your tone light.

“Uh,” he paused, watching your hand as it rested on his leg, “I like… I like being called a good boy.”

You grinned as you pulled your hand away, watching him tense up with disappointment. “I can do that,” you agreed, lifting his chin with a finger until he looked at you with those beautiful, desperate eyes, “if you actually are being a good boy for me.” “I will,” he promised quickly, “I’ll be so good.”

“Mmm, I bet you will,” you purred. “So willing to please…”

“Tell me how,” he sighed as your hand trailed from his chin down to his chest, slipping under the loose collar of his henley and rubbing his chest. “Tell me how to please you.”

“Well, for starters, I have a name, too: Mistress.”

He sighed like the wind had been knocked out of him, but nodded.

“And if I ask you a question, I expect you to answer ‘Yes, Mistress’ or ‘No, Mistress’. Is that clear?”

“Uh-huh,” he agreed before suddenly correcting himself, “um, yes, Mistress.”

“I’ll let you have that one,” you frowned, “but further infractions will be punished.”

“Yes, Mistress; I’m sorry, Mistress,” he moaned, melting under your touch as your hand moved down to rub his thigh through his jeans.

“Now, just for fun,” you smiled, leaning down until your lips were nearly brushing his ear, “tell me what you want.”

“Please touch me, Mistress,” he sighed.

“But I am touching you.”

“Touch my… touch my cock," he clarified, adorably embarrassed. "It’s so hard for you…”

“We’ll get to that eventually. Let’s go to the bedroom first, okay?”

However good he looked standing in your doorway half an hour ago, it was nothing compared to how he looked naked and hard and tied to your bed.

Yes, the prosthetic and the scars that attached it to his body were hard to ignore. He had failed to warn you that it was metal, so you couldn’t hide the slight shift of your face when it caught the light; you hoped he didn’t think it was a look of judgment or disgust, because you truly didn’t think it was anything upsetting. Maybe the scars were a little worrying… but they didn’t seem to bother him now, at least physically.

But truly, if anything was distracting about his body, it wasn’t the arm. It was his muscles— no wait, it had to be his cock, right? It’s tough to call: on one hand, his entire body was toned and hardened beyond the peak of human conditioning, his thick thighs making your mouth water already, his chiseled abs almost making you jealous; but on the other hand, between those lovely thighs and curving up against those perfect abs was a cock that rivalled anything you'd ever seen before, with a blue vein running up one side and a drip of precum rolling down the other.

You finally sauntered up to the bed and ran your fingers over the taught ropes, pretending to ignore him watching you impatiently. It was almost hotter knowing that he could pull out of the ropes if he really wanted to. More than most, he was choosing to submit to them and to you.

“How’s this knot feel? Too tight?” you hummed, tugging the rope just beside his wrist and watching his hand move limply with it.

“No, it’s good.”

You stepped back to the foot of the bed and stripped slowly, peeling off your black dress to reveal a matching lace set underneath. You left your heels on as you stepped out of the dress and kicked it aside.

Turning back to face him, James looked like he was all but drooling. You could see in his eyes how much he wished the ropes weren’t holding him back so he could run his hands all over your body.

But you could tell he craved being denied what he wanted, by the way his cock flexed of its own volition.

You let yourself smile as you crawled your way up the bed and over his body, like a panther stalking its prey, and boy did he look ready to be devoured.

"Are you scared?" you asked quietly. He shook his head. "Are you ready?"

He nodded. You sat up as you straddled him, positioned just right such that no part of you was really touching him, and watched with delight as he tugged against the ropes slightly to try to get closer.

"So needy," you grinned, somewhere between praising and scolding him. Your fingers ghosted over his chest and he shivered; he asked you to treat his prosthetic like a normal arm, so you dragged your nails down the metal and watched his eyes flutter shut. When you pulled your hand back and left him untouched again, he whined slightly.

“Aw, poor thing,” you pouted as you examined him, desperation emanating off of him in an invisible aura. “Your cock is all red and leaking… it must hurt, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, Mistress,” he groaned.

“What if I touch it a little?” you offered.

“Please…”

You traced your fingers lightly up and down his length, tickling the skin and giving him the least pressure that you could. He whimpered and you chuckled mockingly. “I said I’d touch it a little, sweet boy, are you not satisfied?”

He bucked up into your touch as best he could, causing you to pull your hand away. “Baby, please—”

You cut him off with a slap to the face, as hard as you could muster.

“Mistress!” he corrected with a whine. “Mistress, please… please wrap your hand around it.”

“Around what?”

“Around… my cock. Stroke me, please…”

“All you had to do was ask,” you grinned, finally tightening your hand around him and moving slowly up and down the shaft. His head fell back with a soft moan, just from that. Your teasing had certainly helped get him this worked up, but you knew it wasn't just that… he was plenty sensitive all on his own, apparently.

It made your mouth water.

"Does this feel good, James?" you asked huskily.

"S-so good," he whimpered, "please can you… stroke it a little faster, please, Mistress…"

"Hmm, not yet," you decided, feeling him tense up beneath you. "Relax," you instructed with a free hand rubbing his thigh gently.

You continued to teasingly stroke his length, never quite giving him the pressure or speed he needed to get closer to his release, savoring every whimper and whine and sigh from him along with the satisfying weight of his cock against your palm.

It felt like you'd never get tired of wielding so much power in your hand.

"Please," he sighed, "I need more…"

"You want me to stroke you faster?" you pressed, already knowing that wasn't what he meant. He shook his head and you grinned, leaning in closer but letting go of his cock.

Slowly, you let the lace covering your core rub up against his shaft, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head. "Ohhhhh," he moaned, "oh fuck, Mistress…"

You grinned and kept rocking against him, easily feeling the warmth of him through your panties— meaning he, in turn, could feel the warmth of you. "How does it feel, baby?"

"Good," he choked out, "really, really good… fuck, I want more, I need more, please…"

"Are you my good boy, James?" you asked in a low purr. He nodded eagerly, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed nothing. "Do you want to be inside me?" you finally whispered against his ear, letting a finger run lazily up his spine and feeling him shiver so hard it was more like he was convulsing.

"Please, Mistress, I'll do anything…"

You didn't touch all of your clients sexually, due in part to the fact that they usually wanted a lot more pain than pleasure. You'd only had sex with one or two of them, and it wasn't a routine thing. Before today you never would've imagined doing this with a first-time client, but to be completely honest… he was fucking hot. The kind of guy you'd be spreading your legs for instantly if you weren't at work and he wanted to buy you a drink or grab lunch. And he was here, at your disposal, begging you for more. How could you say no?

You pulled your panties aside and gripped his cock tightly to guide it to your entrance, studying his face twisted in anticipation before sinking down and watching him gasp and sigh all at once, somehow.

It took a lot of effort to hide your own pleasure when he was stretching you out so perfectly, but you managed to suppress the desire to moan and just smile at his fucked-out expression instead.

Finally, your hips met with his and you got to sit there and enjoy the look of dawning agony as he realized you were staying completely still.

“Move, please,” he sobbed, “oh god, Mistress, please move…”

“But I thought you wanted to be inside me? Isn’t this what you asked for?”

He whined and tried to wiggle his hips; all that got him was two hard slaps to the face.

“No whining,” you instructed through your teeth. “Good boys don’t whine.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whimpered, “‘m your good boy, I promise.”

“I know you are,” you grinned, “or at least, I know you can be. Show me how good and patient you are.”

Reaching to the side a bit without getting off of him, you pulled a vibrator from your drawer. His eyes went a little wide when he saw it, and you laughed.

"Don't worry, this isn't for you. It's for me," you explained as you turned it on, inserting it between your body and his to touch the toy against your clit. He winced as you sighed contentedly. "Fuck, it feels good. Can you feel it on your cock?"

"A… a little…" he hissed.

"I bet it feels good for you too," you posited, "but not good enough to make you come."

After a little pause, he nodded breathlessly.

"Good," you smiled. "I just wanna come with your cock inside me. I wanna know how it feels to get off with my favorite toy while being full of my newest toy."

"Fuck," he groaned.

"Do you like that, pretty boy? Do you like me using your cock, being your Mistress' dumb little fucktoy?"

"Yes," he sobbed, hips shifting ever so slightly beneath you as he sought more stimulation from your flexing walls. Shifting the vibe to hit right on your clit, you cried out— and he did too, at the feeling of you tightening around him.

"God, you love being Mistress' dildo, don't you?"

He nodded, biting hard on his lip until you worried he'd hurt himself. He moaned again as another jolt of pleasure forced your channel to clench on his cock.

"You're making too much noise for a fucktoy, you need to be quiet."

He opened his mouth for a second, but closed it again and nodded instead.

"You can do it yourself right?" you pressed, seeing him nod. "You don't need me to gag that pretty mouth?"

He whined but shook his head, keeping his lips pressed together.

That went on for a few more moments as you teased yourself with the vibe, hoping to draw this out for the sake of his struggle. Wanting to up the ante, you took the vibe off your clit and turned it off for a moment. "I think this would feel better with a little lube… will you get it wet for me, James?"

You brought the toy to his lips and he eagerly wrapped them around it, sucking lightly on the silicone with those pretty lashes resting on his cheeks.

"There you go, that's a good boy," you praised, pulling the toy from his mouth, "that's my good boy…"

"Yours…" he repeated weakly, "wanna be good for you, just for you…"

This time when you turned it on and pressed it to your clit again, you instantly gasped and felt your walls bare down on him; turning up the vibration, you actually moaned aloud and saw him wince. "Oh, can you feel it now?" you asked tauntingly. He bit his lip and nodded.

It really wasn't even intentional but you felt your hips start to rock, making him gasp as his eyes shot open. For a guy who had been begging you to move not too long ago, he looked pretty overwhelmed by it now.

"Fuck, I'm gonna make myself come on your cock… do you wanna feel me come, baby?"

He seemed conflicted, which was exactly what you were going for. You wanted him to struggle, just enough, between his need to satisfy himself and his desire to please you. "I… I want to make you come, Mistress," he finally choked out, notably answering a slightly different question than the one you'd asked.

You smiled and leaned in to whisper in his ear: "Are you afraid that if you feel me come around you, you won't be able to hold back? That you might accidentally come inside me?"

He made a needy little groan and nodded.

"Don't worry, baby, I'm gonna help you," you promised sweetly, but of course as soon as he saw you grab a cockring from your drawer he changed his tune.

"N-no, Mistress, please," he begged with wide eyes, "I'll be good, just not that— don't put that on me."

You smirked and sat up, pulling off of him and slowly slipping the ring on his throbbing length as he quietly pleaded for mercy. He winced when you pushed it down to the base of him, his cheeks burning hot red now.

"Is it a little too tight, baby?" you cooed, grinning when he nodded. "Good."

You sank back down into him and let your hips grind on his, working your clit with the vibe and even kicking it up to the next highest setting. He jolted beneath you, clearly feeling the vibrations strongly now, and you let the view of his beautifully broken facial expression egg on your own climax.

"Mm, I'm close, baby," you whispered, "just stay still and let Mistress use you like a good little boy."

He made a small noise through his teeth but seemed to manage okay, even when your walls began to pulse rhythmically around him and your head fell back, your free hand palming at your breast through the lace bra just to add that last little edge of sensation.

"Oh fuck, fuck," you moaned, "that's my good boy…"

You shakily pulled the vibe away and turned it off, still a little numb on your clit but feeling your channel still rippling slightly with aftershocks; he seemed to feel them in spite of their subtlety, if the panting breaths that filled his muscular chest rapidly were any indication.

As slow as you could manage, you pulled your body off of him and sat back on his legs to stare at his cock. The remnants of your orgasm left plenty of lubrication to stroke it, focusing on the head which had turned almost purple now.

"M-Mistress," he groaned, writhing under your touch.

Amazingly, his cock was already flexing in your hand, and a growl of pride and hunger echoed in your chest.

“Oh fuck, can you come for me, James?” you moaned, pumping him so fast your hand was a blur. “Can you be my good boy and come right through the cockring?”

“Yes,” he sobbed, “gonna come, Mistress, please—”

“Come right now,” you demanded, watching his face instantly fall slack as he spurted out onto his own chest and stomach, cock flexing and pulsing in your hands as his legs quivered and his hips thrusted wildly.

And the tears were flowing soon after. You weren’t sure if it was sub drop or just the power of his release, but between weak sobs he whispered broken apologies.

“You did so good,” you cooed as you slipped off the ring and wrapped your arms around him, subtly trying to reach over to untie the ropes. But you didn’t need to; he flexed his arms and the restraints popped like floss. He embraced you in return as you let his head fall onto your chest. “You’re so good, it’s okay,” you continued, stroking his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated again, breathing quickly and wetting you with his tears.

This, you realized, is what he had made you sign the contract to protect. It wasn’t that he was excessively embarrassed about his sexual proclivities, but that this was his space to be soft, and weak, and broken. Apparently he wasn’t ready for anyone else to know that he wasn’t steel all the way down.

“Shh, it’s okay… you’re okay…” you breathed, indulging him in this moment even though it was more intimate than you preferred to get with customers. Aftercare was an important part of your job, certainly, but so was enforcing boundaries.

He began to soothe as you kissed his forehead gently, whispering well-deserved affirmations and praise. As his breathing slowed and moved back to normal, he pulled back and looked up at you.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated one more time, but not as wavering as before, “I didn’t think I would… that was unexpected.”

“No, it’s somewhat normal,” you exaggerated slightly, “this kind of thing… it’s taxing, I pushed you to your limits. You were really tough, and it’s all very vulnerable.”

“Thanks,” he sighed, sniffling and wiping his eyes. “And sorry about your ropes,” he smiled as he noticed the frayed ends coming off of where his wrists were still tied.

“Let me help you get those off,” you smiled, loosening the knots and sliding the binds off of him, quickly massaging the places that the rope had constricted. “Blood flow’s okay?”

“Yep,” he nodded.

“You numb anywhere?” you pressed.

“Uh, just my dick. And my brain is all fuzzy…”

You smiled. “Can’t help the first one. Let me get you some water for the second.”

“No!” he yelped suddenly. “Um, don’t go yet, please…”

“Of course,” you smiled. “I’ll untie your ankles, then.”

He still seemed disappointed, as if he expected you to hug him for hours and never move. He let you go this time, though, and loosened his grip so you could slide down to the foot of the bed.

"Was that sort of what you were hoping for when you called me?" you asked as you untied the ropes slowly and took a moment to massage the skin underneath, hoping to restore any lost blood flow.

"So much better than what I was hoping for," he admitted with a breathless chuckle. "You're… really good."

"Well, thank you," you shrugged, "it comes with practice and experience. You held your own, too."

"I wish I could say that was from practice and experience. I didn't want to say anything before but I've, uh, never actually… been to a domme before."

You smiled slightly, coming back up and being pulled into another embrace. "Um, I'll admit I can kind of tell…" you mumbled.

"I'm not supposed to touch you like this," he realized quietly, relaxing his grip on you and pulling back. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's alright, just don't get too comfortable because we only have—" you glanced at the clock— "eight more minutes until you need to leave."

"I'll get up and get dressed soon," he offered with a sigh as you got up and quickly slipped on a robe, grabbing him a damp washcloth for the drying come on his torso.

You tilted your head as you watched him clean up, and you wanted to offer some touch that was a bit less intimate than a hug, so you found yourself blurting out: "do you like having your hair played with?"

"Um, I don't… I don't know," he admitted as he reached up to card his fingers through the hair in question. "No one else has ever really touched my hair before."

"Really?" you laughed, getting back on the bed to sit beside him. "It looks pretty luscious. I figured any girlfriend of yours would want to get her hands on it."

"Oh, well, the last time I had a girlfriend… it wasn't long then," he explained, and you kept on your best poker face. His hair looked like he'd been growing it out for at least two years, unless it grew crazy fast or something. How long had he been single? With a body like that you could barely believe that he was single now.

"Do you mind if I touch it?" you offered quietly, and once he gave you a nod you reached forward and combed your fingers through it, reaching deeper to scratch at his scalp, occasionally pulling the strands lightly into loose braid-like patterns that fell away almost immediately afterwards. He sank into your touch until you found yourself supporting his head against your chest, mindlessly playing with his hair until you noticed his eyes were shut, his breathing was slowed, and his body was limp on top of yours.

He fell asleep.

You laughed silently to yourself, realizing that you couldn't get him off of you without his cooperation since he was so heavy and you had no shot at lifting him. And, of course, his cooperation required his consciousness… which required waking him up.

And, for some reason, you couldn't bring yourself to do it. He just looked too peaceful, for a guy who had never seemed truly relaxed around you.

Was there any other way he could relax? Cause it kinda seemed like he really, really needed this. And you were in the business of meeting needs, to say the least.

So, with an apologetic text to your last client of the night that you needed to reschedule, you let James sleep on you as you closed your eyes and drifted off as well.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #sub!bucky barnes x domme!reader

2K notes · View notes

mypoisonedvine · 4 years

Text

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ ONLY

a = angst, f = fluff, s = smut, d = dark, 🎀 = ddlg, ✨ = most popular

𝒔 𝒆 𝒓 𝒊 𝒆 𝒔

Heavy Metal Lover | sub!beefy!Bucky Barnes x (dominatrix!reader) | 𝒔, (slight)𝐟, (eventual)𝒂 [COMPLETE]

Seeing Red | (bodyguard)Bucky Barnes (x actress!reader) | 𝒔, 𝐟, (slight)𝒂 [nine parts; COMPLETE]

Love, Theoretically | Sebastian Stan (Love, Actually AU) | 𝐟, (eventual)𝒔 [ten parts; COMPLETE]

✨ The Wrong Idea | stepdad!Lee Bodecker | 𝒔, 𝒅, 𝐟 tw: stepcest (part 1) (part 2) (headcanons and blurbs) (part 3) (pearl necklace: epilogue) [COMPLETE]

The Perfect Fit | Bucky Barnes | 𝒔, 𝐟 (part 1) (part 2) [COMPLETE]

Diplomacy | orc!Bucky Barnes | 𝒔, 𝐟 (part I) (part 2) [COMPLETE]

𝒐 𝒏 𝒆 𝒔 𝒉 𝒐 𝒕 𝒔

✨ Doctor Daddy | Sebastian Stan (x little!reader) | 𝒔, 🎀 (mob au)

A Beautiful Little Fool | Sebastian Stan | 𝒔, 𝒅 (The Great Gatsby au)

✨ A Lesson Earned Is a Lesson Learned | Chris Evans & Sebastian Stan (x little!reader) | 𝒔, 𝐟, 🎀

Closer | Bucky Barnes | 𝒔, (slight)𝒂

✨ A Year Gone By | Bucky Barnes | 𝒔, 𝒅, 🎀

Discretion | 40′s Bucky Barnes | 𝒔, (slight)𝒂

Rainstorm | Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier | 𝒔

Hunt | Slayer!Bucky (x vampire!reader) | 𝒔, 𝒅

Compromise | Bucky Barnes | 𝒔, 𝒅

You, Me, and Him | Bucky Barnes | 𝒔, 𝒅

Training Session | Bucky Barnes | 𝐟

More Human Than Human | Bucky Barnes | 𝒔, 𝒅, 𝒂 (Blade Runner au)

Exchanging Gifts | chubby!Bucky Barnes | 𝒔, 𝐟

Alternative Medicine | chubby!Bucky Barnes | 𝒔, 𝐟, 🎀

✨ Dishonorable Discharge | Bucky Barnes (x sister!reader) | 𝒔, 𝒅 (tw: incest)

Consolation | Bucky Barnes | 𝒔, 𝐟, 𝒂

✨ Liberation | Bucky Barnes | 𝒔, 𝒅

Vignettes of a Bond | alpha!Bucky Barnes | 𝒔, 𝐟, 𝒂 (tw: a/b/o)

✨ Bankrupt | Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers | 𝒔, 𝒅

✨ While You Were Sleeping | Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers | 𝒔, 𝒅

Serves You Right to Suffer | Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers | 𝒔, 𝒅

The Martyrdom of St. Valentine (and other romantic stories) | Bucky Barnes & foster brother!Steve Rogers | 𝒔, 𝒅 (tw: stepcest, kinda)

Family Reunion | Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers | 𝒔 (tw: incest)

✨ The Sort of Things We Usually Do Alone | Sam Wilson & Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers (x stripper!reader) | 𝒔 (mob au)

✨ First-Class Service | sugar daddy!Helmut Zemo & Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson | 𝒔, (slight)𝐟 // Poolside Service (part 2)

Seven Against One | Howling Commandos | 𝒔, 𝒅

Double Take | Charles Blackwood (& 40′s Bucky Barnes) | 𝒔, 𝒅

Stretch | Lance Tucker | 𝒔

Pearl Necklace | Lee Bodecker | 𝒔, 𝐟

Darkroom | werewolf!Lee Bodecker | 𝒔, 𝒅

Awestruck | Lee Bodecker | 𝒔, 𝐟

Sting | Lee Bodecker | 𝒔, 𝒅

Stuck With You | stepbrother!Carter Baizen | 𝒔, 𝒅 (tw: stepcest)

Rock the Boat | Jefferson/Mad Hatter (Once Upon A Time) | 𝒔, (soft)𝒅 (pirate au)

Hunter’s Moon | Chase Collins (The Covenant) | 𝒔, 𝒅

𝒉 𝒆 𝒂 𝒅 𝒄 𝒂 𝒏 𝒐 𝒏 𝒔

comforting bucky after a nightmare (fluff, gender neutral reader)

being steve’s sister and dating bucky

dark!daddy!bucky punishes you for coming without him 🎀

dark!bucky doesn’t let you come for a week

dark!bucky is your boyfriend but dark!steve wants in on the action

angst with destroyer!chris

dark!stucky use some alternative methods to keep you in line

dark!bucky manipulates you into helping him with his nightmares

dark!bucky drabble based on that one 🔪 pic from the men’s health shoot

daddy!bucky and your oral fixation 🎀

✨ you and steve switch bodies and bucky has some fun (part 2/prequel) (part 3)

daddy!stucky punish little!reader 🎀

sub!lee teaches you how to be in charge in bed

𝒔 𝒆 𝒓 𝒊 𝒆 𝒔

Satisfied | Andy Barber | 𝒂, 𝒔 [chapter 1] [chapter 2] [chapter 3] [chapter 4] [chapter 5] [COMPLETE]

✨ The Kind of Girl You Take Home to Mom | Andy Barber | 𝒔 [part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [COMPLETE]

First Chanukah Together (holiday mini-series) | Ari Levinson | 𝒔, 𝐟

𝒐 𝒏 𝒆 𝒔 𝒉 𝒐 𝒕 𝒔

Juicy Fruit | Chris Evans | 𝒔, 𝐟

Getting In Tune | Chris Evans | 𝐟

Cake By The Ocean | fratboy!Chris Evans | 𝒔

Rough Ride | biker!Chris Evans | 𝒔, 𝐟

A Lesson Earned Is a Lesson Learned | Chris Evans & Sebastian Stan (x little!reader) | 𝒔, 𝐟, 🎀

Feast | Steve Rogers | 𝒔, 𝒅

A Rare Brew | Steve Rogers | 𝒔, 𝒅

Eucharist | priest!Steve Rogers | 𝒔, 𝐟

✨ Bankrupt | Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers | 𝒔, 𝒅

✨ While You Were Sleeping | Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers | 𝒔, 𝒅

Serves You Right to Suffer | Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers | 𝒔, 𝒅

The Martyrdom of St. Valentine (and other romantic stories) | Bucky Barnes & foster brother!Steve Rogers | 𝒔, 𝒅 (tw: stepcest, kinda)

Family Reunion | Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers | 𝒔 (tw: incest)

✨ The Sort of Things We Usually Do Alone | Sam Wilson & Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers (x stripper!reader) | 𝒔 (mob au)

Seven Against One | Howling Commandos | 𝒔, 𝒅

Claimed | Andy Barber | 𝒔, 𝐟 (tw: a/b/o)

Ties That Bind, Debts That Burden | Curtis Everett | 𝒔, 𝐟

Fix | Mike Weiss | 𝒔, (slight)𝒅

Ear Candy | Mike Weiss | 𝒔, (slight)𝒂

Hungry Like The Wolf | Ari Levinson | 𝒔, (soft)𝒅

Shadowboxer | Ransom Drysdale | 𝒂, 𝒔

Home for the Holidays | Robert “Mr. Freezy” Pronge | 𝒔, 𝒅

Artificial Scarcity | Jake Jensen | 𝒔, (soft-ish)𝒅

Peaches & Cream | Jake Wyler | 𝒔, (soft-ish)𝒅

Aftershocks | Johnny Storm (x mutant!reader) | 𝒂, 𝒔

𝒉 𝒆 𝒂 𝒅 𝒄 𝒂 𝒏 𝒐 𝒏 𝒔

chris has a daddy kink

✨ chris has a breeding kink

dark!chris is your roommate and tampers with your panty drawer

asking chris to try anal

dark!steve is nice until you get into a fight

dark!steve gives you sex pollen to steal you from your boyfriend

mob!steve gets jealous easily

you were his high school bully, now ceo!steve wants revenge

dark!bucky is your boyfriend but dark!steve wants in on the action

dark!stucky use some alternative methods to keep you in line

✨ you and steve switch bodies and bucky has some fun // (part 2/prequel) // (part 3)

daddy!stucky punish little!reader 🎀

andy’s wife hires you to prove he’s cheating // (part 2)

andy stuffs all three of your holes

mr. freezy gets a new slave

angst with ransom

somnophilia/free use with mike weiss

dark!jake jensen tracks you down after you beat him in a video game

Tattletale | Sam Wilson | 𝒔, 𝒅 (stepbrother au, stepcest tw)

✨ The Sort of Things We Usually Do Alone | Sam Wilson & Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers (x stripper!reader) | 𝒔 (mob au)

✨ First-Class Service | sugar daddy!Helmut Zemo & Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson | 𝒔, (slight)𝐟 // Poolside Service (part 2)

headcanon: daddy!sam and little!reader 🎀

𝒔 𝒆 𝒓 𝒊 𝒆 𝒔

My Body Is A Cage | alpha!Laszlo Kreizler | 𝒔, 𝒂, 𝐟 [IN PROGRESS]

Twice | professor!Helmut Zemo | 𝒔, 𝐟, (slight)𝒂 [three parts; COMPLETE]

𝒐 𝒏 𝒆 𝒔 𝒉 𝒐 𝒕 𝒔

King of Hollywood | director!Daniel Brühl | 𝒔, 𝒅 (40s au)

✨ First-Class Service | sugar daddy!Helmut Zemo & Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson | 𝒔, (slight)𝐟

✨ Poolside Service | sugar daddy!Helmut Zemo & Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson | 𝒔, (slight)𝐟 (part 2 for first-class service)

Prestigious Position | Helmut Zemo | 𝒔, (soft)𝒅

Risk Management | Niki Lauda | 𝒔

Starstruck | Niki Lauda | 𝒔, 𝐟 (pornstar au)

All Bets Are Off | Niki Lauda | 𝒔, 𝒅

Rivalry & Revelry | Niki Lauda & James Hunt | 𝒔

Honey & Whiskey | Andrea Marowski | 𝒔, 𝒅

Throw Me A Bone | Andrea Marowski | 𝒔

Black Lotus | ??? | 𝒔, 𝒅

Talk Show Host | Dirk Brûlée | 𝒔, 𝐟, (slight)𝒂

Reedukation | Jan (The Edukators) | 𝒔, 𝒅

Under Your Spell | Tonda (Krabat) | 𝒔, 𝒅

Happy Little Pill | Alex Kerner | 𝒔, 𝒅

Tenebrae | Father Antonio (Intruders) | 𝒔, 𝒅

Loop | Mobius M. Mobius | 𝒔, 𝐟

Don’t You Forget About Me | Mobius M. Mobius | 𝒂

Taste | Vann Siegert (The Minus Man) | 𝒔, 𝐟

Bruce Banner

Sugar | 𝒔, 𝐟 (sugar daddy au)

Spoiled | 𝒔, 𝐟 (also sugar daddy au)

Side Effects | 𝒔, 𝐟

headcanon: getting fucked on the hood of sugar daddy!bruce’s car

headcanon: threesome with thor and bruce

headcanon: daddy!bruce and little!reader 🎀

headcanon: daddy!bruce enables your oral fixation 🎀

Peter Parker

Animalistic | 𝒔, 𝒅

✨ It’s Always The Quiet Ones | 𝒔, 𝒅 (college au)

headcanon: dark!peter is obsessed with his professor

Maria Hill

Quid Pro Quo | 𝒔, 𝐟

drabble: maria reminds you to be prepared

Thor Odinson

headcanon: threesome with thor and bruce

headcanon: thor and valkyrie are your doms

Valkyrie

headcanon: thor and valkyrie are your doms

drabble: serving valkyrie, the king of asgard, on her throne

Scott Lang

Second Chance | 𝒔, 𝒅

8K notes · View notes