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lanabuckybarnes · 2 months ago

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| The List |

18+ MINORS DNI

Pairing(s): Professor!Bucky Barnes x Student!Stark!Reader (F)

Warnings: Smut right from the start we are not dipping our toes we are diving, Assumed Age Gap, Dom/Sub Themes, PinV, Oral (F), Punishment, Spanking, Denial, Squirting, Public, Humiliation probably, A lil aftercare but not enough fr — If there are any more let me know!

Word Count: 2.1k

Note: This is the first time I’ve wrote anything remarkable in over a year so please don't judge too harshly 🫣 Also, you like the theme? I needed a switch up after coming back. I’ve also looked over this a bajillion times to make sure I’m happy with posting it and its touch and go so fuck it. Enjoy yourselvessssssss!!!!

“Come on, Stark, I thought this was too easy.” Fuck him. Fuck him, and his work and—oh fuck.

You preen, back bowing away from his hard body. The blunt head of his cock jabs against your g-spot again, torturing the bundle of nerves within you. The minutes tick by without you even noticing them; the once-blue sky broke into shades of amber and pink. Barnes was merciless; one measly comment about the lack of complexity in his papers, and here you were—hands bound and panties displayed on his desk for you to see just how much you wanted this. How much you deserved it.

Ever since starting at AUSL, you’d been a thorn in Professor Barnes’ side with your cocky, know-it-all attitude. But your surname made you untouchable. And you encompass everything that last name stood for. You even had a list,—a ‘people to piss off list’ so to speak and Barnes was easily at the top. He bit and chewed at every remark, taunt, or jab you swung his way making him your favourite to tease. And then one time he kept you after class and showed out just how much he cared about the power your surname held. You’d behaved for your other professors since then, but Bucky? He just couldn’t seem to tame you.

“Stark—”

“S-shut up,” you gasp, voice trembling with desire. Your head lulls forward, warm forehead connecting with the cool wood of the desk supporting you. You were still trying to keep up with the attitude, showing him that no matter how hard he pushed, you pushed back — but the drag of his heavy length against your walls made it all just a little too difficult. All you wanted was to get lost in the raw pleasure you so eagerly craved from Bucky, and let your mind wander. You loathed being the smartest person in the room all the time, but he wouldn’t let you forget that.

You sigh as cool metal splays out over your abdomen, dark-plated fingers tracing patterns over your flushed skin. They trail upwards slowly, to the meaty flesh of your breasts. Slowly, too slowly for your liking, he peels the nude coloured cup from each one, letting your hardened nipples kiss the gentle air. He squeezes soft, then harder a second later before pinching the left peak between his thumb and forefinger. Dark hair brushes against the exposed expanse of your neck, his rough salt-and-pepper beard scraping as he raises his head. His chapped lips attach to your silky skin, nipping, marking what’s his.

When he pulls away a growl rips from his diaphragm. “You wanted a challenge, doll. But when you’re given one you present me with this? How poor.” His words carry that mocking lilt that grinds your gears and soaks your panties simultaneously.

Bastard.

His left-hand glides from your breast to your hip, nudging you further up the polished surface with ease. With your hands tied behind you, you’re left with no support, your chest flopping onto the desk unceremoniously; a startled gasp choked out of you as sensitive peaks squish against the cold. Like fire and ice, your skin steaming as you’re manhandled onto the mahogany. Memories fill your mind of the many occasions in the past when you were stacked similarly, everything presented for your Professor.

Slowly, his tanned skin peels from yours. Barnes withdraws, inch by agonising inch of his length from you, leaving your body clenching around nothing. It should be pathetic to feel as empty as you did once he finally pulled free — no man should make you feel like you need him to survive as much as he made you feel. A snide grin blooms across Barnes’ face, hurting his cheeks, at the sight of your pathetic little self using whatever strength you had left to roll your hips, desperate for his contact again. His right hand, calloused and battle-torn, soothes over the smooth flesh of your rear. He hums appreciatively as the supple flesh reacts under his gentle touch, it makes a thought cross his mind and a moment later his hard palm connects with your cheek.

You yelp, your hips buckling inwards away from the pain that sears across your flesh. It stings in the shape of his hand and you know there will be a mark, welts demanding your attention simply so you can sit down without drawing attention to yourself at dinner tonight. That’s if you made it back in time. He slaps again once you have settled, fingers gripping the skin so the hurt lasts longer. Over and over he leaves dark handprints along the flesh of your ass, thighs and hips, your voice hitting a new pitch, bouncing off sterile white walls.

He chuckles at your lack of control, “If I didn’t know any better, Princess, I’d think that you want people to hear how fucked out you are for me.” His breath ghosts along the shell of your ear, tongue following, licking along the curve. “Is that what you want? Professor Rogers is right across the hall. You know you’re his favourite right? Do you want Rogers to know how much of a little slut his favourite girl is for a cock that ain’t his?”

You sniffle, hot breath bouncing off the wood and into your face.

“S-stop.” He knows just how to pick you apart, leaving you embarrassed and weak for him.

“You and I both know you don’t want that.”

Metal fingers snake up the base of your neck to the back of your skull and clink together, twisting locks of your hair in the plates and pulling you up. His lips smash onto yours roughly but the kiss is anything but. He’s tender and loving, telling you things without even uttering the words. ‘I may treat you like nothing but you’re still mines to love.’ And fuck he loves you hard.

His broad head presses against your entrance again, gathering your essence as lube before he impales you on him for a second time. The desk squeaks in protest at his brutal thrusts but no one listens. His free hand grasps the crook of your leg, pulling it up onto the desk, your knee clattering hard against it. The new angle pushes him deeper into your body, his tip battering your spot, again and again, the edge of the desk rubbing your clit perfectly.

The change from nothing to everything is mind-numbing. From pain to pleasure, unforgiving pleasure that couldn’t care less how much it messes with you. Your end hurtles towards you, the knot coiling in your stomach drawing so tight that it hurts to bear.

You cry out his name like a prayer that will bring back the dead, others who still wander the halls of the large building be damned. You are long past caring what the others think of you now, if they didn’t know already by the state of disarray you leave Professor Barnes’ room in then they were dumb anyway. Not worth your time.

“Buck!” you warn him again knowing that he won't take too kindly to you unravelling without his permission.

You back your hips up again, desperate to match his thrusts, to push him even deeper than the hilt. If you could just reach around and strum a finger over your bundle of nerves, giving it that direct pressure it needs compared to the grazing of the desk, you know you would explode. But it doesn’t happen. Barnes pulls out sharply, laughing wickedly at your desperate cries; your body being so prepared, so tense and built up for release only for him to pull away just as you were about to tumble over that precipice. It aches, to be denied such a well-deserved reward.

“What the fuck?!”

He cups your face and kisses your scowl. “Wouldn’t be much of a lesson if I just gave you what you wanted now, would it?”

You huff. He’s so unfair. You grunt and whine as he shifts you again. Your leg muscles ache from being pushed so far beyond their limits; they sing as he pulls it off the desk. He wraps his gold-accented prosthetic around your waist and pulls you to him, turning you before shuffling you back till your reddened cheeks pressed against the edge of the desk.

He lifts you with ease, hushing your yelps thanks to the marks he left on your behind, then urges you onto your back, your arms pressed beneath you making your shoulder muscles strain ever so slightly. He owed you a five-star massage that’s for sure.

You know what he wants. What started this whole thing. One measly answer. “Would you like me to read the question again?” he asks. He takes the damned paper in his right hand, his left settling on your thigh, drawing circles over it.

“I know the question.” You’re being snappy, but can anyone honestly blame you? If they could they could deal with him next time…maybe.

“Ah, in your own time then. Just your answer will do; I trust you know the working.”

You inhale, then breathe out, letting the stream of air out through pursed lips. It’s a silly attempt to calm your vibrating mind but you’re desperate for even a tiny sliver of your mind back so you can prove to your Professor that you are what you say you are. Then this asshole moves again; his thumb meeting your clit, drawing slow, gentle circles against it. The neglected bud screams pleasure after being neglected human touch till the last second, driving your body insane.

Your hips roll and your fingers scrape for purchase underneath you but to no avail, you groan partly out of frustration and the other part pleasure, your eyes slipping shut and your head making contact with the desk in a dramatic thunk. When you open your eyes again you swear you see concern flash in Bucky’s lust-filled gaze but it’s gone after a blink. It’s almost impossible now to think of the answer, your thought process interrupted by your horny little brain crying out yes. But you manage.

“Four hundred and thirty-two.” You bite out the words and he hums, giving you a nod of approval. Correct.

The page flutters to the floor like the first snowfall, landing just beside where Bucky sinks to his knees. He wastes no time in diving between your thighs, eating you out like a man starved. His fingers press into you, fucking into you with abandon; they curl at the right spot, in a way that only he knows how thanks to many years of practice. Your body is addicting to him, your scent and essence like water to him.

“B-Buck! I can’t h-hold—“

“Then don’t,” he pants, nipping your clit. “Don’t you fucking dare hold back on me, Stark.”

Your moans mix with his animalistic noises, creating a filthy symphony that the whole floor was sure to hear, but it was the last thought on your mind as white spots mottled around your periphery before fireworks explode in your brain and across Bucky’s face. You didn’t realise what happened until he stood, beard glistening in your juices and his once-pressed shirt soiled. He smiles up at you, cheeks flushed, pride prominent. He kisses up your body till his nose nudges yours and his lips press onto your own. His musk mixed with your end so sinfully tasty.

“I can’t believe I did that.” You admit quietly, almost too quietly. He hates that he can hear the embarrassment in your voice and is quick to shut it down with another peck.

“You did, and I wanted you to. Don’t feel embarrassed for giving me what I want Miss Stark. It pisses me off.” He stands, bringing you with him. You lean against his stable frame, catching your breath and wiggling the feeling back in your legs. You stretch like a cat, back popping with relief, then you loop your arms around his neck, kissing him again. He lifts you and settles back onto his office chair, you on top, your legs dangling over one of the arms.

“You did so well for me, Doll. I’m so proud of you.” He praises as his warm hand soothes over your aching body, his lips making their journey from your own to your neck. No matter how hard he pushed one way, he always made sure to balance it out — keeping your scales equal.

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