#professor barnes au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

espinosaurusrexex · 9 months

Text

Revision

Professor!SteveRogers x Student!Female!Reader AU

summary: Professor Rogers was a lot of things, but for you, he was even more. A secret affair? A fun little side thing? You didn’t know yet. But you'd gladly seek out every possible moment with him until you did.

a/n: once upon a time I had a crush on my professor… this is what came out of it (don’t worry it didn’t really happen) but shame on me for keeping this in the drafts for so long

thank you @sebsgirl71479 for finding this gif and also very special thanks to @urcatslitterbox for taking the time and making one herself! you are the greatest!

word count: 3.3k

warnings: age gap (reader is of legal age of course), student/teacher relationship, a little fluff (because apparently I can’t do it without) this is obviously smut (dry humping, praise kink, unprotected p in v - wrap it before you tap it guys, slight overstimulation, voyeurism - if you squint), I don't know what else to tell you !MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ✶ 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ✧*･ﾟ

“Do you know why I asked you to stay, Ms. Y/L/N?” His arms crossed before his chest as his gaze followed the last students roaming amongst the rows of the vast lecture hall, a blonde strand of hair falling loose and settling in a soft curve over his eye. Professor Rogers looked intimidating, but so damn sexy as well. His biceps bulged beneath the checkered white and blue button-up, his sleeves halfway rolled up, restrained by his evenly muscular forearms.

“To be perfectly honest, Professor,” Your voice stayed even, a slight mockery undertone by the use of formality when you had called him far more personal things than that before. Steve, Stevie, Daddy... you shook out of it - there were still people here. “I don’t. I was quite confident that my assignment was to your... satisfaction.” A smug grin hid behind the last word, as you remembered the actual satisfaction that assignment had brought you as well.

Steve had to hide his smile, too. His eyes darted with amusement when he tilted his head forward to peer up at you through his thick lashes. Your eyes wandered to his legs. His tan chinos were tight on his muscular thighs and the way he leaned back with his knees spread even wider - holy mother of god.

He knew damn well how hot he was, and the annoying thing was that he also knew how to make it work for him. Steve reveled in the power his body language had over you.

He watched as your tights clenched together behind his desk. The simple movement of his fingers on a desk could make you keen thinking about the places they had done that before. His confidence seeped though every fucking vein in his body, dripping in thick undertones and slight remarks out of his mouth and invading your senses through his touch and smell.

He was to die for. Tall, muscular, charming, and older.

You looked him up and down again and as his head tilted to the side you knew exactly that he could read your every thought. His arms opened when the door closed behind the last student, one hand gliding to his inner thigh while the other motioned for you to step closer.

You did.

It was like an automatic response of your body. Though you leaned forwards on the wooden desk, your arms pushing inward to help the cleavage peeking through the collar of your top, Steve’s eyes pulled down in an instant as well.

“It certainly was.” He rubbed his beard. “I just thought it would be beneficial to go over it once more, highlight the good parts and make sure you know what made them so... enticing.” He leaned forward now, his fingers brushing yours on the sleek surface of the polished wood, though his eyes remained on your breasts. Steve wet his lips before his eyes flicked up to yours again. “I’m willing to thoroughly talk you through the rougher bits as well.”

“Are you implying they weren’t all good?”

“Oh, they were good, just not as good as other parts.”

It was a game. You knew that, and Steve knew that too. But the little role-playing brought an excitement to this ordeal that couldn’t be denied by either of you. He was like a magnet and your entire body felt like it was made of metal with the pull he had on you. You stood on your toes, pushing yourself further over the table, where Steve stayed entirely still. He was observing you, though. The slight intrigue in the twig of his brow when your lips came dangerously close to his. A fast glint to the double doors leading to the hallways full of students rushing to their next classes. There was no nervousness in his stare though. Steve actually liked the potential threat of getting caught. It spurred him on, enticed him, and turned him on beyond belief. You had learned that just the other week when he had dragged you behind the open door to the janitor's closet of the history building. He had absolutely no shame in getting his hands dirty while all the students walked past the dark room where Steve had his hand firmly pressed above your mouth as his other relentlessly plunged in and out of your wet cunt.

“Huh.” You pushed back. And even though the muscular blonde on the other side of the desk tried not to react, you caught his shoulder slouch in disappointment. You liked playing tough, though. While his perfume worked hard to pull you back into him, your feet shuffled a little further back, looking him up and down again. His legs were still manspreading on the chair and damn did those thighs look inviting. You knew they were.

The clock above the double door clicked louder now that the students outside had passed on to their next classes. You had one, too actually. But the professor was boring as hell and who wouldn’t trade a creepy scarf-wearing weirdo for this specimen of a man in front of you right now? Exactly: no one. But they didn’t have that chance. Steve had chosen you, reserved his glances and touches, and kissed for you and it was exciting. Getting to share his experiences, letting the older man take control of your body in such rough yet gentle ways.

Your legs strode around the desk as Steve’s eyes followed you through the room. His arms had reached out to you once you were close enough for him to grab and once his index finger looped in the belt loops of your jeans, he pulled you onto his lap. As your hands wandered to his shoulders, his snook around your waist, his thumb gently stroking the skin beneath your top. A shiver ran through you when he leaned back, his icy blue orbs piercing the air as they focused on yours, a small smile twinkling in the corner of his mouth.

“You look good.” You whispered, a hand smoothing over the collar. Steve’s lips escaped a laugh, and even though the sexual tension you build up with the sneaky conversation still lingered in the air, there was a softer, sweeter sound invading the atmosphere right this moment.

“I know you like the blue.” He mumbled when he dipped forward, his nose brushed your neck and a trial of goosebumps traveled down your back. The rasp in his voice stirred something in your stomach, a slight tingle shooting up to your brain and telling you ‘hey that’s hot!’ In bright and blaring neon lights.

Steve’s fingers ran down your legs and began massaging your thighs on each side of him. Another strand of hair came loose and fell forward. It tickled your neck as his mouth began to suck its way up to your sweet spot, your hands frantically cramming his shirt at the sudden attack. His tongue shot forward, soothing the place his teeth just nibbled on and the familiar burn ran over your skin as hisses and moans mixed in your mouth. Your hips jolted forward when he finally reached that spot behind your ear, hot breath blowing over the wet skin and a soft kiss right after.

“You smell...” A growl broke through his speech when your hips ground a second time. “So sweet...”

A jolt of confidence placed a grin on your lips. The perfume you wore had turned some heads before, but the only one that mattered was Steve’s. His mouth resumed his caress of your skin as his hand wandered to your ass, slowly pushing you forward and guiding you over the growing bulge beneath his pants.

“Ah, yes!” It was only a breath out when the seam of your jeans was pushed into your clit by the hardness in his lap, but - God did that feel good! Your back arched when he continuously ripped you over the spot, your hands buried in his hair, pressing him deeper into your skin, encouraging him to keep going.

“Goddamn...” His head switched to the other side of your neck, the skin on the neglected one already hot and tingly. But your sole focus lay between your legs, where his cock massaged your clit in perfectly firm rocking motions. The roughness of the jeans just added to the pleasure creeping through your body.

You could’ve gone like this forever, with the heat rising in your belly and Steve’s muffled panting lingering in the air, but Steve pulled away. A whine brushed over to him when his lips left your skin. You were burning from his touch but at the same time, a cool brush of goosebumps covered your body. It was crazy how much you craved his touch even when he was sitting right in front of you. His stare alone lit a fire within your stomach, butterflies flying wild patterns through every nerve ending when his light blue eyes found yours in the distance of the lecture hall. It had happened suddenly and spiraled beyond your control within days. And then, when he had finally kissed you, it was pretty clear that there was no going back. Steve was like a drug. Something you shouldn’t play with and something that was definitely illegal to pursue, but so so so freaking good because he made you feel things you could have never imagined.

His voice pulled you back to reality.

“As much as I like your ass in those jeans...” Steve tugged on your Jeans with dark eyes, the silver button glimmered in the lecture hall light when his rough fingers yanked on the material. “They need to go.” That last part was just a growl in your ear but the tire of it made you eagerly wiggle out of the blue denim.

You stepped out of your jeans once he had finally opened them and when his eyes fell on the underwear covering your heat, he pulled you closer by your hips. His thumbs drove circles over your skin, sending yet another tingle of excitement up your spine. His hands wandered back to your behind, squeezing and needing the flesh all while pressing you into his front.

Your lips attached to his neck like a magnet, your hand scraping the gruff on his chin with excited circles. A growl traveled past his lips when you reached his sweet spot - the one right beneath his ear, making him melt every time. A deviant smile spread about your face but before you could revel in the control you had over him - even if it was just for a short moment - he had you turned around, facing the rows of desks stretching to the walls.

“You’ve been doing this on purpose, haven’t you?” His hand wandered past your breasts down your front and stopped right by the edges of your panties, the other holding you by the hip, pressing his hard-on right to your back. The excitement shooting through you did nothing to hide, slick pooling between your legs, and your nipples already hard pebbles on your skin. “Putting on these scandalous little lace things thinking about how I’ll be seeing them today...” Warm breath tingled at your ear when he leaned closer, pushing his hand past the hem of the lace. “...taking them off of your perfect body.”

You moaned when his fingers slit past your folds, gathering some slick to smoothly roam about your clit.

“Maybe...” The shivers erupting from his touch interrupted your speech until you could collect yourself. “I’m always thinking of you, Stevie.” He bit your neck before his tongue smoothed over the spot again. It was a perfect interplay of pleasure and pain, the wet warm strokes of his tongue soothing the stinging and adding fuel to a desire only he could evoke in you.

“Say it again,” he growled, adding more pressure to the swollen bundle of nerves between your legs. You squirmed as the muscles in your abdomen tightened, clenching around nothing and reminding you what you had been missing. “What else are you thinking about?”

“Your hands all over my body...” Your hand guided his over to your breasts encouraging him to squeeze the soft flesh and breathing heavily when his thumb brushed over your hardened nipple. “Pushing me to bend over that desk while you fill me up with your big cock.”

“Nothing I’d rather do, doll.” Before you knew it your face was gently pressed against the cold and polished wood. Warm hands wandered to your ass where they pulled down your underwear painfully slow, having you fiddle in place impatiently.

“Now, don’t be so hasty, love. I gotta take my time.” You heard his belt unbuckle.

“Unfortunately, Professor, time is the one thing we do not have a lot of...” His hands stopped moving as you called him ‘Professor’, though you knew it wasn’t a bad thing. If anything, it probably turned him on more, which would hopefully speed up the process of him finally filling you up to the brim. Your pussy clenched at the thought of it again - a frustrating reminder of the emptiness you so wished to disappear.

“Too bad, I would have loved to play with you a little more.”

“Tick Tock...”

“As you wish, princess-” And before the words had even reached your ears, you felt his swollen tip nudge at your entrance, stroking up and down your slit to cover in your arousal as a sinful sound escaped Steve’s lips.

His hands found their way back to your waist before he finally pushed fully into you, leaving you no time to adjust to his size as he started pounding into you with an unrelenting pace. The burn wasn’t painful though. You knew he was big, and even though you had not believed that he would ever fit inside of you, Steve had managed to not only do that but also ruin you for every other man to ever come.

“Look at your greedy little cunt begging for my cock, practically sucking me in, doll.”

You couldn’t answer, too focused on holding onto the desk and controlling your body not to melt with his strokes as he pushed into you over and over again.

“Gripping me so tight... perfect little pussy.” A slap landed on your ass cheek to which you responded with another loud moan. If there had been a care for anyone to hear you doing the indescribable in this lecture hall before, Steve had certainly fucked it out of you by now. You turned your head watching as he spit down on his cock before it disappeared in you again, his head falling back with shut eyes while he reveled in every piece of pleasure you gave him.

“Fuck!” He locked eyes with you, a determined smirk painting his face when his hand wandered around your body again, finding your clit and rubbing tight little circles over the nub.

Your vision blurred as the hot pleasure crept up your spine. There was something about Steve’s touch that made you feel as though every nerve in your body fired twice and fast. You clenched around him again, watching with pleasure as his brows furrowed.

He picked up his pace, kicking your legs further apart and hitting an even deeper angle now.

“Oh my god!” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head before you closed them, trying to last longer than this. The feeling was just too good to let go of so soon. But with Steve’s hunky body towering over you and his cock stroking just the right spot with every moan he pulled from you, that seemed like an impossible task. You tried your best, though, but right when you thought that you would last a little longer, his fingers changed the direction of the circles on your clit and turned your brain to mush.

“I’m gonna- ah”

“The hell you are.” He pulled away, leaving you to whimper with the empty feeling you had never wanted back. But Steve pulled you up and turned you around in one swift motion, walking forward until you were pressed against the desk again. This time, though, he made you lay on your back with a hazy smile.

“I wanna see your pretty face when you come all over my cock.” He placed your legs on his shoulders and grabbed his dick to line it up with your entrance again. Then, he made sure to keep eye contact while he pushed himself into you once again, but this time, painfully slow.

You gripped him tight when he bottomed out, stroking the flesh on your thigh while he pulled back just to pound back in again.

“I fucking love this pussy,” he growled as his pace picked up much to your delight, “it’s mine. Tell me, baby.”

“Yes. Yes, it’s all yours, Stevie.” You couldn’t even focus on the words leaving your mouth at this point. You would say yes to anything he said just to make the feeling of his cock stroking your walls last forever.

“That’s a what?” He halted, raised eyebrows watching you expectantly.

“Yes, sir,” you smirked.

“Good girl.” The pressure built up again and when his hand found its way back to your clit, you felt like exploding. His pace didn’t falter, determination taking over while he watched himself slip in and out of you with hungry eyes.

You would be busting in seconds if he kept it up like this, your walls clenching tighter and tighter, your stomach feeling rock solid from the pleasure building up with every circle of his thumb and every stroke of his cock.

“Don’t hold back now, sweetheart. Let go. Give it to me.”

That was all it took for the knot to finally come loose. “Ah!” Your back arched off the table while your hands frantically searched for something to grip, the walls of your pussy fluttering and making your core be on fire with pleasure. It just intensified when Steve slowed his strokes to let you ride on the wave of bliss that made your body tingle.

When you relaxed again, you felt your walls pulsing with lazy delight. A weak smile shining through your hooded eyes when you watched him intensify his strokes again. Shaky whimpers left your throat when his cock brushed over your sensitive parts. He was close, too. You could feel him twitching inside of you, waiting for the perfect moment to let go. And you would give him just that.

“You make me feel so good, sir. Your big cock stretches me out, fills me up. I want you to come inside of me.”

“Fuck, keep going.” He closed his eyes, speeding up his movements and making the pressure build right up for you again.

“You’re so big. I can feel you in my stomach, baby. Make me come by just thinking about you. So sexy and strong and- ah oh!”

Steve’s movements staggered his cock twitching as his face contorted into pleasure while you felt his cum spill inside of you. The scene was erotic, and the sounds coming from the man above of you made you reach another orgasm, milking the last drop from him with every pulse of your walls.

Your chest heaved as you leaned your head back, watching the clock above the door. It was too sad this moment was ending.

Though Steve took his time. He watched his juices drip after he pulled out, whispering a low ‘perfect’ into the room that made your head feel hot.

How was this man making you flustered after shamelessly rearranging your guts in a public lecture hall?

“Put your jeans back on, doll. I don’t wanna get in trouble today.” He winked at you while he zipped up his pants and secured the buckle on top. You stood, fixing his slightly tossed hair and leaving your hand hovering over his jaw.

“Where’d you put my panties?” He kissed you.

“I think I’m gonna keep these,” Steve smiled while stuffing them into his back pocket.

“For revision, I presume?” You smiled with wicked eyes.

“Exactly.”

Here it is - finally! Please tell me what you think (hopefully it was worth the wait)! I've missed you guys so much; life is keeping me busy and excited for more. How have you been?? 💛

Wanna be added to the taglist?

@fangirl-swagg @mi-amoree1111 @lastwandastan @royalwritersoftheuniverses @dinwifey @stuckysgirl27 @broadwaybabe18 @buckybarnessimpp @goodkittyspost @simpxinnie @blackhawkfanatic @kandis-mom @circe143 @valkyrie418 @mirikusashes @noideawhyimdoingthislol @nikkitc0703 @lethallyprotected @erynnnn @misshale21 @wattpaduser200 @buckyseddie @adoreyouusugar @km-ffluv

760 notes · View notes

bucky-barnes-diaries · 2 years

Text

Day 10 — Cockwarming

Pairing || CollegeProfessor!Bucky x Student!Female!Reader

Word Count || Around 800

Contents & Warnings || Smut — NSFW, 18+ Only, Minors DNI, explicit content/language, undefined age-gap, pet names, professor x student relationship, cockwarming (which leads to unprotected sex), teasing, Sir kink, mention of bodily fluids.

Disclaimer || English is not my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings!

Kinktober Masterlist

You couldn’t sleep. Not without him by your side. You missed him, and you missed him. He was right next door in his office, but you felt bad about disturbing him while he worked late. You were needy and lonely without him, so you said fuck it and went to see him.

His door was slightly cracked open, so you peered your head in. You watched him, contemplating if you should go in after all when he looked so concentrated, but he heard you and called for you.

“Hey, baby, come in.”

You went in with your head down to the floor; your hand nervously stroked your arm.

“Can’t sleep?”

You shake your head no as you stand opposite where he’s sitting.

“I’m sorry, princess. I’ll be with you soon, ok? I just need to finish grading these papers.”

“Are you grading mine?” You smirk as you stand on your toes to peek at whose essay he’s scribbling on.

“Already have.” He pats the stack of papers beside him. “You’ll get it tomorrow in class. But you did good, my smart girl.” He winks.

Your heart fluttered at his praises and something else, which intensified your need for him.

“I miss you.” You pout.

“Come here.” He opened his arms for you. “You can sit on my lap while I finish. I promise I don’t have much left, ok?”

You straddled and snuggled into him, inhaling his comforting scent as you nuzzled your face in the crock of his neck. He went back to grading, and although you’d hoped being close to him would quench your need for him, you still didn’t feel satisfied. You wanted him closer.

You started grinding on him. The flimsy material of your sleeping shorts and cotton panties made it so you could feel his bulge stimulating your clit.

“I need you so bad, Sir.” You whimpered.

He groaned. You knew he could never resist when you moved against him and whimpered so sweetly in his ear.

“Would my dick in you make you feel better, princess?”

You nod.

He fumbled with his pants to get them open, pulling out his dick that was already hard from your grinding. You part your lips as you take him in your hand, smearing the leaking pre-cum on his tip.

He pushed your shorts and panties to the side. With two fingers, he ran them through your folds, groaning as he found you wet and ready for him.

Both of you forgot the initial plan as you touched one another until Bucky reminded you.

“Put it in, baby,” Bucky mumbled against your lips.

You lined his tip with your entrance and slowly sank onto his cock, wanting to feel every ridge and inch of him as he filled you up to perfection. You moaned in satisfaction and rolled your eyes as he was situated entirely in you. He sucked in a breath as your walls hugged him.

“So warm and tight for me, princess.”

You tried to move on him. Only getting in a few soft bounces before he stopped you and slammed you down on him again, making you cry out.

“Baby, be a good girl and let me work, yeah?” He caressed your cheek before he grabbed your chin. “I promise I’ll make it up to you once I’m done.”

You wanted to be a good girl for him, so you would try and be still as you snuggled into him once again.

He went back to grading the papers. It seemed like it didn’t phase him that he was buried deep inside your pussy, but for you, it was torture. So painfully pleasurable to have him nestled so deep inside you, tickling your sweet spot with the tip of him.

You tried your best to resist moving on him, but once he adjusted himself in the seat, it caused his cock to shift and hit your sweet spot perfectly, making you whimper at the stimulation.

Bucky pulled you closer with his hand on the small of your back, burying himself deeper, if that was even possible.

You tried to be sneaky with your movements. Starting with rocking so very slowly back and forth on him before you started to bounce up and down on his cock.

He slammed you down again as he grabbed the back of your neck, making you look at him.

“You really can’t sit still, huh?

“N-no, Sir.”

“Bad girl.”

He cleared some space on his desk before he sat you on top and rammed his cock hard inside you, making you cry and shut your eyes tight at his brutal move.

He harshly grabbed your jaw as he got all up in your face.

“I’m gonna show you what I do with bad girls that misbehave. You’ll wish you didn’t disobey me.”

Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated! Or let me know through an anonymous ask if that feels more comfortable. As well as a reblog to share my work with other people!

I don’t do taglists so please follow @bucky-barnes-diaries-library and turn on notifications to never miss out on my writing!

2K notes · View notes

buckrecs · 1 year

Note

Hey hey! Do you have any professor!Bucky series and one shot recommendations? Thanks in advance 💖

Professor!Bucky

masterlist | req masterlist

ONESHOT

Office Hours by @gogolucky13

Professor Barnes gives you a bad grade and you visit him during his office hours to find out why.

honeybee by @wndalovebot

Redamancy by @world-of-aus

Bucky Barnes had no idea about your feelings for him, except that he did.

Bad Intentions by @seventven

dr barnes, y/n’s psychology professor and final year thesis supervisor is going through a rough patch in his marriage. following a heated argument at the end of class, dr barnes spots y/n at an on-campus bar. he makes a twisted revelation.

Imagine by @metalbuckaroo

“you’ve got a pretty mouth.” & “this could get me fired.”

Mastery by @urvenicebtch

Your history professor, Mr. Barnes asks you to stay after class for extra help which leads to...*ahem*... other things(;

“You are. Every inch. The fantasy.” by @becca-e-barnes

Buttoned Up by @disturbedbydesign

Even though you were one of the top students in his class, Professor Barnes had always been cold to you. You had tolerated his indifference all semester, but when his end-of-term dinner party invites went out and you weren't on the list, you decided it was the last straw—it was time to confront him about it and find out what the hell his problem was. The answer would surprise you.

Tenure Track by @disturbedbydesign

You and Professor Barnes had been at each other's throats from the moment you met, and when a tenure position opens up in your department, the claws come out.

Like Real People Do by @navybrat817

Bucky decides to stop being professional and take what he wants.

Imagine by @saltiestdemonloves

where you sleep on his couch while he works late so he can keep an eye on you

Professor Bucky by @buckycuddlebuddy

masterlist by @bucky-barnes-diaries

SERIES

Steel Blue by @youlightmeupfinn

When you experience the most intense night of the summer alongside Bucky, who you nickname Steel Blue, you weren't expecting to fall pregnant. When a positive pregnancy test meets your eyes a few days before school starts, you know it belongs to the man who you'd never see again. Until you walk into your Romanian Linguistics class and he's your professor.

ephemeral by @aescapisms

Bucky Barnes fell in love with you, but the universe isn’t all that forgiving.

“sup, professor @/bbarnesjames” by @aescapisms

Bucky Barnes is the “most handsomest man” that you have ever laid your eyes on and oh, would you look at that. He’s your professor.

Show Me Love by @lenavonschweetz

Where sex-on-legs Dr. Barnes is your History professor that makes it impossible to pay attention in class. Perhaps it’s the danger of it all, but god help you - you can’t stay away.

Busted by @mysterioh

Nat asks you about a certain contact by the name of “Bucky Boo Bear 🐻💖💕💗” and gets the surprise of a lifetime.

+ All Yours by @sinner-as-saint

Student!Bucky x Professor!Reader

One of your students confess their feelings for you and things get interesting...

#bucky barnes fic rec #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes fluff #professor!bucky #teacher!bucky #professor!bucky x student!reader #professor!bucky x professor!reader #student!bucky x professor!reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes modern au #bucky barnes social media #bucky barnes social media au #bucky barnes smau

687 notes · View notes

navybrat817 · 2 years

Note

Knock knock

Who’s there?

PROFESSOR BUCKY FUCKING BARNES THOTS ONLY 🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵

#RIPaquaspusspuss

Panty ruiner, Aqua! 🔥

Like Real People Do

Pairing: Professor!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky decides to stop being professional and take what he wants.

Word Count: Over 1.3k

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), age gap, slight power imbalance, swearing, possessive behavior, Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?).

A/N: I should be working on other things, but why not? Might be a thing. Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by @rookthorne . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications and please reblog or comment as it means the world!

Bucky had seen his fair share of students during his career. Most didn't care about his lessons and he had to remind himself that it didn't matter becaus he loved teaching. His favorite part of teaching this year, however, is seeing you. Each class, you sat in the front row, paid attention and actively participated, and aced every quiz and exam.

He was certain you were trying to kill him.

Why else would you show up in dresses and skirts with stockings and heels? Why did you ignore the jocks and every other guy in class who tried to get your attention? And why did you hand in your assignments last and brush your fingers against his every single time?

His own personal temptress.

Bucky tried to be good. He was a professional, a man in his 30's. Sleeping with a student was a line he never thought about crossing, but you made it hard for him to think of anything else. Especially after you bent down to pick up the book you dropped after his last class and revealed your silk panties.

Were they as wet as he imagined?

Did you know he was staring?

"See you next class, professor."

"No," he said before he could stop himself. "See me in my office."

He had to put himself out of his misery.

Sitting across from him at his desk a few minutes later, he wasn't exactly sure what to say. He couldn't remember the last time he wanted someone as badly as you. How did a mere glance from you shake his confidence?

"Professor?" you asked, playing with the hem of your skirt.

He cleared his throat and loosened his tie. "Yes?"

"Why haven't you fucked me yet?"

Bucky was a dead man.

"Excuse me?" he asked because he was sure he hadn't heard you correctly.

"You heard me. You think I wear outfits like this for everyone? I caught you staring, so I kept wearing them," you smiled as you opened your legs, revealing your panties again. There was no mistaking the wet spot this time. "Like what you see? Or did I read this wrong?"

Bucky swore all the blood in his body rushed to his cock. His mouth watered as he stared, wondering how you'd taste on his tongue. He wanted to drown himself in you.

If he was going to hell, would it be wrong to have a bit of heaven?

"I'm sorry, professor," you said, quickly shutting your legs when he didn't speak. The certainty of the situation visibly left your body as you scrambled to get your bag. "I'm so sorry. I'll go."

He slowly stood up and placed his hands on his desk, needing to take back some control. You were offering yourself to him. He was going to selfishly indulge.

No, he couldn't let you leave.

Thankfully, he remembered to lock the door.

"I didn't say you could go," he said, leaning forward an inch when you froze. "Get your panties off and bend over my desk. Now."

Determination filled your eyes again as you smiled. "Yes, professor."

You had your breasts pressed against the desk as he stroked himself, his cock so hard it almost hurt. He could see the tremor in your body as he flipped your skirt up and spread your legs further apart, your ruined panties on the floor where you left them. He'd take his time with you later. But the groan of relief he let out when he slid home, his eyes fluttering shut at the feel of your wet walls around his cock, it had to be quick and dirty now.

"Fuck me," you begged, pushing your hips back when he stilled. "Please, professor.

"Bucky," he corrected you, smirking as he looked down to see you stretched around him. "I'm not just some professor, so you say my name when I fuck you."

"Bucky," you sighed when he began to thrust, holding on as he gripped your hips.

"Good girl," he praised, the sound of his name on your lips a sinful sound he wanted to hear again. "Fuck, your greedy cunt keeps sucking me back in. Tell me how good my cock feels."

You gasped as he pushed deeper, eagerly rocking back as much as you could. The way you squirmed, he knew you'd be a sight fucking yourself on his cock. He couldn't wait to watch your breasts bounce as you took all of him.

"Answer me," he practically growled, bringing his hand down on your ass. "Always such a good student. Don't be bad now."

"Feels so good," you whined, looking briefly over your shoulder before you pressed your cheek to the desk. "Touched myself thinking of you. Feels so much better."

"Touched yourself thinking of me? My dirty girl. I'm no better. Wanted to fuck you the first day," he grunted, bringing his hand down again. "Next class, don't wear any panties. You hear me? Your pussy belongs to me now."

Instead of putting himself out of his misery, he was becoming addicted.

You moaned as Bucky fucked you in earnest. "Yes, it's yours. I'm yours. Please!"

He leaned down, bringing a hand around to cover your mouth. "Be as loud as you want when I take you home," he grunted in your ear.

He never wanted to stop fucking you. Not with how good you felt. He was powerless to stop himself from driving deep inside you, your body made to sin with him. Maybe one day he'd fuck you before class so he could seep out of you, the boys around you none the wiser.

Consequences be damned.

Bucky kept his thrusts deep and steady when he felt your walls begin to flutter. With how wet you were, he hoped you dripped on his desk. "Gonna come for me, aren't you? You want me to come in you," he groaned, the desk creaking from his tough movements as he removed his hand.

"Come in me, please," you begged, your delicious moans filling the room again. His control started to slip away as you clenched harder around his cock. "I-I'm on the pill. Fill me up."

"Beg me for it," he demanded, if only for him to remember later when he jerked off.

"Please, Bucky."

A man could only take so much.

"Come."

You tipped over the edge as his hand smothered you again, your cry of his name muffled as you gushed around him. He helped you ride out your orgasm, praising you under your breath as he chased his end. He buried himself as deep as he could go as he came, your pussy still fluttering as he finished.

His heart pounded in his chest as he gently pulled out moments later, almost coming again at the sight of your mixed release leaking from you. "Fuck," he whispered, helping you upright and fixing your skirt.

Your legs shook as you turned slightly, blindly finding his lips with yours. He brought a hand up to your cheek to deepen the kiss. You were smiling.

That felt even better than the amazing sex the two of you just had.

"So, I didn't read this wrong?" you smiled wider.

"Not at all," he smiled, giving you another quick kiss before he fixed his pants. He cleared his throat as you straightened the rest of your clothes, suddenly worried that this was a one-time thing. "I hope this isn't too forward, but I do want to see you again."

"Too forward considering you fucked me on your desk?" you pointed out. "I want to see you again, too."

He sighed with happiness. "And I meant what I said. You can be as loud as you want when we're actually alone," he winked before his phone went off.

"Oh, I plan to be," you smirked, gesturing for him to get his phone.

He grabbed it and saw a message from Steve.

"Guess you didn't hear me outside of your office. You have fun?"

He scoffed, giving you another gentle smile as you grabbed your underwear, before he typed back. "I did. And I'm not sharing."

"Don't worry. I have my eye on my own student."

Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ KoFi

#navybrat writes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #professor!bucky barnes #professor!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes au #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x you

2K notes · View notes

pinkiebieberpie · 1 year

Text

shoutout to my bestie for giving me professor bucky idea - because that is beefy!professor!bucky 100%, to be more specific it's literature professor and he is the most romantic man you have ever met, i can picture him writing poems for you, reading you books out loud, always making you coffee in the morning before going to work... aah where can i get one?? and he looks fantastic in suits and sweaters and without clothes, obviously. he's a big boy.

bucky moodboards list

349 notes · View notes

steevbuckk · 7 months

Text

FAVORITE STUCKY FICS | 55/100

Introduction to Fake Dating Your Best Friend 101 by @spacerenegades

[Fake relationship, 24 627 words, Teen And Up Audiences]

Summary:

Bucky stares at his best friend as though he’s absolutely lost what’s left of his dumbass mind.

“Excuse me?” he asks dumbly.

Steve sighs and sags back onto the couch, covering his face dramatically with one large, well-manicured hand.

“Dean Coulson thinks we’re dating. And gay. But like, for each other. And now I need you to fake date me so I can convince the Chancellor to fund my research.”

or;

Steve and Bucky are a pair of professors who have to fake date for academic purposes and are real dumb along the way. It's not so much a forest of pine as a whole landscape of it. It turns out fine, probably.

more fics

98 notes · View notes

darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor · 2 years

Text

Forbidden Lessons Masterlist

Summary: Your professor gives you special lessons. (Loki)

Status: In Progress

Forbidden Lessons

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Part 15

Part 16

Part 17

Part 18

Part 19

Part 20

Part 21

Part 22

Part 23

Part 24

Part 25

Part 26

Part 27

Part 28

Part 29

Part 30

Path A Ending

Part 31

Part 32

Part 33

Part 34

Path B Ending

Part 31

Part 32

Part 33

Part 34

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #au #professor au #drabble series #series #mcu #marvel #loki x reader #bucky barnes

935 notes · View notes

lunarbuck · 1 year

Text

The Kiss (prof!bucky x f!reader)

AU- Professor/Student

Pairing: professor!bucky x f!reader (any race)

WC: 4.2k

Summary: You’ve always had a crush on Professor Barnes… little did you know he has been hiding some feelings of his own

Warnings: age difference, fluff, oral (f receiving), smut (p in v), pet names (Sir, sweetheart, baby), praise

A/N: this is my entry for @the-slumberparty Week 4 challenge! the AU I got was professor/student and I've been wanting to write this for a long time!!! I hope you guys enjoy <3

full masterlist

“That’s it for today. You’re all dismissed.” Book bags and jackets zip loudly as the small lecture center begins to empty. You start packing up your things, but you don’t get out of your seat yet. This certainly has been your favorite of all the classes you’ve taken in the past four years. White Collar Crime, taught by Professor Barnes, is one of the most interesting courses you’ve taken, and you also love the professor.

Prof. Barnes is a lawyer by day, and a lecturer by evening, as he says. And though he’s often incredibly busy with cases, it's easy to see how passionate he is about teaching. You watch as he packs up his belongings, a few students quickly asking him questions about the upcoming exam. Prof. Barnes used to seem scary and intimidating to you, but after a few weeks, you started catching glimpses of his grin, of light in his eye, and you’ve been a goner ever since.

His features are sharp, and he always looks so put together. His brown hair is clipped close on the sides and kept short on top, which suits his personality well. His broody exterior is one that most people fear, but it just draws you in, and you can’t seem to stay away.

You grab your things and start toward the front of the room. Typically, you make up a question as an excuse to talk to him, but today you have a real one. You’re the last student in the room, and Prof. Barnes is already watching you approach.

“Hi,” you greet, rocking back and forth on your heels momentarily. “Last week, you mentioned being able to go over our exam answers with you, so we know what to study. Could I schedule time with you to do that?” You do your best not to let your eyes drift from his, but it’s tough. His shirts are always perfectly tailored to him, showing off his broad shoulders and strong legs.

Prof. Barnes doesn’t smile, but you can see the warmth in his eyes, which is better, in your opinion. “Of course. Do you have time now? This was my last class of the evening, so we can just go right to my office.” Your heart stutters in your chest at his words. You’ve gone to his office hours a few times, but there’ve always been other students outside or in the office with you. You’ve never been alone with him like that.

And as it turns out, you don’t have anything going on for the rest of the night. “That works for me,” you say, grinning. Prof. Barnes leads the way out of the lecture hall and to the building where his office is. Even though neither of you speaks the entire way, you’re buzzing. He walks close enough that sometimes your arms brush, and you can smell his cologne.

When you arrive in his office, Prof. Barnes instructs you to sit across from him at his desk while he gets everything ready. The office is filled with books and papers, organized in a way that doesn’t quite make sense to you, but you can imagine it’s perfect for Prof. Barnes. Your eyes trail over the spines of the books, and you notice that not all are law books, but many of them are classics.

“So, here’s your last exam,” he says, pulling your attention back to him. Prof. Barnes has laid out your scantron page as well as the exam itself, and has your grades pulled up on his computer. “You did very well, which I’m not surprised by, and the questions you did get wrong, the whole class struggled with.” Your mind short-circuits as he speaks. He’s paid enough attention to you not to be surprised by your good grade? The class itself isn’t very big, all things considered, but there are 50 students, and this isn’t the only class he teaches.

“Oh, thank you, Sir,” you reply shyly, surprised that that’s what you called him. You’ve never addressed him that way, but you love how it felt. The corner of his mouth tips up into an almost smile as he suppresses a slight shiver.

“You don’t have to call me that,” he adds, flipping through the exam booklet. You quirk an eyebrow, silently asking him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. He finds the first question you got wrong. “So here’s what you said,” he points to your answer on the scantron. “What do you think the right answer is?”

His bright blue eyes watch you as you think, tracing over your features like he’s trying to analyze you. You try not to shrink under his gaze.

“Differential association?” You suggest, not entirely sure of the response, but the way Prof. Barnes’ eyes light up tells you you’re right.

“Correct,” he says, marking down your answer on a new sheet of paper. “Good girl.” The words slip out, almost as if he didn’t mean for you to hear them, but you did, and they go straight to your lower belly, lighting a spark. Prof. Barnes doesn’t acknowledge what he’s said, opting to continue through the other questions you missed.

Each time you answer a question correctly, he smiles a little more, and looks a little more pleased. But all you can focus on is how he called you ‘good girl’. It echoes through your head, making your heart beat faster and heat lick in your belly.

As you answer the last question, Prof. Barnes’ tongue traces over his lower lip. Your eyes track the movement, and you suck in a breath. He nods, indicating your answer is correct and clasps his hands on the desk.

“You’re more than ready for the exam,” he tells you, keeping eye contact. “You need to give yourself more credit, and trust that you know the answer. You’re smart. Trust your gut, okay?” You nod, unable to tear your eyes away from his.

“Thank you, Sir,” you say, voice breathy. Alarm bells go off in your head that you’ve definitely alerted Prof. Barnes to the state that you’re in, but honestly, you don’t care. You’re sure women throw themselves at him constantly, probably even some students. He’s handsome in that classic way, strong features and bright eyes. He knows he’s attractive; he knows people want him.

He’s close enough that if you leaned in a bit, you could kiss him. You’re desperate to know what his lips would feel like against yours, what he’d taste like. Would he hold your face to lead the kiss? Would his fingers tangle in your hair?

Even though you don’t want to, you stand and gather your things. As you walk toward the door, you hear Prof. Barnes approach. He reaches the door before you and stands in front of it, blocking your exit.

He opens his mouth but closes it immediately like he isn’t sure what to say. His eyebrows furrow, and he takes a deep breath. “You liked it,” he states, as if that’s enough information for you to go off of. When you don’t respond, he continues. “You liked when you called me ‘sir’ and when I said you were a good girl.” His voice doesn’t waver, but he fists his hands like he’s holding himself back from something.

Your lips fall open, stunned at his observation. The way he’s speaking to you now makes the coil in your belly tighten, thinking about how he’d called you a good girl only fueling the feeling.

“You’re easy to read,” he continues. “You always stay after class to ask me questions. You come to my office hours when we both know damn well you don’t need the help. You bit your lip when you called me ‘sir’. You shivered when I called you ‘good girl’.” Your breathing has sped up, causing your chest to heave.

You don’t know what to say. You’re not sure you’d know how to speak even if you had the words.

“You thought I wouldn't figure it out, didn’t you, sweetheart?” He steps toward you, grips your jacket, which you’ve been clutching to your chest this whole time, and tugs it from your arms. “You thought I hadn’t seen you, that I hadn’t noticed you.”

You nod as he closes the distance between you. His smell invades your nostrils, making you feel dizzy.

“Well, I noticed, sweetheart.” Prof. Barnes places his hands on the sides of your jaw, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. He’s giving you time to pull away, giving you an out. But you don’t want it. You rest your hands in the bend of his arms and nod, giving him the permission he needs.

Prof. Barnes leans in and kisses you, pressing his lips gently to yours. He tilts your head slightly like you imagined he would, but you could never have imagined how soft his lips are. How good it feels to have his breath wash over your cheek. He tastes like coffee and something sweet, something distinctly him. He pulls you closer, removing the small space between your bodies, leaving you pressed against his chest. Prof. Barnes’ left hand leaves your face, shifting to cup the side of your neck before sliding down your back. It settles on your lower back, pressing you into him even more.

You whimper into the kiss at the feeling of him, of being so close, and he takes the opportunity to nip at your bottom lip. When he pulls away, you’re breathless. “You taste so sweet,” he muses, a smile growing on his face. “Just like I knew you would.”

For the next two weeks, Professor Barnes cancels class. Even when he’s busy with a case, he never cancels; he just switches the class to online. You can’t help but feel like it’s because of you. Because of the kiss.

The kiss.

It plays on repeat in your head; it follows you into your dreams. How his lips molded to yours and his hands held your head, how they pressed you into him. It was all so perfect; it felt so right. But maybe it didn’t feel that way for Prof. Barnes. After he’d kissed you, you’d stayed for a little longer, wrapped up in him, but he got a call and had to leave right after. He’d kissed you on the way out, saying he’d see you soon, but you haven’t.

You were supposed to have Prof. Barnes’ class today. It was supposed to be a review day for the exam next class, but again, class is canceled. Once you finish your morning classes, you have no reason to stay on campus, so you start walking back to your apartment. Your phone buzzes, and when you pull it out, you find another text from your roommate begging you to go out tonight. You’ve been trying to get out of it, but you’re in the mood for a distraction, so you give in.

Later that night, you find yourself at one of the bars near campus. It’s not as packed as you thought, so you go to the bar and almost immediately get the bartender’s attention. He leans over the bar to hear you better, but you don’t miss the way his eyes roam over your figure before reaching your eyes again.

“What can I getcha?” He asks, giving you a smile. You rattle off your order and something for your roommate and make pleasant, if not flirtatious, conversation with the bartender. He’s cute but not really your type. Your type these days has been older, broodier, more intense…

You need to stop thinking about Professor Barnes. You need to get him out of your system.

The bartender, whose name you’ve learned is Troy, sets your drinks down in front of you with a wink, and you smile in return, sliding the cash over to him. Your roommate grabs her drink quickly before running off to say hi to one of her other friends, leaving you at the bar alone. You turn around to find somewhere a little less crowded when you feel someone’s eyes on you.

It takes you a second, but your gaze connects with two familiar bright blue eyes, and your breath catches in your throat.

Bucky

She saw me.

I watch as the bartender gets her attention again, and though I can’t hear what they’re saying, I see her smile at him. I clench my teeth at the sight. The bartender slides something across the bar to her, and she looks surprised but accepts it, tucking it into the back pocket of her tight jeans.

She looks incredible tonight in her fitted shirt and those jeans that make her ass look perfect. The bartender gets pulled away to do his job, and I watch as the woman that has occupied my thoughts for so long turns back around and finds me in the crowd.

She is like a ray of fucking sunshine, so bright in my life, and as she walks toward me slowly, I can practically feel her warmth already. She approaches me tentatively like she’s worried I’ll disappear the moment she gets close enough to touch.

“Professor Barnes,” she whispers, but I hear her despite the noise of the crowd. It’s pathetic, the way my cock hardens just at her voice, but she has me wrapped around her little finger, whether she realizes it or not.

“Sweetheart,” I reply. I don’t miss the way she shivers, the way heat flares in her eyes.

“Where’ve you been?” She asks, fiddling with the straw in her drink. She’s avoiding eye contact, but I want to see her beautiful eyes. I stand, towering over her, and that gets her attention. She tilts her head up, and I have to stifle a groan at the sight of her looking up at me with those doe eyes.

“Did you miss me, sweetheart?” She nods just a little as if her head did it without her mind’s consent. I let my fingers trail up her bare arm, her skin soft against my calloused hand, until my hand cups her jaw. She leans into my touch, and I brush my thumb over her cheek.

I lean in, getting close enough that her shaking breaths fan over my face, and whisper, “I missed you too.” She tilts her head to try and kiss me, but I hold her face still. We’re in a bar on campus full of students. I can’t risk us being seen like this. Even touching her is dangerous.

“Oh.” She sounds defeated, and my chest squeezes. I’m not rejecting her. Quite the opposite, actually.

“The things I want to do to you, sweetheart,” I tell her, leaning my forehead against hers. “I cannot do in this bar.” Her breath stutters and her eyes glaze over with need. She quickly downs her drink and finds her roommate to tell her she’s leaving. When she returns to me, her nerves and excitement pour from her, and I feel myself beginning to smile.

“Where are we going?” She asks, her tongue darting out to wet her lower lip. I tangle my fingers with her and tug her toward the door. My car is parked a block away. I didn’t drink. I didn’t come here to drink, so I’m good to drive.

The drive to my place is only about 10 minutes, but it feels like hours. I grip the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles go pale. I’m desperate to taste her again, to feel her writhing against me. I’d wanted to take her right then and there in my office, but it was too risky. I’m so close to having her after waiting for what’s felt like forever.

We pull into the driveway of my house, and I watch her take a deep breath. I can tell she’s nervous, but I also see the way she’s watching my every move, the way she so clearly wants me.

I shut the front door behind her, and I’m on her. I press her back against the door and kiss her. She tastes so fucking good, so soft and sweet against my lips. She grips my jacket as my fingers tangle in her hair. My tongue swipes across the seam of her lips, and she opens for me with a moan.

“You’re so sweet, baby,” I whisper against her lips. She shudders, arching against me. My cock is hard in my jeans, and I grind against her to show her just how much she affects me. I kiss her again, drinking in the way she reacts to every touch.

“Please,” she moans. I pull back slightly and take in the way her face is twisted in pleasure.

“Please, what, sweetheart?” She furrows her brows in frustration, and I can’t help but smirk as she does it. She’s so worked up, but I want her begging.

She pants for a moment before finding her words. “I just need you,” she whispers. “Please, Sir, I need you so bad.” Her voice comes out a needy whine, and the way she calls me sir nearly sends me over the edge.

“Good girl.” I press a bruising kiss to her again before I pick her up princess-style. I walk her up the stairs to my bedroom and toss her on my bed. I can’t believe I haven’t done this sooner, that I tried to deny myself the pleasure of seeing her on my bed, panting and wanting.

I shrug off my jacket and toss it aside before approaching the bed. She looks up at me with big doe eyes, those eyes that watch me every time we’re in class, the ones that I’ve seen in my dreams. I lean over the bed and grab her ankles, tugging her until her legs hang over the edge.

She watches my hands as I run my hands up her legs, appreciating every beautiful curve of her body. My fingers tease the skin above her waistband. I move to unbutton her jeans, waiting for her to tell me to go on, and once she nods, I peel them off her.

I am breathless, utterly hypnotized by her as I kneel at the foot of the bed. Her panties are simple, lacy and black, and when I run my thumb up and down over her pussy, she lets out the most beautiful moan.

“You know how long I’ve wanted this?” I ask, rubbing a circle over her clit. She shakes her head, fisting the sheets. “Since the day I saw you, I’ve wanted you. Every time you came to my office, I wanted to kick everyone out and put you over my desk. I’ve wanted to keep you after class every day, have you moaning my name so loud it would echo in the lecture hall.”

When she lets out a strangled moan, I pull her panties down and revel in how gorgeous and wet she is. I tuck her panties into my pocket and run my hands over her bare skin. She shivers and tries to pull her legs together, but I don’t let her.

“I’ve wanted to taste you since I saw you. You gonna let me taste you, sweetheart?” I ask, adding a teasing tone to my voice.

“Please,” she begs. “Please, Sir.” I grin at her pussy and dive in. The second my tongue swipes over her pussy she arches, her fingers digging into my hair. She lets out a string of expletives as I suck her clit and explore her perfect cunt.

She tastes so much better than I ever could have imagined, and I know I’ll be addicted to this forever. She is so responsive, so sensitive to every swipe of my tongue, and all it does is make me work harder for her. I graze my teeth over her clit, and she jolts but pulls my hair more, guiding me to exactly where she wants me.

I work her up more and more until I feel her trembling beneath me. “You wanna come, sweetheart?” I ask, sliding a finger into her pussy. She’s hot and tight around my finger, and I feel her clench around it.

“Yes, please,” she replies, voice breathy from the pleasure. I click my tongue in mock-disappointment. I nip at her inner thigh, soothing the bite with a kiss.

“Please, who? Who’s making you feel good? Who’s gonna make you come?” She squirms a little and tries to get me to keep eating her out, but I don’t give in, no matter how much I want to keep tasting her.

“Please, Sir,” she amends. “You’re making me feel so good, please, Sir. I need you so bad.”

“Such a good girl,” I groan. I double my efforts on her clit and slide a second finger inside her, hitting a spot that makes her twitch.

Her legs tighten around my head as she comes, and it takes everything in me to not come right along with her. I ease up when I notice her getting too sensitive and kiss my way up her body.

“You’re perfect,” I tell her, sucking a mark on her neck. She helps me pull her shirt and bra off before she starts working my shirt off as well. A moment later, we’re both naked, and I love the way her eyes trace over every inch of me.

She pulls me in for another kiss, and I lean on my forearms, keeping myself hovering just over her.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” she tells me between kisses. “Wanted you for so long.” I grin into the kiss, then pull away to dig through my bedside table for a condom. She watches with hooded, lust-filled eyes.

“This okay?” I ask, rolling the condom onto myself. I don’t think I’ve ever been this hard in my life. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone how I want her.

She nods enthusiastically. “Please, Sir, please fuck me.” My head lulls back at her words.

I line myself up with her pussy and push in just a little, watching her face contort. Inch by inch, I sink inside her wet heat, and once I’m fully inside her, I let out a low moan. I give her a moment to adjust before I pull out and slam back in.

I know I should be gentle, that I should warm her up to this, but I can’t. There will be time for gentleness, and now’s not that time. I set a brutal, deep pace, and she takes it like the good girl she is.

Her fingers scrape down my back as she urges me on, legs wrapping around me to keep me close. I knew she’d be able to take it. I knew she’d be good for me. I tell her over and over how perfect she feels, how good she’s taking me, and every word of praise makes her squeeze tighter around me.

“Oh my god, I’m so close,” she moans.

“Come for me, sweetheart. Come all over my dick.” I keep doing what I know she likes and watch as she falls apart beneath me. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than this. Than her. Once she comes down from her high, I switch our position. I turn her over and hike her ass up, keeping her head low on the mattress. My mouth waters as I press into her again. Her jaw drops open, and her eyes squeeze shut, and I start fucking her again.

Each sound she makes goes straight to my cock. Every moan, every whimper, brings me closer to the edge. I grip her hips hard, but I don’t care if I’m leaving marks. I want her to see them, to run her fingers over them as she thinks about the way I made her come on my cock.

My hips start to stutter, my thrust getting sloppy as I get closer and closer to coming. I wish I could fill her up and see my cum drip out of her, but I know we’re not there yet. I haul her chest up, pressing her back to my front, and snake my hands around her. One of my hands cups her neck, not choking her but gripping it, and the other teases her breast. My fingers tweak her nipple, and she jolts in my hold.

“You like it when I fuck you like this?” I ask, punctuating my words with deeper thrusts. She moans but doesn’t answer. “Answer me, sweetheart,” I say, practically scolding her.

“Fuck, I love it so much, Sir.” Her voice is strung out with pleasure. The hand that has been playing with her breasts falls to her pussy, and I tease her clit, pulling another orgasm out of her. She’s so loud when she comes, and it pulls me over with her.

I come hard, my vision blacking out on the edges, and we collapse together on the bed.

We watch each other as we come down from our highs. She smiles sheepishly at me, and I kiss away any doubts that might be clouding her mind right now. “That was perfect,” I tell her, kissing her nose.

“Thank you, Sir,” she replies. I pull her close to me, wrapping her in my arms.

“You know you don’t have to call me that,” I remind her. She tilts her head up to keep eye contact, and I love the light that shines in her beautiful eyes.

“What should I call you then?”

“Bucky.” She smiles at the nickname my friend gave me when we were younger.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Bucky.” She giggles as I kiss her, and I lock that sound away, keeping it somewhere I’ll never lose it.

“Nice to meet you, sweetheart.”

please message me to be added to a taglist! must be 18+

Everything tags: @peaches1958 @pono-pura-vida @emi11ie @paulasocean @silverfire475 @lovingchoices14 @nekoannie-chan @late-to-the-party-81 @chibijusstuff @midnightramyeoncravings

All Bucky taglist: @prettylittlepluviophile @writerwrites @w0nderw0mansw0rld @hawsx3 @meetmeatyourworst @harrysthiccthighss @goldylions @luxeavenger @cloudyfeel @searchf0rtheskyline @keliiii @urmom4130

@buckyb-stan

400 notes · View notes

georgiapeach30513 · 3 months

Text

@buckybarnesisdaddy just for you 🤭

#AI!sebastian #Bucky Barnes #professor AU #professor!bucky

26 notes · View notes

sarahowritesostucky · 4 months

Text

📖"The Carter Academy for Omega Excellence" Pt5

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: age gap, boarding school au, a/b/o, dub-con/non-con, spanking, feminization, dumbification, sexism, misogyny, prostate milking, discipline, D/s elements, hurt/comfort, mentions of past self-harm, predatory behavior, teacher/student, bathroom use control

Summary: Bucky's parents ship him off to Steve's reform school to help him get straightened out into a "proper young omega."

Part 5 - In Science-Based Practice, cont'd

(Wait! I haven't read a previous chapter! Masterlist)

Handing the Barnes kid off to Sharon is … more difficult than it should be. And it bothers Steve once he’s alone in his office again and can really think about it. How easily he’s crossed the line with this boy already.

It’s not the touching or the dominating. That alone is nothing out of the ordinary, practically par for the course when dealing with a troubled new student. But as soon as Bucky’s gone, his scent still lingering in the room, Steve is feeling guilty for how personal he’d made it. It’s not even his behavior so much as it is his thoughts. Steve is affectionate with many of his omega charges, especially the more high needs boys, but it’s what was going on in his head that was so inappropriate.

He’d been picturing Bucky in situations—namely situations with him. He can’t lie to himself that he hadn’t been imagining the heated aftermath of a well-deserved spanking: Bucky bare-assed and red faced, crying, crawling, mewling for permission to warm Steve’s cock. Or the boy in his bed: in the morning after a long night spent breeding him up, that sweet, soft body underneath Steve, sleepy and pliant, getting fucked lazily into the sheets …

He spends a moment at the door after he’s closed it behind Sharon and Bucky. That entire wall is dark woodwork, bookcases surrounding the elaborately carved doorway. He leans his weight through his arms and stares at the floor, taking in a few deep breaths and trying to convince himself that all of this has just been a reaction of circumstance. Surely, he thinks, it must have more to do with the divorce, with his heavy workload and his dealings with Peggy and the lawyers. It must have to do with all the stress; brought on by the restructuring of Carter Academy, by nights spent sleeping on his office couch, and by the uncertain future of a house that he’s currently persona non grata in. It’s all of that, plus his ever growing need to get laid that’s made him so sensitive to being around an omega, not anything particularly special about Bucky.

Steve pushes away from the door and turns around. His eyes fall on the discarded set of underwear on the floor in front of his desk. He tenses, belly swirling hard at the memory of that sweet little whimper Bucky had made when he’d lost control and wet himself. Fuck, it’d been amazing. Steve had almost popped a knot right then and there, watching the way the boy’s eyes had gotten all big and watery and confused, his cheeks pinked up so nicely, not fully understanding what his body had just done …

Nostrils flaring, Steve stalks over to where the underwear lie on the carpet and snatches them up, intending to chuck them straight into the bin. But … something stays his hand. He winds up walking around the desk with them, sitting down in his chair and holding them in his lap, staring at the tiny wet patch of release that Bucky left behind in the cup of the jock. It’s wet like urine but clear and sweet-smelling like slick, and Steve is struck by the urge to bury his face in it.

Even from this distance, the scent is noticeable; pungent and rich, an obscene perfume that Steve instinctively wants to rub on himself. It calls to all of his baser urges, making his skin feel hot and his dick feel heavy. Hesitatingly, because he knows that he shouldn’t, Steve lifts the underwear closer to his face. Halfway there and already the scent is enough to make his mouth water, his throat aching from a repressed growl. There’s something buried in that scent that Steve wants to tease out, something earthy and floral that’s uniquely Bucky, that promises so much more of what the omega has to offer. Steve groans quietly at the thought of tasting it. When was the last time a student released for him so easily? Bucky had responded to him so naturally …

He growls and shoves the soiled underwear away, pushing them halfway across the desk. It’s nothing, he thinks. He’s just pent up, stressed. He just needs to get laid. Maybe he’ll go into the city next weekend, rent a room and find some company. He’s never had much trouble chatting up the nearest person at a hotel bar, or attracting a willing partner to his bed. Omegas flock to him and have ever since he took control of his dominance in his late twenties.

Steve’s never been unfaithful to Peggy, and even now with the divorce, he’s been waiting until everything is finalized, not wanting to tarnish the vows that he’d meant so earnestly when he’d said them fourteen years ago. But an alpha his age has needs, and he’s been suppressing them for years. Maybe it’s time to cut himself some slack, call up a pairing agency and buy a companion for an hour or two. Get his mind off of this kid.

He’s dealt with thousands of students over the years, seen plenty of fresh-faced omegas pass through the school’s halls. And sure, sometimes there’ll be one or two that stick out in a given year; an especially defiant boy or a sweetly virginal girl, with beautiful faces, ripe young bodies, and a soul-deep yearning to be handled, but there’s never been one that especially stood out to him like this. Not like this.

Steve groans and cards his hands through his hair in frustration. He’d felt more in-tune with himself as an alpha during that short time with Bucky in his office than he has in a long time. He’d enjoyed himself with Bucky, had indulged himself in provoking the boy’s reactions, and even crossed a few lines of propriety if he was being honest with himself. It plagues his mind for a while, as he leans back in the desk chair and frowns, remembering all of the various ways he’d let himself be a little too intimate with the boy.

Bucky’s such a pretty young omega, and he’d smelled so good. Watching his defiance warring with his natural submissive urges had been delightful, every little twitch of insolence and natural, mewling submission going straight to Steve’s cock. There’s just something about him. He’s uncommonly beautiful, with his dark hair and soft chin and stormy blue eyes, but it’s his behavior that has Steve enthralled.

All that hurt and neediness he’s trying so hard to hide, not only from others but from himself as well. A hastily cobbled-together shield of promiscuity and callousness. It’s pathetically see-through, terribly desperate, and it gets Steve’s cock harder than anything he’s dealt with recently. Right from the very first, bratty word that emanated from Bucky’s mouth, up until that last, puny whimper. Steve hasn’t been completely flaccid since the boy started mulishly snarfing scones off the tea tray in front of his parents.

“Christ.” He pushes out from the desk when he feels his pants growing uncomfortably tight again. His office has a private bathroom, and he abruptly decides to make use of it. He won’t get any work done if he just stays sitting here, stewing in his own pheromones.

He stomps over there and shuts himself into the tiny water closet, leans against the door and jerks himself off ruthlessly, efficiently, coming into the toilet bowl with gritted teeth and a laboured grunt, his hand gripped viciously over the base of his shaft to prevent an inconvenient knotting. It’s unsatisfactory because he’s still denying his body what it really wants, but it’s enough to release most if not all of the tension for the moment.

Not having been given their fair due, his balls still do kind of throb and ache in complaint as he tucks himself back into his slacks. But on the positive side, he was already so worked up when he started jerking it that he’s able to honestly say that he didn’t really think of Bucky while he was at it. He didn’t really think of anything besides the feeling of his own hand on his dick.

Sighing, he washes his hands and goes back out, settling in at his desk to submit the form he’s filled out on Bucky’s heats and to compose a preliminary assessment. Already, he thinks he’s got a good handle on where a lot of the boy’s issues stem from. He opens a new file for student assessment and types in a few points that he’ll return to elaborate on later, once he’s had more interaction with the boy:

“Boyfriend” + brief, insufficient pairing aged 14 — unfulfilled?: Abandonment complex, betrayal complex, trust issues.

Parental situation: lacking authoritative father figure, preoccupied beta mother, dominant unrelated male beta in the household. No healthy A-o relationship modeling.

Values: liberal school system, beta peers, common social expectations (not being a burden, not displaying strong needs, etc.) Emotional repression, mock-dominant behavior, cutting.

Review: history of suppressant use, medical exam

It’s a shorthand that he’s typed out for many other students, reflecting a devolving behavioral pattern that Steve could recognize in his sleep at this point. Just another classic example of what you get when you try to ideologize a pubertal omega out of their biological needs, urges and instincts: catastrophe.

He hopes that Sharon will be a good fit for the boy. She’s one of the more laid back Handlers, and Steve is hoping she’ll be able to ease Bucky into his new lifestyle here at the school. If not, then more severe dominance will be needed, and Steve might have to take a more hands-on approach.

He closes out the documentation on Bucky and navigates to his email, shooting off a message to the school nurse informing her that he needs an exam scheduled for a new student. Bucky being on suppressants for two years shouldn’t make Steve as uncomfortable as it does. There are omegas out there who take that poison for decades or more, after all. As long as Bucky stays off it from here on out, there should be minimal chance of long-term harm. Irrational as it is, Steve still knows he’ll feel better once he’s seen the results of a full medical workup on the boy. He marks the appointment request as 📨*Stat: urgent priority.

There’s a message from Schuyler & Banks—Peggy’s divorce lawyers—and rather than ignoring it like he wants to, Steve forces himself to open it and deal with whatever drama they’re lobbing his way now. The email informs him that his soon-to-be ex-wife is requesting his signature to agree to listing the house. Steve growls at the screen and immediately starts typing out a response that uses a lot of big words and essentially amounts to another adamant No.

This may be the biggest thing he and Peggy have fought over since the separation started. They bought the Pendergast Street house nearly ten years ago, with full intentions of growing old and grey there together. It’s a two hundred year old cottage, practically picturesque with its wattle and stone exterior, thatched straw roof, and one of the village’s canals running directly behind the back garden. It’s small and cramped and thoroughly lived-in, and it’s the place where Steve thought he’d spend the rest of his life with the person he loved. It kills him that Peggy wants to sell it.

She doesn’t need the money, Steve thinks angrily. And he’s already offered her fair market value for it. Pegs is just being vindictive and trying to deny him the ability to keep the place and the memories it holds, bitter about Steve wanting to one day maybe have a family there with someone else. He emails his refusal on the matter and cc’s his own attourney, pissed off at Peggy all over again, and moves on to dealing with his actual work-related matters.

There’s an email from P. Potts, informing him that Stark will be flying in for the upcoming parents’ weekend, and requesting coordination on a suitable landing site for the man’s personal helicopter. Steve rolls his eyes and forwards the email to his secretary to sort out. If the Stark foundation didn’t give a hefty endowment to the academy each year, Steve wouldn’t put up with the man’s antics. But it does, so he does.

Peter Parker is an intelligent and precocious student who attends Carter Academy at Tony’s behest. The two are of no relation, as Steve had initially assumed. Rather, Parker is Stark’s ward and attends through a STEM scholarship program. The Stark foundation sponsors several such scholarship slots each year, of course; but Tony has maintained a keen eye on the boy’s education since he started there, and Steve has gradually become aware that the billionaire’s interest is … more than strictly philanthropic.

It’s not unheard of for an older alpha to care for an omega that way, even in this day and age. Steve himself has considered the prospect before. Taking on an omega youth as a dependent partner wouldn’t be frowned upon, and especially not in the circles he himself travels in. It’s more his role as headmaster that might act as an impediment to propriety, and Steve has always been careful to avoid worrying the parents, alumni, and other various benefactors of the school that he may have any conflicts of interest with respect to their sons.

Some of the most posh and exclusive families in Britain and Continental Europe send their children to Carter Academy, and they certainly aren’t dropping sixty grand a semester so that their children can be matched up with some stodgy academic. Steve may be educated and financially stable, but he still isn’t the sort of match that most of Carter Academy’s parents are looking to fix their sons up with. He has no vast fortune, no estate, no title, and—perhaps the biggest offense of all—he’s American.

With a student body made up of nothing but omegas in their prime breeding years, it’s fair to say that Steve is—and always has been—surrounded by prospects for temptation each and every day. He’d honestly thought himself rather numb to it at this point, able to separate work from pleasure, students from everyone else. All those years married to Peggy and he simply had to be that way, if he wanted his marriage to work.

But now he’s getting divorced. That changes things. With the Barnes boy, he’s finding the temptation to take on an omega mate newly rekindled. And Bucky would be so easy to mold and shape the way he wants. Steve could help him, he could care for him. Bucky’s young and healthy, he could give Steve pups, and his fiery temperament would only make the act of subduing him that much sweeter.

Steve’s eyes slide back over to the underwear on his desk, to the wet patch of release that Bucky’s body had given up so readily for him. Steve’s not sure when the last time was he came across an omega to whom he felt so naturally inclined. The draw of the boy’s scent alone is … considerable.

Unable to get it out of his mind, he opens a new email and begins to compose a short letter to Tony. Maybe it’s time the two of them have a bit of a sit down chat. They can have drinks, catch up, review next year's endowments from the Stark Foundation, and perhaps even veer into discussing more personal topics … such as the intricacies of responsibly grooming impressionable young omegas.

Bucky doesn’t see Steve again for the rest of that day, and he’s both relieved and disappointed.

Relieved, because he definitely needed a break from that high pressure situation. Naked or no, he certainly couldn’t have sustained much more interaction at that level of intensity. He’s not sure if he would’ve gone to his knees and face planted in Steve’s crotch first, or thrown a tantrum and tried to punch the guy square in the nuts, but he’s smart enough to know that either choice would’ve been a disaster.

Disappointed, because he’s left feeling utterly bereft once all of that rich, heady stimulation is removed.

It’s one of those times where he doesn’t realize that he likes something until he’s had it taken away. Instantly, he misses being in Steve’s presence, the realization peeling back as he’s led about by Sharon in a sort of informal orientation session. He wonders why Steve chose her to be his handler, because she’s not at all similar to the overbearing Headmaster.

Sharon seems really laid back and chill. Bucky doesn’t feel on edge or self-conscious around her, and she doesn’t seem to be overly concerned with his behavior in any outward way, either. Sure, she keeps her eye on him, she explains the rules, but the vibe Bucky gets from her is more like a slightly disinterested older sister who’s showing him the ropes, rather than someone who’s going to be exercising any kind of severe authority over him. It’s not that bad, or at least not like what Bucky was picturing it would be like. Sharon’s okay, he decides. Sharon he can live with.

But, if Steve truly thinks that Bucky needs so much structure and discipline or whatever, then Bucky can’t fathom why he’s been paired with Sharon. She’s certainly a poor substitute for the utterly dominating, older alpha male that Bucky encountered earlier, and he winds up distracted and reimagining the things Steve had said and done to him in the office, daydreaming about it while Sharon shows him the library, explains school rules, tells him she’s a low-protocol Handler, etc., etc.

Even the things that’d made him so mad and humiliated at the time; now they elicit different feelings. Bucky’s body thrums hot and sensitive when he remembers the low rumble of Steve’s Voice, the woodsy smell of his cologne over top of his natural scent, the firmness of his thigh muscle against Bucky’s face, how big and rough his hand had looked when he’d cupped Bucky in between his legs and purred threats at him like another kind of oral sex … how he’d called him things, called him a “good girl” …

… Ohh, he thinks, as he’s walking along with Sharon. Maybe padded underwear and loose dresses aren’t the worst thing he could be wearing. They definitely do a lot to hide … reactions that would otherwise be quite noticeable in slacks. People joke about alpha teenagers getting unfortunate stiffies, but the thing about having an omega-sized prick is that there’s really no pushing it down or tucking it this way or that. Nothing between Bucky’s legs is ever gonna make it up to the helpful elastic of a waistband when he’s inconveniently aroused. Nope, he just gets a stiff length that pokes straight out from his body and can’t be concealed with anything short of a book in his lap.

So the uniform winds up having a bit of a silver lining. And Bucky does start to feel less ridiculous the longer he goes around in the outfit. It’s not as though the thing is all frilly and girly or anything like that. In fact if it’s guilty of anything, it's the cardinal sin of frumpiness committed by all private school uniforms. Nobody bats an eye at him as he goes about the campus with Sharon, which helps.

And of course Bucky’s aware that omegas dressed like this in the past, he’s just not used to it. The only other place he’s ever seen omega boys in skirts is in history textbooks or period dramas. It does help to see all the other first year students going about wearing the same thing as him and acting like it’s no big deal, and with the school being such an old, castley-type setting, it almost seems appropriate.

Plus, the boner-concealment thing. That’s good.

When Sharon asks him how he liked meeting “Headmaster Rogers,” Bucky’s left to bumble out a flustered reply that mostly consists of ‘ums’, and ‘erms’, and ‘fines’. Sharon shoots him a smirk like she knows what the problem is, and when Bucky promptly points to something random to change the subject, she indulges him.

It’s a good thing he got out of Steve’s office when he did, Bucky thinks. He doesn’t think he could’ve taken much more of the alpha’s domineering presence without doing something he’d come to regret. And as much as he’d maybesortakinda liked the things that Steve made him feel, he still feels like he’s run an emotional half-marathon in the span of little more than the hour he actually spent with the man. It’s good to have breathing room, time to think, to process … whatever the hell that’d been.

He’s never felt like how he felt in Steve’s office, and it’s embarrassing because he’s pretty sure that Steve: A) knows this, and B) wasn’t nearly so affected himself. Steve had kept his cool perfectly, had seemed more amused by Bucky’s reactions than anything else. He probably knows exactly how muzzy-headed Bucky was feeling by the end of it all, how hot and tight his belly was, how much his hole was pulsing and leaking into his underwear. Hell, Steve had as good as told him that he could tell, just by sight and smell alone.

‘You don’t have to deny it, honey. I already know.’

Ugh. God. It’s so cringeworthy. Bucky’s body had betrayed him in about a half dozen ways, back in Steve’s office, and he feels frustrated that he didn’t act with more composure. He wants a redo of the whole, horrible encounter. One where he doesn’t act just like the desperate, mewling loser that Steve already thinks he is.

Sharon takes him to settle into his bedroom that evening, and it’s a typical dorm room setup: bed, bedside table, dresser, desk, chair. There’s a small wardrobe that’s stuffed to the brim with all sorts of extra blankets and pillows—for nesting, Sharon informs him. Bucky’s never been one to indulge in the habit, but maybe it could be nice to try it here. Maybe it might feel cozy. There are a lot of really nice things inside the wardrobe, to which he feels instinctively drawn when he drags his fingers over their soft and poofy textures. He actually starts to get mildly enthused: about the idea of nesting, and about the fact that he’s getting his own private room rather than having to share a communal dorm room with a dozen other boys like he’d been imagining …

Until he spots the cameras that are up high in two of the bedroom’s corners, their little red lights blinking ominously down at him. Bucky stares up at them, calculating. The way they’re positioned …

Shit.

They cover every square inch of the room. Bucky’s heart sinks with dismay as he realizes what this means.

“Oh, yeah,” Sharon says when she sees him looking. “We call those the nanny cams.”

Bucky fights back a cringe. He hears Steve’s “no masturbation allowed” speech playing on a horrible loop in his mind as Sharon delivers a practiced spiel about how “privacy is not something students are entitled to” at Carter Academy, and that he’ll be monitored “pretty much everywhere” he goes.

Shit-fuck-shit and goddammit.

If Sharon notices his internal freak out, she doesn’t say anything. She just supervises from the doorway while Bucky changes for bed, ensuring that he puts on a fresh pair of the ridiculous double-underwear and reminding him of the no masturbation rule. It’s humiliating, and Bucky almost snaps something nasty at her, but by that point he’s so fucking tired from the overwhelming day he’s had that he merely grunts out an unhappy, “Got it.”

He briefly considers asking her if she’ll “milk” him like Steve said he could, but his embarrassment gets the better of him and he just turns to lie facing the wall instead, pulling the blankets up to his chin and ignoring Sharon as she turns the lights off and bids him goodnight from the doorway. There is no door for her to close.

Bucky sleeps surprisingly well, though his dreams are intense and filled with a certain Alpha Headmaster. He wakes the next day to the unpleasant combination of a morning erection, and Sharon rapping her knuckles on his bedside table.

“Morning! Time to get up, get dressed. Breakfast in ten minutes!”

She escorts him around campus like the world’s most overpaid babysitter, first to the dining hall for breakfast and then to class after that. She seems to understand that Bucky isn’t at all happy to be there, so she doesn’t get overly bossy with him or try to force much conversation. Bucky begrudgingly appreciates her for it, and he starts to think that maybe it won’t be so bad here with her as his Handler. Maybe Steve knew what he was doing, assigning them together.

Sharon’s like having an older sister—one who feels free to nag you and boss you around. Bucky thinks he can deal with that. She’s kinda hot at least, and Bucky doesn’t think he’d mind being bent over and milked by her if push came to shove, so he tries to get along to go along, so to speak, doing his best to follow the rules she points out and to not piss her off too early in the game.

The Handlers are all grad students, it turns out. People in their twenties who are studying to become educators or therapists themselves. Some are women, some are men, but all of them are alpha. They go around in stuffy tweed suits that are almost as dorky as the outfit Bucky’s being forced to wear. Overall the look is pretty unremarkable … except for the leashes that they keep on hand. Those are worn at the hip, rolled up and attached to their belts as a constant threat to keep their charges in line.

Or at least that’s how Bucky reads it, because all of the students wear collars. First years like him wear the orangish-brown, with the gradient of the leather turning a shade lighter for every year up the wearer is. There are other first years who seem to be his age, but there are also some who seem younger and some who are obviously older. Bucky’s confused about it until Sharon explains to him that, as a reform school, Carter Academy sorts its students by years of attendance, not by age.

She points out the coloring system with the collars as they pass different students, and explains the symbolism. Turns out, the little metal placards aren’t engraved with their own names, but rather with the initials “S.G.R.”—Steve’s initials—to remind the students that while they’re under the custody of Carter Academy, Steve is their acting Alpha. Mortifyingly, Bucky pops a boner the first time he hears that, and the only verbal thing he’s able to squeak out at Sharon afterwards is a strangled little, “W-what does the ‘G’ stand for?”

Bucky knows super conservative people sometimes wear collars as a sort of political statement, but it’s rare to see in the area where he’s from. At first it doesn’t seem like the collars serve much purpose other than such a statement, but it isn’t long until Bucky starts noticing the way his shoulders untense and his insides relax, even within the first ten minutes or so of wearing it. Every time he swallows, he’s reminded of the band around his throat, and he instantly relaxes all over again in a sort of weird little feedback loop. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that it’s the way the leather mimics the sensation of a Hold. Bucky can still remember how his legs had all but gone to jelly when Steve Held him in his office. The collar only provides a fraction of a fraction of that feeling, but it’s still nice.

Nice for now, anyways. He sees some of the other students being led around from place to place with their Handlers’ leashes clipped to their collars. Most of them act like it’s no big deal and walk around calmly like nothing’s amiss. When Bucky asks if they’re being punished for something, Sharon says no, blithely remarking that while it can be used as a ‘consequence’, it’s more often just a part of some students’ regular wellness regimens.

It’s pretty darn easy to spot the few students who are being led around on leashes for punishment purposes, though. Those boys get dragged around a little more sternly by their Handlers, all sullen expressions and watery eyes. Sometimes they’ve also been made to go around in just their underwear and sweaters, or even naked, their backsides visibly pinked or even bruised from recent spankings. Bucky is horrified by the realization that Steve wasn’t lying when he warned of clothing privileges being taken away. He wants to ask what on earth might warrant a punishment like that, just so that he knows precisely what not to do, but he’s too embarassed to ask.

Instead he trails after Sharon to breakfast in the dining hall, and then off to his morning classes. Given that his entire schedule has apparently been made without an iota of his own opinion or input, he’s surprised, bordering-on-startled, when his first subject of the day turns out to be English Lit. And he’s been put in an advanced placement class so that the material is sufficiently challenging.

This must be what his old Principal was making him take all that testing for, he thinks.

The classrooms all have wooden desks—the old fashioned, two seater types where the student’s seat faces the worktop and the tutor’s seat faces the opposite direction on the side. The Handlers sit in the tutor’s seats, their backs to the teacher at the front of the classroom and all of their attention on their assigned students. It’s a very intense experience, Bucky’s coming to realize, to always feel like he’s being watched so closely. He won’t be able to get away with much under these conditions, that’s for sure.

His mood isn’t too bad, however, as he makes it through that first class and realizes that he’s actually going to be receiving a real education at this place. Ever since he found out yesterday that Carter Academy was an omegas-only reform school, he hasn’t held high hopes that he’d be taught many real academic subjects, only silly homemaking lessons and child rearing classes and maybe, like, ballroom dancing or something.

So he’s quite happy to pay attention in English Lit, and then in his second period class of French 2, his spirits slowly and cautiously lifting because the teachers don’t seem to be dumbing down the material at all. Bucky may be someone who’s easily distracted, occasionally with alternative priorities, but he’s always been an A-B student. He starts to believe that he might actually receive a decent education at this place. It helps lift his mood from sullen and sour, to cautiously optimistic.

He goes about the morning in a suspended state of “maybe this won’t be so bad,” only for it to come crashing down in a series of brutal reality checks. And all before lunchtime, too.

First, he witnesses something that turns his face red and his cock rigid. It happens when he and Sharon are walking down the hallway towards his next class. There’s a boy bent over with his hands on a bench, and his Handler is right behind: spanking him. The boy’s a first year, with an orange-brown collar and skirted uniform like Bucky’s, the hemline of which is flipped up over his back and his briefs are pulled down under the curve of his bare ass.

Bucky realizes that the jockstraps can and do remain on for spanking activities, but he doesn’t stop walking to look. If anything, he walks even faster to get away from it. He’s suddenly very glad that he’s got his own padded jock on to hide his body’s reaction to the scene. “What the hell?” he mutters to Sharon once they’ve passed. Sharon just smirks and pats him on the shoulder, telling him not to worry: they’ve been having great luck with his behavior so far and he’s far off from earning anything like a spanking.

Well. That luck runs out when, halfway through the lesson of his next class, Bucky realizes he has to go to the bathroom. He glances over at Sharon and whispers, “Hey. I ah, I have to go to the bathroom.”

Sharon raises her eyebrow, which by now Bucky knows means: Ask me the right way.

He blushes and mumbles even more quietly, “Please, may I go use the restroom?”

Sharon nods and signals to the teacher that they’re leaving, then she guides Bucky out into the hallway and down to the bathrooms. Nothing goes awry until they get down there and Bucky discovers that: 1) there are no urinals, 2) there are no stall doors, 3) he’s expected to sit to pee, and 4) that Sharon is fully planning to watch him do it. Like, not even avert-her-eyes type watching like they do for drug tests. She plans to stand there and attentively watch him take a piss.

“You’re kidding,” Bucky says, looking back and forth between the toilet and Sharon, as if she’ll suddenly declare it a joke and move away to give him privacy. When she does no such thing and merely stands there with her arms crossed, Bucky scoffs and turns away from the toilet in refusal. “No way. I’m not just gonna go in front of you.” Sharon’s eyebrow rises, and Bucky’s eyes narrow into slits. “And I don’t sit to pee.”

“You do now,” she tells him plainly, looking very unimpressed. When Bucky moves to step out of the stall, she widens her stance and steps in closer, blocking his way out. “Are we going to have a problem here, James?”

Bucky glowers at her. “What possible reason could there be for you to stand there and watch me take a piss?!” he demands—quite loudly, too. He’s expecting Sharon to react by scolding him or grabbing him or something. What he doesn’t expect is for her to shrug as if she couldn’t give a crap, and pull out her cellphone. She taps the screen and then puts it to her ear, her eyes fixed smugly on Bucky as she calls someone.

Bucky scowls, but that expression slides right off his face when the call is answered and Sharon says, “Hello Headmaster,” into the phone. “You said to call if we ran into any misbehavior?”

Bucky blanches. “Seriously?” he hisses, and when Sharon simpers like a grade-A snot at him, he realizes that this is actually probably still what having an older sister is really like; he was just romanticizing the fuck out of it, earlier. Bucky’s always liked being an only child.

“Yes, Sir. I’ve got James Barnes refusing bathroom protocol up at the west second floor loo. Should I handle it, or are you able to swing by?” Bucky’s eyes widen and his stomach sinks even further as Sharon responds to something Steve has said over the line and says, “Okay, sure. See you soon.” She ends the call and puts her phone back in her pocket, giving Bucky a patronizing smile once she meets his—no doubt horrified—expression. “Just hang tight,” she says. “Headmaster Rogers will be here in a sec.”

Fuck.

This story is an ongoing commission for an amazing supporter who wishes to remain anonymous. If you have a story that you'd like to see custom written, send me a message on Tumblr or reach out on my Kofi.

Masterlist

If you liked what you read and feel so inclined, please consider dropping a tip in the Kofi🍵 cup

This has been a fill for:

Event: @sebastianstanbingo

Card: sarahowritesostucky

Square O4: Floral scents

22 notes · View notes

zenaidamacrouras1 · 1 year

Text

“Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday humor, and like enough to consent."

Pursued by Bear

by: Zenaidamacrouras1

Chapter 1 of 4

Will be posting over the next few days. I did a thing. It's a Christmas miracle! It has a lot of Shakespeare quotes and is inspired by the tweet below.

#Stucky fic #stevebucky #steve x bucky #Stucky AU #Professor Steve Rogers #Small Steve Rogers #bottom bucky barnes #New Fic!#Give me my sin again #So is mine eye enthrallèd to thy shape #There are a lot of Shakespeare quotes

184 notes · View notes

bucky-barnes-diaries · 1 year

Text

Tension

Pairing || CollegeProfessor!Bucky x Student!Female!Reader

Summary || Professor Barnes would like to see you in his office…

Word Count || 1915

Contents & Warnings || Smut — [N]SFW, 18+ Only, Minors DNI, [e]xplicit content/language, undefined age-gap, professor x student relationship, Professor/Sir [k]ink, [t]easing, [t]ouching, [f]ingering, mention of bodily fluids.

Disclaimer 1 || English is not my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings!

Disclaimer 2 || Do you find the use of [ ] throughout my fics annoying/distracting? You can also read this story on AO3 and Wattpad! But remember to come back to this post and reblog to show support! I would appreciate it if you left a Kudos on AO3 and a Vote on Wattpad! And a comment as well on whichever platform you decide to read on :) I must apologize for this workaround! Thank you for being kind and patient! And for the continued support <3

Professor!Bucky Masterlist

Whenever Professor Barnes called you into his office, it was not to discuss your ongoing assignment, but rather for some mind-blowing and secretive [s]ex.

You expected him to wait for you right by the door when you walked in, as he usually did—pushing you up against it, trapping your hands above your head, while locking the door with his other. His [l]ips would quickly find yours in a hurried and desperate [k]iss before moving you over to his desk—[b]ending you over, lifting your [s]kirt, and [f]ucking you [h]ard into the mahogany wood.

But no. That was not the case this time.

This time, as you entered, the was no ambush. No riveting [t]ouches or intoxicating [k]isses. Instead, he was seated at his desk, scribbling away on some papers.

He lifted his head as the door opened. The thin line between his [l]ips curved upwards into a bright smile once he saw who it was.

“Hey,” he greeted cheerfully. “Lock the door and come on in.”

You can’t deny that you were disappointed at the lack of special attention as you walked to his desk and stood opposite where he was seated, fiddling with your [f]ingers and looking nervously at your feet. Maybe he actually just wanted to discuss your assignment this time—be a teacher to his student instead of secretive [l]overs.

“Professor,” you greeted casually, “you called me to your office for…?” You tried to keep your voice normal—masking the disappointment and confusion in your tone.

He reached his hand out to you across the desk with an encouraging smile. So this was more than just a teacher-student moment after all.

You hesitated for a second, but placed yours in his nonetheless, and you felt a surge of electricity spread through your nerves as you [t]ouched [s]kin. His thumb brushed the back of your hand, and your heart fluttered at the affectionate contact. His eyes sparkled behind the black-framed glasses as he gazed into yours, which made you feel at ease.

“Just wanted your company while I work. I hope you don’t mind, Darling.”

An unusual request from him. It was not something he’d ever asked of you. Your relationship was either; [h]ard and [d]irty [f]ucking, or, on rare occasions, actually discussing assignments and academic work. But this request was somewhere in between, and you didn’t mind at all. You were just happy to be in his presence and that he wanted you with him.

“Of course not,” you reassured and squeezed his hand before stepping to his side of the desk.

His eyes widened behind the glasses when you stood beside him. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before on several occasions. The [t]high-[h]igh socks, the short [l]ittle [s]kirt, and the [t]ight long-sleeve shirt—a [s]choolgirl fantasy come to life.

He had gazed and [l]usted for you over it in the morning lecture today, as he did most classes, and he definitely noticed when you walked into his office just now. But having you this close in that [c]ock [t]easing outfit was challenging. He wanted to reach out and [t]ouch you [s]eductively all over. He wanted to hoist you on his desk and [f]uck you like the [n]aughty [g]irl you were for [t]easing him. But he kept himself composed and smiled at you sweetly again.

You noticed the shift in his behavior but pretended like you were completely oblivious to the [a]lluring impact you had on him as you sat on top of his desk, [l]egs crossed, right beside the papers he was grading.

It would be so easy for him to reach out to [t]ouch and [c]aress your [t]empting [s]kin. It was so close. He could practically feel the [s]oft texture of your [t]highs on his fingertips. But again, he held back. Shaking his head mentally before gripping the pen tightly with his tense and [n]eedy [f]ingers, before burying his head into the papers again, scribbling away.

You failed at hiding your satisfied [s]mirk as you picked up a random book from his desk and pretended to be engrossed in the words. But in reality, all your consciousness was on him, and his was on you.

Although this could have been a sweet moment between you and him where you just appreciated each other’s presence and silence, the [s]exual tension in the office was almost suffocating. So strong that it invaded all your senses and manifested itself so deep in your core, making you [n]eedy for him beyond belief.

He pretended to be engaged in his work, but you could tell from his mannerisms how uneasy he was as well. The [f]ingers holding the pen twitched, making his handwriting lose its finesse. His leg anxiously bounced up and down, making his chair shake.

And you could see out of your peripheral that he was ever so often eyeing you out. Trailing his darkening eyes from your [d]angling [f]eet, up your covered [c]alves, before settling on your [l]uscious [t]highs. Lingering his gaze on your [e]xposed surface for a moment and [s]ucking in a low breath at the mouthwatering [s]kin. He continued his journey upwards towards your [c]lothed [b]reasts. Spending the same amount of time eyeing them up—the [t]ight top hugged your [c]hest to perfection.

He found this [s]exual tension just as riveting as you. Although he wanted nothing more than to give in and toss his papers on the floor, bend you over the desk, and make you scream and [c]ome in his office, he wanted the tension to reach the breaking point, knowing how explosive the outcome would be.

And after about 10 minutes, you reached that breaking point. The tension had become completely unbearable, and you were ready for the outcome of yours and his touchless and nonverbal [t]easing.

Placing the book back in its place, you leaned back on your palms, pushing your [c]hest out and uncrossing your [l]egs, allowing you to play.

You dragged the hem of your [s]hort [s]kirt up your [t]high. His eyes, which were already fixated on you, got a glimpse of your cotton [p]anties. The material was already damp with need and [d]esire for him. His eyes grew wide and darkened upon the sight. And he swallowed thickly.

You hummed softly as you dragged your [f]ingers through your covered [w]etness—paying close attention to your deprived [cl]it, circling the aching nerve.

“Please, Professor,” you mewled as you fussed on his desk, “[t]ouch me.” You wanted, needed, for him to [t]ouch you like only he knew best. Only he knew how to make you truly satisfied.

His gaze lifted up to you, and he could see the outright pleading expression on your face—frustrated with need and longing for him.

He gripped the pen tightly with one hand, and the other clenched into a fist in his lap, resisting the [t]emptation again to [t]ouch you, but this time was for good reason. He wanted, needed, to hear more of your sweet and soft pleas for him. He wouldn’t give in to you so easily.

And you could tell by the growing [s]mirk on his face that those were the exact thoughts running through his head, so you had to step up your game and play even harder.

“Please, Professor,” you practically whined, almost sounding pathetic with need. “I need you to [t]ouch me.” You [a]rched your [b]ack and thrust your [h]ips forward, hoping it would convey how [d]esperate you were at this point.

He let out a chuckle at your [d]esperation, but decided that you’d been good enough, so he would give you what you [d]esired, at least to some extent. He placed his warm palm on your [t]high, digging his [f]ingers into your [d]elicate [s]kin.

The [t]ouch was [h]ot and electrifying, satisfying beyond belief, and you couldn’t help but [m]oan softly as he made contact. But you needed more, needed for him to just reach a little bit higher to [t]ouch, [c]aress, and play with your aching [s]ex. But it still didn’t seem like he would give in entirely.

“Please, [t]ouch me, Sir.”

He found it riveting to watch you fall apart at such a simple [t]ouch, still yearning and pleading for more. And if he could, he would continue to [t]ease you, loving the whining mess you became when he did, but he could tell that you were on the verge of a breakdown.

“You didn’t tell me how to [t]ouch you, [s]weetheart.”

You huffed in annoyance and took his hand in yours, done with the [t]easing and playing, and guided his hand further up and lay it flat against your [c]overed core. He groaned deeply as he felt you. Felt you pulse against his palm. Felt the dampness of the material. And that’s when he reached his breaking point.

The next part happened so fast.

He pushed the chair back, legs scraping across the floor. Definitely loud enough for someone walking outside the office to hear. He was up from the chair in a flash, towering over your sitting form. With one hand, he pushed your [t]highs apart and stepped between them. The other hand grasped the back of your [n]eck firmly, making you gasp loudly. All your attention was on him now—waiting for the explosion that he would make of you.

He took his [g]lasses off, and you knew it was serious business when he did that, making you emit a [n]eedy approval that you were finally going to get what you [d]esired.

He [g]roaned deeply as he lightly brushed his [l]ips with yours. The bass of the sound rumbled in his [t]hroat, making your [c]lit flutter in excitement at the [e]rotic music. His eyes were now dark with [l]ust—no more sweet Professor.

“Tell me again what you want, [s]weetheart.” His tone was mocking and cruel because he knew exactly what you wanted, but he needed to hear you say it one more time.

“I-I want you t-to t-[t]ouch me,” you mumbled in a breathless [m]oan. You were losing focus and started slipping into the world of [p]leasure as he pushed your [p]anties to the side, lightly brushing your [s]lick [f]olds with his [f]ingertips. “[F]uck, Sir, please,” you pleaded again as your eyelids fluttered.

He chuckled at how sensitive you were at such a simple [c]aress, and he couldn’t wait any longer to have his entire force on you, knowing how insane it would make you.

So he brought the [f]ingers up to his [l]ips and [s]ucked them, [m]oaning at the [t]aste of you on his [f]ingertips, before bringing them down again to your deprived [s]ex. His mess mixed with yours, making his [f]ingers rub against your [s]lick and [n]eedy [f]olds in an effortless manner, paying close attention to your [c]lit.

The [m]oan of relief and satisfaction you let out once he finally [t]ouched you was blaring, and you bit your [l]ip, drawing [b]lood, to keep your [w]hines, cries, and [m]oans at bay. It was still business hours, and the campus was still bustling with students and teachers in every hall.

“Is this what you wanted, [s]weetheart? For me to [t]ouch this [n]eedy [l]ittle [p]ussy of yours, huh?”

“Y-yes, Professor,” you [c]hoked out as you thrust your [h]ips into his [f]ingers, desperate for him to go further, knowing that he had more to give.

And without needing to [b]eg much more, he pushed two digits into your entrance—fitting inside of you to [p]erfection and making you [f]eel whole and truly satisfied.

“I’ll make you [c]ome so good, [s]weetheart. So [f]ucking good….”

Thank you for reading 🖤 Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated! Or let me know through an anonymous ask if that feels more comfortable. As well as a reblog to share my work with other people!

Follow @bucky-barnes-diaries-library and turn on notifications to never miss out on my writing!

Apologies for the [ ] on some words! I’m testing it out to see if I can evade getting a Label put on this.

790 notes · View notes

thepsychewrites · 2 years

Text

Little Dove Pt. 3 | S. Rogers

You could never disappoint me…

Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Summary: Steve finally brings you to his house for dinner. How will he react when things take a turn and some truths come out?

Warnings: 18+ only ; MDNI ; Age gap, Sorta smutty, heavy makeout sessions, some light angst/anxiety, soft!Steve, power imbalance, and language.

Word Count: 3.7k

Author’s Note: GUYS GUYS GUYS OKAY- I’m so so so sorry for the delay in part 3, life has been so fucking hectic and messy these last few weeks, but alas the time has come. Also, I apologize for the cliff hangar- but this bitch was nearing 4k words and I just had to stop it where I did otherwise it would’ve been nearing 7 or 8k by the time I was done!! But believe me when I say I won’t leave you guys hanging for long 😚😚 Anyway, as always, enjoy whores!!

Main Masterlist

-----

Expectations.

God, they fueled your anxiety like no other.

Was Steve planning for more than just dinner tomorrow? Did he want to have sex already? How many times has he had sex? What if he was secretly married? Was he aware that you’ve never had sex? Was it too early to have sex? I mean come on, it's only the first date… Would there be any more dates? Did this even count as a date?

“You need to stop thinking so hard about it.” Yelena’s voice broke out in the foggy bathroom, filtering in past the shower curtains from her spot on the floor. “Seriously- I can tell it’s driving you mad.”

Shampoo was racing down your forehead, your eyes squeezed shut as you rinsed it from your hair. “I know I know, but… I can't stop thinking about it, Lena. I’ve never been in any sort of relationship before and I have no idea what to expect… I don’t know if I’m ready for it all yet.” You confessed, your fingers slowing their pace against your scalp. “All I know is that I really like him, and I don’t want to screw it up.”

Yelena was seated on the floor, her back and head resting against the sink cabinet as she faced towards the wall to allow you some privacy. “Just be honest with him, Y/n. If it starts going in a direction you don’t like, tell him. If he likes you like you say he does, he’ll respect it. And if not… then you call me and I’ll deal with him.” She turned her attention to her neglected nail beds, picking at them lazily. “I wish you would tell me who it is so I could run a background check on him...” She added in a mumble.

“And that is exactly why I will not be telling you who it is.” You shook your head at her antics, loving her even more for it.

Yelena was one of those heaven-sent people that only got put in your life if you were really lucky. She carried an energy that can only be described as Yelena. A fiery, juvenile, smart-ass, protective as all hell, intelligent, loving angel she was. The two of you met a week before your freshman year at one of the welcome seminars your college held for first year students. Low and behold, she ended up being your roommate that year too. She was practically your sister, the both of you sharing an indescribable bond that you wouldn’t trade for the world.

“You missed a spot.” Yelena chuckled, twisting her back and pointing to the slope of her butt. “You’ll thank me later for not letting you prance over there with the ass of king-kong.” She blew a kiss your way, pairing it with a teasing wink.

Maybe you’d take a second thought about the trade.

“I hate you.” You said with the most serious voice you could muster, running your razor along the missed spots of hair.

Yelena hummed. “Sure you do. Now hurry up, Dateline comes on in fifteen.”

——

Steve was a nervous wreck.

It’s why he put on a documentary for the entirety of class on Friday instead of giving his usual lecture. It’s why he retreated back to his office when it started playing, only keeping the door ajar slightly in case of emergency, so he could conceal the fact that he was panicking. He nearly refused to look at you when you walked in, but your gentle smile and sparkling eyes made his walls crumble completely. Steve couldn’t stare for too long though, because his heart rate kept climbing and he didn’t want to have a heart attack on campus today, let alone have the cause of it be a student.

You paid absolutely no mind to the film as it played on, your fluttering heart matching that of Steve’s, who sat quietly in his office during the entire class. Instead, you focused on how the evening might play out.

You thought about what Steve would be wearing when he came to pick you up later. Would he be wearing his usual teaching attire? Or would he allow himself to be more relaxed? You thought about what his house might look like. But what if he didn’t own a house? An apartment would be fine too. What if you saw pictures of another woman hanging along a photo wall, her beauty far surpassing yours? No, that’s silly- Steve would be smart enough to put those away, wouldn’t he? You thought about if his cooking was decent, and if he was sticking to the pasta he talked about on Wednesday. You thought about what movie he would want to watch and how his couch would feel under your thighs. You thought about how Steve would touch you again, his hands trailing far too close to where they shouldn’t go. What if he wanted to take it somewhere new? Would it be such a bad thing? Would his touch be rough and needy like it was in his car? Would he want you to stay the night, sleeping in his bed next to him until the sun came up? Would he ask you to stay a little longer? Would you agree?

Yelena was right. You need to stop thinking so hard about this. It’s just dinner at Steve’s house. Nothing more, nothing less.

Right?

Steve’s train of thought was no better. He wanted to make the night so special for you, but a simple dinner at his house wasn’t going to do him much justice. Did you even like chicken fettuccine alfredo? What if being at his house scared you and you wanted to go home? What if he overstepped too early? What if he wanted to feel your skin under his touch again, would you let him? Would you judge the way his house was furnished? Would you want to stay the night? Would you care to get to know him at all, or did you just want to sleep with him? Did you have a boyfriend he wasn’t aware of?

Steve pulled out his phone, fingers shaking as he typed out a text.

I don’t know if I can do it. Should I tell her something came up?

No less than thirty seconds later, a response came back, his best friend's name attached to the message.

No way in hell, punk. It’ll be fine, just remember what I told you.

Steve rolled his eyes.

Yeah, yeah, don’t be creepy, I’m aware of that, Buck. But… do you think it’s too soon?

Another ding.

Stevie, it’s been almost five years. You’ve got to move on and start living again, it’s what she would want.

And another.

You’re not canceling on this mystery girl of yours, end of story.

Maybe Bucky was right. Steve shouldn’t cancel on you just because he’s been out of the game for so long.

Right?

——

Looking at the clock for the fifth time in under a minute did nothing to calm you.

It was seven o’clock on the dot and Steve hadn’t texted you yet.

Was this his way of canceling? Did something happen on his way here? Did he get into an accident? What if-

A low buzz made your heart jump, your phone alerting you of an incoming message.

I’m outside. Same spot as Wednesday.

You couldn’t tell if his text relieved you or made your stomach churn. With a deep inhale and even longer exhale, you grabbed your bag and made your way outside.

The two of you didn’t talk much after class today besides Steve asking for your number so he could let you know when he was there to pick you up. After that, he was quick to send you a tight lipped smile and retreat back into his office, closing the door behind him.

Stepping out of your residence hall and into the evening sunlight, your eyes landed on Steve’s car almost immediately, pointing your body in that direction and letting your legs carry you there. You kept your gaze down, thinking that if you locked eyes with him now you might panic and turn back.

But he couldn’t stop staring at you.

You were wearing the prettiest little dress he had ever seen- a light blue that stopped halfway down your thighs with short flowy sleeves and miniature white polka dots littered throughout. Steve was practically drooling into his lap as he watched you walk to his car, only regaining his composure to step out and open the passenger side door for you.

“You look absolutely amazing, Y/n.” Steve said when you were within earshot, shaking his head in disbelief that he was about to spend the evening with you. He watched a blush creep onto your face, his eyes never leaving you once.

He was sporting tight black jeans and a deep red long-sleeve shirt, doused with his favorite cologne that made him smell insatiable. Once you finally looked at him, you couldn’t stop. Steve’s smile was contagious, making your lips pull up to match his as you stepped around him to slide into the car. “Says you.” You teased, adjusting in your seat, the door staying open for a second so Steve could ensure you were in all the way before gently closing it.

Steve moved around the back of the car, finally getting to his door and hopping in. “I mean it. You look beautiful.” His voice was light, yet stern, as he put the car in drive and pulled away from the parking lot, his large hand landing softly on your exposed thigh.

It was hard to think straight with his thumb stroking across your skin, goosebumps nearly rising at his touch. “Thank you.” Was all you could muster. With some extra courage you allowed your fingers to trace along his extended forearm, dancing across the fabric of his shirt as you leaned back comfortably in the seat.

The car ride to his house was silent, but not awkward. Quiet jazz music from decades past filled the air and you enjoyed the view, both from outside and from the man next to you. Less than ten minutes later you were pulling into a charming and affluent neighborhood in the historic district of town. The houses here were large and rather spread apart, the lawns perfectly manicured and the street filled with expensive cars. Lots of green trees lined the road, the occasional lit lamp post poking out between them. Steve’s car came to a stop in front of a gorgeous, two story red brick home, black trimming and windows making it stand out from the rest.

Steve turned off the engine and stepped out, grinning to himself as he watched you, your eyes transfixed on the house and your mouth slightly open. Your attention turned on him as the door popped open, Steve’s hand held out for you.

“You live here?” You asked as you took his hand, stepping up onto the grassy curb. “It’s gorgeous, Steve.”

He bent down and grabbed your bag, holding it in one hand and your hand in the other as he led you to the door. “I know. I got pretty lucky with the price and couldn’t pass it down.” His fingers twisted a key into the lock before the door opened, granting you a view into Steve’s home.

It was breathtakingly him, to say the least. Antique fixtures and stunning furniture pieces scattered throughout, the walls dark- yet filled with life. A few plants thrived by the large bay window in the living room, the space filled with warm orange light from a lamp nestled in the corner. It smelled faintly of pumpkin and cinnamon, too. An elegant staircase on the right led to the upstairs, while the foyer opened into the living room to the left and the kitchen straight ahead. The same soft jazz that played in the car floated throughout the house, coming from somewhere in the living room, barely heard unless you listened for it.

“Are you hungry? Dinner is almost ready, just gotta throw the pasta on.” Steve called, his hand squeezing down on yours as he slowly led you to the kitchen.

“Mhm.” You hummed, too enthralled in everything Steve to say anything more. He chuckled at you, a lazy grin never leaving his face. As soon as you entered the kitchen, you knew you’d never want to leave. “God, it smells amazing in here, Steve.” The wide island in the center of the kitchen was sprinkled with flour, two golden loaves of ciabatta laying in a wooden bowl on the side. “Did you make those yourself?” You asked, pointing to the fresh pieces of bread.

Steve nodded, his face turning a light shade of pink. “Yeah, I uh- I like to cook quite a bit…” He trailed off. “Helps when I’ve got someone to cook for.” He added, glancing down at you for a second. His hand squeezed down once more before he spoke again. “Do you like wine?”

“When the occasion calls for it.” You answered, a knowing smile on your face.

He raised his brows, his touch fading as he moved towards one of the kitchen cabinets. He squatted down, opening the cabinet to reveal a wine rack. “Red or white?” His bright puppy eyes peered up at you, and it was a sight you never wanted to forget.

“Whatever you’re having.”

Steve’s eyes diverted for only a moment, reaching in and pulling out an expensive looking bottle of chardonnay. He stood, opening a top cabinet and grabbing two glasses before he placed them on the granite island and poured lightly into each. His heart was doing somersaults against his rib cage as he carefully slid the glass across the island to you, watching you as you took a sip. The pucker of your lips against the glass made his mind wander, his heartbeat traveling further south than he anticipated. He cleared his throat before taking a sip from his own glass.

Small talk ensued between the two of you as Steve finished up the last dinner preparations. The homemade pasta was ready in only a few minutes, served alongside some salad and the ciabatta he had made.

Dinner went off without a hitch.

The two of you shared sly grins and laughter over the food, a few questions from either one of you slipping its way in between the chatting. As the night progressed, you found yourself inching closer and closer to Steve. It’s how you ended up nestled into his lap after the sun had disappeared from the sky, leaving nothing but silver streams of moonlight flickering through the windows, illuminating your heated skin against his. A movie had been playing, but it soon was turned off when Steve lowered his face to yours, his stubble scratching across your cheek as he kissed at your temple.

Steve had maneuvered the two of you onto his couch, him with his back against the cushions and his feet planted firmly to the rug covering the hardwood floors. You were straddling his lap, your knees digging into the plush couch on either side of his black denim covered thighs. His hands were roaming gently up your legs, dancing across your goose-bumped flesh until they snuck up your dress, palming at your ass. His lips were slow and careful against yours, savoring the time he had and not wanting to rush. Steve wanted to feel you. He wanted to take his time unraveling you bit by bit until you were aching for more.

His tongue was heavy as it moved past your lips, tracing against the inside of your mouth and exploring every inch possible. Breathy groans floated from him when your fingers twisted too tight in his hair, his eyes squeezing shut at the sensation. The tips of his fingers pushed into your skin, deeper and deeper, tethering you to him as if you’d somehow slip from his grasp. With the newfound leverage he pulled your hips toward his, an embarrassingly loud moan coming from you as your panty clad clit rubbed against his thigh. With a widened gaze and blown pupils, he disconnected his lips from yours, a hand slipping up your back to lay you flat against the couch.

Steve was hovering over you in an instant, veins bulging along his forearms and biceps as he planted a hand next to your head, his eyes searching yours frantically. “Can I taste you? Please, baby?” He begged, his chest heaving with anticipation.

With an open, silent mouth, you stayed panting under him, every unsure thought crossing your mind for the umpteenth time that day. What if it’s not what you expected? What if he doesn’t like your body? What if having sex with him right now ruins everything? What if you’re not what he wants? What if-

“Hey…” Steve suddenly whispered as if he was reading your mind, pushing back to sit on his haunches. “We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready. We don’t have to do anything. You don’t have to do anything.” His words were slow and calm, a gentle hand soothing the burning skin along your cheek. His complete understanding slightly shocked you. “You’re under no obligation to do anything with me right now. Do you understand?”

God- what do you even say to that?

“Steve… I’m sorry, I just-” You stumbled over the words, moving to sit up on your elbows.

I just want to be enough.

I just want this to be what you want.

I just don’t want to screw things up.

I just don’t want to lose you.

Your brain was scrambled from his touch. You wanted more, no- you needed more. Would it be so bad to just be honest?

“I’m a virgin, Steve. I’ve never slept with anyone before and I… I’m just nervous, that’s all.” The confession was somewhat mortifying to say aloud, but it released a mass amount of pressure that had festered and culminated in your chest.

Or maybe the bile was just traveling north.

Steve’s eyes softened, the faintest smile curling at his pink and swollen lips. “That’s okay… it’s nothing you need to apologize for, sweetheart.” His words were reassuring, somehow less disappointing than you expected.

And he was being honest- truly. Everyone had to start somewhere, and you not being sexually experienced was something he expected, really. I mean- he’s never seen you so much as breathe toward another guy in your class- let alone show any interest in the plentiful options. Plus, with women like you, always putting your academics first, it was obvious you had never made romantic relationships a priority before.

Would he be ashamed to admit that the confession made his dick throb a bit harder behind the confines of his jeans? Perhaps. But now having that information out in the open, Steve’s mind buzzed with the thought of making you his in every way possible. He would be the first one to make you fall apart on his dick. He would be the first one to taste you, staying between your legs until the ungodly hours of the morning and until you screamed and begged for him to stop. Time wasn’t an issue for Steve. No, he’d wait until the stars came crashing down onto Earth if it meant he could get you exactly how he wanted you. He would be the first to fuck you, to make love to you, to turn you into a blabbering, drooling mess beneath him over and over and over and over and-

“I know- it’s just… kind of embarrassing- I guess.” Your sweet voice pulled him from his fantasies.

Steve was quick to put your worries to rest. “Not in the slightest, angel.” His hand rubbed soothingly across your forearm. “Do you want this? And don’t just say yes because of me, I need you to be sure.”

The contemplation didn’t take long. You did want this. You wanted him, in every way possible.

“I want this, Steve. I do. I just don’t want to disappoint you.” You whispered, a slight waver in your soft words.

A confused scoff left his mouth. “Disappoint me? Honey, I think you severely underestimate my feelings for you. You could never disappoint me.” Again, it was nothing but the truth. Steve’s reverence for you conveyed through his dark eyes, his gaze worshiping every inch of you. He lowered his face to yours, his breath fanning dancing across your skin. “But I won’t allow your first time to happen on my damn couch. C’mere.” He spoke, his large hands finding purchase on your waist, pulling you towards him as your legs wrapped around and connected at his lower back. Your arms fell over his shoulders as he balanced himself upright, wasting no time as he made for the staircase. With large strides he carried you up to his bedroom, crossing the threshold with excitement bursting in his veins.

As soon as your back hit the plushy mattress of his king sized bed his lips were back on yours in a messy embrace. Teeth knocking together, tongues fighting for dominance, warm spit connecting the two of you. Your hands traversed the sides of his broad torso, raking against his shirt and wishing it was his bare chest instead. Steve’s mouth slowed its attack on you, pulling back a few inches for a deep breath. “Will you let me take care of you? Huh? Let me make you feel good, pretty girl.”

You nodded, breathless and practically suffocating from the subtle rocking of his hips. “Yes, fuck- please Steve. I want you to make me feel good.” Those few words were so simple to get out, yet you never thought you’d be saying them to one of your college professors.

But screw it- you couldn’t resist the way he felt. The way he made your insides feel all tingly when he got close. The way he made your head spin. You couldn’t take it any longer. You had to have him.

Right. Now.

Steve backed up from between your thighs, his fingers slipping around the buttons of his shirt in their haste, shaking as they traveled to the buckle of his belt to undo the metal clasp that held it together. Soon he was left in nothing but his boxers, the shadowed outline of his erect cock drooling inside the fabric making a whine pour from your kiss-ridden lips. He was huge. Your mind convulsed alongside your pussy, wondering how the fuck he was going to even attempt to fit inside you. The arousal pooling inside you made your knees wobble, your heart seizing behind your rib cage. Steve was going to completely wreck you…

And you were going to let him.

488 notes · View notes