I reallyyyy want to talk about how much fun it would be to jerk a really submissive Bucky off with a pair of soaked panties 🙈
I feel like submissive Bucky is so vocal too and I love that thought. He trusts you completely with his body and he's not ashamed to make as much noise as he wants to.
He knows what his little whines and moans do to you. You get off on his desperation and he absolutely knows it. You can't help but melt when he looks up at you from his knees, his eyes wide and expectant, whispering "please, mommy" when all he wants is permission to kiss from your ankle to your knee.
He's learned that being well mannered is the only way to get what he wants so you don't mind rewarding his good behaviour. His plump lips begin to trail eagerly from the ankle strap of your heel, up the side of your calf until he reaches the joint at your knee. Your fingers tangle in his hair, warning him not to go any further and the groan he elicits is heavenly.
"Please let me kiss you." He practically sounds like he's panting. Frustration has settled into his features, his eyes trained on the cherry red lace that shields your sex from his hungry gaze.
He knows you're already wet and he knows that if he's just able to kiss a little bit higher, your self control might waver enough that you'll allow him to lap up your arousal and that's really all he's dreaming of.
"You're so selfless, aren't you?" Your sarcasm isn't lost on him. He wants to taste you because he wants to taste you, not so much for your pleasure. "No, let's try something different."
You slip your panties down your legs but he's smart enough to know you aren't going to give him exactly what he wants.
You kneel down beside him, lining your hand with the slick lace before wrapping your fingers around his stiff cock that's been begging for attention for far too long now.
"O-oh my God." The first stroke of your hand makes him crumble. Despite being slick, the lace offers so much friction and he's far too sensitive for that.
Your hand pumps quickly, watching his face while he begins to slip. "Good boy, that's it. Take it. Fuck, you're so pretty, do you know that? You're doing so well for me."
" 's too much. Please. Don't stop." His head falls forwards onto your shoulder, groaning pathetically into the crook of your neck.
"Do you want to cum, sweetheart? Are you going to be a filthy slut and cum in my panties? Do you even realise how fucked up that is?" Your soft voice makes him melt up until your hand on his cock speeds up.
"Y-yes. Oh God yes, please let me cum." He didn't think it'd be this easy but when you give him permission, he knows to take the opportunity while he's getting it.
In just a few more minutes, his thighs are trembling as he shoots a thick load into the already saturated lace lining your hand. The release of each gush of his seed feels more euphoric than the last and he's whining pathetically, up until he's fucked himself empty into your fist.
"Good boy." You whisper, kissing his damp forehead while he catches his breath. "I'm so proud of you."
You unfold the lace, admiring just how much of his cum he's managed to splatter over just your underwear. "Now. I want you to put these on and wait in the bedroom."
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OKAY IM POSTING THIS ANYWAY
Here's an example of an old writing exercise monologue I did at uni:
cw: animal death briefly described
word count: 564
When I was seven years old I found a bird in the woods, percy had left me behind to go play with annie and I didn’t want to bother them. They were always ahead of me in stuff like that, but I didn’t mind. They were older, bigger, stronger and they didn’t need little me dragging them behind.
It was a finch, I think, little thing. Broken wing.
I didn’t know how to help it but it cried and cried and I wondered who it was crying to, its mama? Some higher being? I don’t know, I don’t think any of us really know who we’re crying to, we just know who helps us, and when they don’t help us it feels like some kind of betrayal, but why are we owed that? It makes no sense.
If we were owed help then I wouldn’t be who I am today. If we were owed help then I wouldn’t have watched her walk off into the woods when I was still a baby. I still needed her and she still left. So part of me thinks we aren’t owed shit in this life and that makes sense.
But then Im the bad guy, aren’t i. im the one saying these helpless little kids and broken birds don’t deserve help. But I think what people don’t want to admit is that help isn’t always picking them up and dusting them off.
Sometimes help is finding the biggest rock you can and holding it high above your head so the calling stops when you drop it.
And that’s what I did.
Annie would’ve brought it in, percy would’ve helped her. I can see the little cardboard box now that she’d have, feeding it whatever she can find to make it big and strong again.
I realised that after the rock dropped.
So I moved it and lifted up its little body in my little hands to bring to nana’s house.
Little hands covered in the blood of this little creature that only wanted help from me. I was who it was calling to. But I didn’t understand. I was too caught up in calling for my own help to hear it.
I don’t feel guilty though, that bird would’ve been hurting for far longer if it was alive when I brought it in and placed it on the table.
It would still have been calling out. A shrill tone that hurt my ears. I wasn’t mad about it, I just wanted it to stop.
Maybe if I was younger I wouldn’t have realised what was going on when nana dragged me to the bathroom sink to scrub my hands, getting dropping the bird in the trash before annie and my brother could see, but I could see how she looked at me.
How she was afraid of me.
They always expected me to be like percy, I was quiet, polite, I didn’t make a scene and yet they walked around me like I was a land mine that an acorn dropped onto.
They were afraid of me and I saw it every time I got upset, every time that silence fell I could feel their dread building and all I want to do is shout im not mean! Im not bad! You don’t understand I never got that help,
im always calling but the rock still drops.
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Phantom’s (insert your name of choice for new bug) favorite food is cereal. Infinite variety delivered in the same sterile, sealed bag that no one’s hands, except maybe some animatronic ones, have touched but his. They’re all different but they’re all kind of the same. Dry and crunchy. Some of them brutalize the roof of his mouth with their grating texture. He avoids those. Mountain tried to make him eat granola for his own health, claiming it was cereal, just like he’d already been eating. It was a lie, both seeds and dried fruit look like bugs . Live ones or smushed ones. And nuts take like 8 hours to chew. It’s too much commitment for such bland payoff. When he discovered freeze dried marshmallows, all the charm and crackle of dried corn meal, with more sugar, prettier colours and infinite shapes, he decided he never wanted to eat anything else again. Can ghouls get scurvy? Mountain forces him to drink a glass of juice every day just in case. Protein and iron requirements to be discussed. But thanks to the FDA or something, most cereals are fortified. He will live, for now. Until he gets a cavity. And then he finds out that it means the tooth will fall out, and a new one will take its place, and that process is just as painful as the first time. And then he’ll also be interested in everything everyone told him about dental hygiene and simply putting the toothbrush in your mouth and chewing on the bristles isn’t good enough.
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