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yamujiburo · 1 year

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HANAMUSA (JESSIExDELIA) MASTER POST

I probably should have started doing this forever ago but I wasn’t sure how long I was gonna stick with drawing these comics. But I guess we’re in it now! This will be continually updated~ EVERYTHING UNDER THE CUT

BEFORE YOU START:

This post is required reading about Team Rocket’s ages since that’s usually a question that comes up a lot LOL. As for Delia’s age, she is said to be 29 in Takeshi Shudo’s (original writer on Pokémon) novel that built out the world and characters of the anime.

Next, I feel like this chart helps give the vibe of what these characters relationship is (all just headcanons except for their names and ages)!

WHERE TO START:

Here’s a post I made detailing how Jessie, James and Meowth initially start living with Delia. It also goes into what each character does in this AU. Before going into the post, you might enjoy this fanfic my girlfriend commissioned! It’s based off of said post and is a more enjoyable read.

Here’s also a list of headcanons!

COMICS:

Here’s all the comics I’ve done! The order of most of them are pretty ambiguous and up in the air but I put them in the order I kinda see in my head! There are some that do take place before Jessie and Delia start dating though! Also a few comics that have several parts but the “next” and “prev” links will be in each comic. So I’ll only link the first part of those ones in this masterpost.

Pre-Relationship

Fast Food

Ophidiophobia

Whipped

Making Eyes

Hairbrush

Inquiries

Separated

First Kiss

During Relationship

Big Bed

Tattoo

Crumbs

Pet Clown

I’d Like To

Jessica

Lipstick (not a comic but some fun extra dialogue for this)

Glow

Official

Stare Down

Shovel Talk

Invisible Walls

Date Night

Face Blind

One Motto Away

Snowgasboard

Delia’s Got a Cold

Mr. Jessie Ketchum

Peek-At-Chu

Hands Off Pikachu!

Wine Nights with James

Beauty and the Beach

Turning Point Arc

Sunscreen

Where Do Babies Come From

Love Life

Ugly

Ace Trainers

Pikasitting

Mother’s Day

Father’s Day

Gift for Delia

Gift for Jessie

Jessilina Fan

Crossdressing

Hickeys

Journey Arc

Tone

Cooking Twerp

Son

Cooking Advice

Serperior Facts

Cassidy’s Cabin Arc

Father/Son Bonding

Glasses

Uniform

Study Help

Happy Valentine’s Day

Wrapped

Daddy Daughter Double Battle

Splinter

Married Life

Wedding

Arbok/Weezing Reunion

Snake Eyes

MISC DRAWINGS:

I’ll update this with links to my other miscellaneous drawings later!

FAQ:

What does "Hanamusa" mean?

Hanamusa is a combination of Delia and Jessie's Japanese names, Hanako and Musashi respectively.

When does this AU take place?

It takes place sometime after the Mezase Pokémon Master/To Be a Pokémon Master series. So all the events that happened in the series, unless retconned within the series, happened. Ash is 10 at the start of the comics.

What's the status between Jessie, James, Meowth and Giovanni/Team Rocket?

Not great terms since they were fired, but also not the worst terms. Giovanni just let the three of them go without any further issues. I will say that I've always loved the theory that Giovanni keeps Jessie specifically around because of her parentage and he as a soft spot for her that he keeps a secret. I feel like Matori was the one that got the three of them fired and Giovanni wasn't able to make an excuse for them this time (without showing nepotism/special treatment) so he was forced to let them go.

If you headcanon Delia as a lesbian, how did Ash come to be?

Delia was young when she had Ash and I hc that she just didn’t really explore her sexuality much! I myself didn’t realized I liked women until I was 18 and didn’t know I liked ONLY women until like 2 years ago. She got married, had a baby and realized after her husband left that she liked women (trans people exist obviously but I’m also interpreting Ash’s father as a cis man).

Who do you think Ash’s dad is?

I don’t know and I don’t really care to explore it. I’m going off of the novel interpretation that he’s just a deadbeat that left to be a trainer, failed and never came back because of the shame. He’s not important.

Isn’t Giovanni Ash’s dad?

That’s a common misconception that people remember wrong from the Pokémon Live show. Delia mentions she dated Giovanni but then left him and his gang after meeting Ash’s father. I also don’t consider the live show canon personally! I follow The Birth of Mewtwo timeline where Madame Boss founded Team Rocket.

Do you think Delia and Giovanni dated at least?

Nah, I think he’s too old for her? I always got the vibe from The Birth of Mewtwo that he was quite a bit older than Jessie and it’d be sus if he was dating Delia when she was married to, and had a child with her husband at 18/19. He’s a bad guy but not a BAD guy.

You mentioned you still ship Jessie and James. Why not make a Jessie, James, Delia polycule?

I have a few reasons I’ve mentioned before! 1. I’m in super deep with this AU already and I feel it’d be very confusing for casual viewers of my stuff if James was added into the relationship haha. 2. I’ve drawn Jessie and James together since 2011 and took this AU as an opportunity to try my hand at writing them as queer, platonic besties bc I love that interpretation of them a lot as well. 3. I’m not poly myself and the way I write this ship is largely based off of my experiences with my girlfriend. I just know I’d favor the Jessie/Delia of it all which isn’t fair and not a good interpretation of a poly relationship. All that said, I DO super enjoy seeing peoples’ poly headcanons and art!

Who does James end up with in this AU?

No one. He's aroace and is happy to be single

Do Jessie and James have all their Pokémon in this AU

I think they have all the Pokémon that they did by the end of Mezase Pokémon Master (all their Pokémon that were left at HQ). Most of their released Pokémon have stayed released and the Alola Pokémon are still in Alola. I bring back Arbok and Weezing post-Jessie and Delia getting married. I may bring back Chimecho, Growlie and Cacnea if I think of an idea I like!

What are Meowth and James up to in this AU?

Hop back to the top of this post under the "Where to Start" section. All your questions will be answered.

Does Ash travel with anyone at this point of his life?

I don't have anyone in particular in mind! I could see him making new friends (Nemona???) or traveling with different combinations of old friends. Like him, Misty and Goh, him, Dawn and Cilan, him, Serena and Lillie etc.

Will Delia ever get over her phobia of snake Pokémon

Not fully! I think overcoming fears is fine and good but I think real PHOBIAS are much harder to get past and I don't want to cheapen it. She slowly gets used to Jessie's Seviper specifically and gets to the point where she can pet it comfortably with Jessie in the room. But otherwise, still scared and would need that same amount of time per Pokémon

Is Jessie gaining weight or is it just me?

Not just you! Jessie puts on a bit of relationship weight overtime as you'll see in the later comics in the timeline. Jessie grew in poverty, never knowing when her next meal would be and that continued into her life as a Team Rocket member. Once she was able to settle down (with a woman who runs her own restaurant no less) she's able to live a healthier lifestyle with regular meals and puts on some weight because of that.

Does Jessie ever feel self conscious about gaining weight?

Nope! She feels happier and healthier and hotter. She's also unreasonably excited to clear out her old clothes and get a new wardrobe.

Would Jessie and Delia ever have kids together or adopt?

Nah, Ash is enough for them! I have come up with hypothetical kids for them but they're not canon to this AU. Just a fun little thing for me.

Will you ever put this on webtoon?

Nah. People mostly ask me this because they want to read everything in the order of the timeline but to my knowledge, you can’t reorder chapters or installments which would defeat the purpose. I also don’t think nintendo fan stuff would fly there. Also, also it’s just extra work and another place to upload and I want to keep this all fun for myself~

#hanamusashipping #hanamusa #hanamusa comic #master post

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gremlingottoosilly · 4 months

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Beekeeping age [Dilf!Konig x fem!Reader]

You're ex-boyfriend is an asshole, so you decided to fuck his hot military dad instead. You're going to find out why his first wife ran as fast as she did, very soon - but Konig is still the best dick that ever happened to you.

CW: Daddy kink(obvi), power imbalance, possessive Konig, perverted Konig, age gap(Reader in her early twenties, Konig in his early forties), mentions of cheating(your ex is a douchebag anyway), slightly obsessive Konig, size kink, unprotected sex.

FIRST PART (can be read separately) AO3

— Why your wife left you, again?

You stuff your face full of…something. He cooked it – gods did he cook it well. It’s meat and vegetables and spices, and it feels like your dad cooking but twice as good. It feels like pure sin because he says you shouldn’t worry about calorie counts or how fat the meat is, or how good everything tastes fried because he needs his special girl to feel good and healthy and fatten up a little bit, and you…gods, you’re down. Bad.

You wonder if König’s wife left because she couldn’t compete with his cooking. You wonder if his wife left because he was feeding her too good.

— Why don’t we leave uneasy questions for later, Schatzi?

He brushes his hand over your hair, taking in the way you look – dressed up in his shirt, skin covered in bites and bruises from his hold. He can’t see it right now but can almost testify to the way your lipstick was all over his collar – good thing he wasn't wearing his uniform shirt, wouldn’t want to make dorks from Kobra jealous.

He brings you another plate, he fills your glass – you never knew beer could taste this good, but he whispered something about having his own little homemade brewery for wine and beer somewhere in the mountains, in his Summer house. This man has a hug apartment in Vienna and a Summer house – you think you heard him having enough land to go hunting and to keep bees, and you might have cum a little bit just here and there.

— I would like to know the story, actually. To not repeat her mistakes, you know.

— You won’t, Liebling. I can already picture you with a ring on your pretty finger.

— Not so fast. Maybe I don’t believe in marriage.

— You’re too young to stop believing in it.

— Way to talk when you’re the divorced one, sir.

— Shut it, Schatzen. I can still take care of a good girl like you, ja? König leans in to kiss you, his lips brushing over your mouth – it’s wet and swollen, he bite you quite a few times already, and you feel dizzy just from the way his tongue lingers just a second before going in, taking your arousal even more. His hand gently brushes some hair from your face and you giggle from the sensation of his rough fingers on the softness of your skin. It never failed to mesmerize you, just how seasoned and old the colonel might be – and his hands would still tremble as if he is handling the finest porcelain doll in his hands. He has the expression of an anxious, devoted follower – you are not sure how his wife could left him. If he was looking at you like this every day, even as you go through with pregnancy and a piece of shit kid like Paul, you would die before leaving him.

— Could you two please stop fucking each other?

— I thought you wanted to move to dorms.

— This is my house too!

— Not on the documents, it’s not. — You can’t just throw me away, dad! — Your new stepmom needs her space.

König grasps your shoulder as you try to stop them from arguing again – it’s embarrassing enough that you’re fucking your ex’s dad. Colonel makes it a whole fucking show, parading you around as his controversially young girlfriend, making sure that his son will hear your moans and whimpers as you get fucked at every surface of this apartment. You were wondering if you could ask him to move to the Summer house – even with your college and all. You can take a gap year and write a journalist investigation about lonely veterans and their mastery at brewing alcohol. You can take a gap year and try your best in the new trophy wife gig. König’s hand is firm on your shoulder – you know better than to try and argue with him, the silent recognition of authority loud in your head. You sigh, trying your best to just stop yourself from acting too damn weird. It’s their male thing, and you’re just an intruder in a big T-shirt and old leggings. König said it wasn’t his wifey’s – that he burned all of her stuff when she left. Somehow, you find peace in that statement.

— How could you even…Jesus fucking Christ, this is disgusting. She is my age! — And the most beautiful girl in the world. I can see why you liked her. — She is my girlfriend! — Schatzi came to me in distress and begged me to take her. I think we both knew you weren’t…the best option. You feel more embarrassed with each second of their conversation. You don’t want to listen, you don’t want to take in their words, you feel like a trophy being discarded between two different winners. You feel like a prized mare on a farm – and they won’t even look at you. Too distracted by the sound of their voices, you eat your dinner in somewhat somber peace because you need to eat, after all, and you really like what König cooks. You like what König does most of the time. All of the time.

Paul storms off the room after a few minutes of bickering. You feel guilty for not stopping him because he was still kinda your boyfriend. You ex-boyfriend. Your asshole incel-ish ex-boyfriend whose assholless literally made you go and sleep with his dilfy dad, and…god, you feel like a whore. Good. Paul was calling you a whore a lot of the time, you may as well take the new name and plaster it in your new badge.

König’s hand lingers on your back, caressing it gently. You whimper because you feel bad and you’re still in college, and Paul’s disgusted reaction reminds you that fucking a guy in his forties isn’t the best business decision. Even if the said guy is a retired colonel with shitload of money, even if he still goes to work sometimes, just because he wants to feel cool and shoot guns at bad guys, even if this guy buys you cool gifts and he promised to renovate your car or buy you a new one, and he makes plans and takes you to places that don’t make you feel like begging for attention.

If anything, you feel like he is drowning you with attention.

His hand lets go of your shoulder – he was holding you so tight the whole conversation, you can sense the bruises forming on your skin. You lick your lips, and he moves to kiss you again. You feel like drowning, you feel like this is all just a dream – and you’re also drunk because gods, König knows how to make a good glass of…something.

— You shouldn’t act like this. He is your son.

He laughs dismissingly. He dismisses a lot of things you said – you think it’s the age difference. You think he is just being traditional, and you don’t want to be too nagging. You don’t want to end up like his wife and wake up from the dear you’ve been seeing.

König’s lips are soft, and you can look past his hands, taking you too possessively – you can close your eyes, and you can just listen to his accent, smiling as his tongue worms its way into your mouth. He is good, you think – at this whole kissing thing. At this whole “Hi there, I’m a retired old dog and I am fucking the girlfriend of my only son. I’m divorced btw” .

He has experience – you know it when he tucks your lip between his teeth, when he massages your shoulders as you spread your legs already, so wet for him, it’s almost embarrassing. You never slept much with Paul – his poor excuse of a son – it was always never enough lube, it was always never enough attention, he always needed you to shave or to leave your hair to grow a little bit, it was either your perfume being too sweet or you no wearing anything at all. You thought he would have much more fun masturbating to his anime chicks and poor gaming sessions with his friends.

But König isn’t like this – every time he drops on his knees to eat you out like a man starving, you feel utter and complete devotion. In his tongue, in his mouth, in his teeth as he sucks little marks into your thighs, making sure you will remember it tomorrow when he will ask you to stay for breakfast and then ride you to whatever you need to come next. Last time he promised to drive you to the library, he took a few turns and took you to some restaurant instead. You gushed about not having proper attire, he was still in his half-uniform and rocking dark cargo pants, and he was apologizing every time his fingers hit that special spot in your cunt as he fingered you during the second course of meals. He said that he was so, sorry about not fucking you properly, about having to resort to public displays like this – and you were too high on loving him to care. You still are. — I don’t think we should be…

— He left. Won’t bother us anymore.

— I’m not in the mood right now.

— You’re always in the mood, Schatzen. Enough to drive me crazy. — You’re a pervert. Like Paul.

— He takes on after his father, ja?

It would alarm you how much contempt he had for his own child right now. Then, again, you were the one who dumped his son for the powerhouse of a dad. Maybe it was your daddy issues, maybe it was your dumb reasoning and the summer break that you didn’t want to spend with your family. Good thing you’re spending it with the other.

König’s face is buried between your legs, his teeth tugging on the soft fabric, forcing your leggings down. God, it feels good – he is so high on wanting you, can’t even wait to take off your clothes properly. You never had a man wanting you so badly before – it’s addicting, it’s crushing, it makes you feel like a goddess among men. Makes you feel wanted, a thing that your ex never did.

You forget about guilt when he kisses your lower tummy, when his lips trace down to your cunt, taking sharp licks through your panties. You wore them this morning, something from a new lacy set he bought – one of the only ones that weren’t torn off from your body the moment you took them on. He always wanted you to make these little fashion shows for him, making good use of his money – you weren’t a sugar baby, not on paper, you still clutched to the last traces of your dignity, but he did buy you a lot of gifts.

— S’ pretty for me, Liebling. The prettiest girl in the world.

— I assume after…af..ter your wife.

You giggle when he frowns, his rugged face filled with concern. He doesn’t like jokes about his marriage – you don’t want to ask him about it because it would mean waking up from a dream you want to experience over and over again, but you heard what Paul was talking about. What his mom told him about. you heard enough to know that kissing a man like König is a safety hazard and a liability that you can’t afford, but it’s warm, and he is rich, and you don’t want to go back to your part-time job this season. You want to be dumb and you want to be young – right now, you’re doing both. — Don’t be so dumb, Schatzi. Although it suits you.

— I’m not dumb!

— Nein, you’re not. Just silly.

— You just call me a different type of dumb.

— I like it when you’re dumb. Makes you cuter.

König is awkward and funny, and he buys you things that you could never afford. He is mysterious and kind – to you, not his enemies – and he uses German words randomly in his phrases because he knows the accent, and the pronunciation drives you crazy. You never thought of thinking of yourself as a dilf hunter but, hell, here you are. With his dark ginger stubble – and grey streaks that make you go wild every time you look at him – between your thighs. It’s tickling, and it’s a bit irritating, and he will rub some calming lotion in your skin after this, making sure to cover every inch of your skin with some expensive cream that he knows jackshit about, but you wanted it, and so he went out and bought it. Gosh, you felt dumb even asking him for this.

He traces his kisses along your thighs, tongue lingers to press against your wet, swollen folds. Flirting in front of Paul made you embarrassingly hot, solidifying you as a shitty, bad, horny person who needs fat cock stuffed in your leaking pussy. You lick your lips, and you tremble when he pushes his tongue inside. He is starving, pushy with all of his needs – makes you almost beg for it, like a pet he took from the street.

— I want to take you to the Summer house next week.

You open your eyes, shocked. It’s nothing, really, you shouldn’t be this surprised about him wanting to show off his other properties. You want to check out his wine cellar and how sturdy the furniture is. You want to see if he had deers running around the house. If he had any pictures of his family – and if you could ever hope to compete with his ex-wife. It’s a petty competition, but you don’t have much to do and to think about. It’s obvious the love here won’t last until the end of the break, and you want to get as much from it as possible. Maybe even some hot bikini picks at his pool. He has to have one. — What if I have plans, sir?

It’s innocent and you play the role well. You think some of your friends wanted to hang out or make a study group for the upcoming semester. You are a good girl at heart, with nice grades and a perfectly played-out future, and not as many working opportunities as you may like, but you could manage with something. Writing a killer essay about your life with a smoke show during Summer would be easy with someone like him.

He laughs, his hand lightly smacks your butt. You bite your lip and whimper, not accustomed to pain feeling this good.

— You will change them, little one. For the whole Summer.

— I wanted to study.

You moan when he lightly presses his tongue on your swollen clit, kissing and licking it. Slick runs down your legs, and he collects it with his mouth. You whimper again, tears prickling at the edge of your eyes – the sensation is sudden and overwhelming, makes you get your hands in his hair and slightly tug. He groans, pleasure from having you so active, so participating is overwhelming. He loves you, loves you, loves you, adores you. God, you’re beautiful. And so, so restrained – just his special good girl. Only for him. — You can study at our house.

— You mean you and your ex’s house.

He smacks you again for the foul language – although you know you didn’t even curse, he is still punishing you. In the lightest way possible, of course, you know you won’t handle anything too harsh – still, you feel nice and warm when he isn’t just eating you out, but also smacks you for speaking in such unpretty words again.

You don’t even register the way he called the house yours too. All too dumb for this, again.

— I mean our house, Schatzen. Just you and your daddy, ja? You worry too much about studying.

— I want a nice job. Without…distractions.

He slips one finger in your warm, tight hole – even just one digit is enough to make you shiver, clenching it like a sloppy whore. He is big in every way – just two of his fingers are bigger than a normal cock, and no, you didn’t want to compare a son with his father, but even Paul’s cock, as big as it was, was still way thinner than his father’s.

— Why you need a job?

— Not everyone are retired military. I need money.

— You have me.

— I d…don’t want to be a sugar baby. Sir.

— I have no problems with being your daddy, Schatzen.

König is build like a powerhouse – when he slips just the tip into you, ignoring all previous preparation because, by god, you both need to feel connected, he is dragging you on top of the table, tossing aside the dirty dishes with remains of his perfectly cooked dinner…and you feel like home. Almost.

You imagine waking up with his cock every morning, and with the nice cup of coffee only he can make. You imagine him gushing about rebuilding the house and working on his tight and neat desk job at the mercenary company – something about instructing, dumb recruits, only the most elite missions as an operator in retirement, creating strategies and tactics for the warfare – and thinking that, wow, your husband is really cool. You shouldn’t be thinking this because this is just a summer fling. Your relationships with Paul weren’t too serious either, you just didn’t want to be alone.

König gently caresses your fingers, whispering something about numbers – you think you could recognize the word for a ring a bit later when he was making a call to some friend. In German, of course, you don’t quite understand it, but you worm your warm on his lap like a spoiled cat, purring on his crotch like a good fucking girl. But it was a while later.

Now, you’re gasping and panting, his cock spreading you open and stuffing you like the poor bird he was cooking for dinner. You know you won’t be able to walk after a short while – would probably have to spend the day at his house, with him cooing and gushing about your sore body while he is quietly proud of himself. If you’re lucky, you could convince him to let you go in the evening. If you’re not, he will ask you to stay the night, and maybe even a bit more, and then he will just get the bag with your stuff from your room in the dorm by himself, and then… — What do you think about getting married in August?

Maybe, you do know why his wife left him.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #call of duty #yandere cod #cod x you #fem reader #konig cod #konig x you

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queers-gambit · 8 months

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Curiosity Killed The Cat

prompt: after rescuing you from kidnappers, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become.

pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

word count: 5.1k+

note: author wants things out of her drafts! also don't take this fic too seriously, it's not much at all - just me writing for the fuck of it until i'm ready to focus on my bigger projects.

warnings: modern AU, Mafia AU, obvious cursing, small hurt and comfort, brief depiction of physical violence and self-destruction in the form of: loss of appetite, lack of sleep, other symptoms of depression. NOT edited! author is ashamed because she knows she can give you something better but oh well.

browse the Clingy Baby collection masterlist here

Your feet planted, jarring you to a halt the moment you heard your name in a conversation you were not apart of.

You heard the hammering of your heart, echoing beats of your blood pumping with harrowing desperation. Hands turned cold and clammy, sweat breaking out on your brow and then freezing, feeling as if your throat had swollen to a new restriction and you were anchored in you in place.

Rooted.

But for now, all you could identify was the paralyzing anxiety that anchored you to your spot and made your heartbeat thunder in your ears. You stood outside the lounge, unable to comprehend relevant thought; still listening to low, docile tones continue their conversation, but you couldn't hear real words.

You were stunned. Panicked, confused, hurt - so very hurt. That seemed to register, too; you were really, really hurt.

This was perhaps why curiosity killed the cat.

You reprimanded yourself for listening in - transporting back to childhood during all the times your parents would scold you for eavesdropping. You knew it was wrong, you knew this was a private conversation meant to be shared between trusting confidants, but you couldn't help it - you heard your name and stopped. It was natural, right? To feel curious regarding a conversation seemingly about you that you, yourself, was not apart of?

Curiosity, indeed.

Blinking rapidly, you remembered the only other time you felt such mounting, pressurized fear, and while it might be dramatic, the only other time you could remember this level of anxiety was from about two months ago...

"Yes, baby, I got the bacon."

"And the jalapeños?"

"Uh-huh, the biggest they had."

"Cream cheese?"

"Do you know who you're talking to?" You laughed into the phone. "I'm a professional housewife by now, you can relax. I got all you needed for your fancy little dinner experiment."

Bucky laughed down the phone, "Oh, please, like I didn't see you salivating when we watched the segment on Top Chef."

"Hush," you laughed, too. "I'm leaving the store now," you told him, pushing out of the heavy glass doors, "and should be home in, like, 10 minutes?"

"Lemme pick you up."

"I have legs to walk with, so, no thank you."

He sighed, "Well, I'll open the wine to let it breathe. Red's still good?"

"Let's do a white tonight, please."

"Good deal," he mused softly. "Hey, I was thinking earlier - "

"Hang on," you pleaded.

"What's wrong?"

"No, nothing. There's just a van slowing down, I don't want to get hit," you chuckled some, looking up and down the street before crossing. "Sorry, so, what were you thinking?"

"We haven't been to Paris in months."

You smirked, "I'm sure our plants in the apartment are dead by now."

Bucky laughed, "Oh, I am, too. But, look, how 'bout it, Peach? You, me, all the croissants we can consume this weekend. I'll take Monday and Tuesday off, we can leave tomorrow night."

"Oh, that sounds nice," you moaned. "Paris in the spring? Baby, that's so dreamy!"

"So, is that a yes?"

"It's a hell yes," you grinned. "Do you know the weather?"

"Supposed to be nice and sunny, not too warm or cold. Figured this would be ideal," he chuckled. "But does the weather matter if we're in bed the whole time?"

"No, we're not wasting our time!" You laughed. "We're gonna go do shit, okay? Stereotypical tourist-couple shit."

"I'll bring the camera."

"And I was hoping we could have dinner at that little place we love?"

"I wouldn't take you anywhere else," he mused.

"I think it's - FUCK!" Bucky froze when he heard the screeching of tires; a van coming up to a skidding halt, flurry of voices all yelling but he heard yours clearly. "No, no, no, hey, hey, what the hell's happening? Hey! What's this - hey, hey! Don't touch me! Ow, shit! No! Hey! Fuck's sake - oh, my God! Ow! Hey!"

"Baby!? Peach! Hey! The fuck's going on!?"

There was a thudding over the phone, and Bucky listened to more struggling - more fidgeting and fighting - and then the slamming of a car door. Still calling your name, Bucky heard a scrape over the line before a different voice answered your phone, "James Barnes. On behalf of HYDRA, you're overdue on your payment and we warned you there would be consequences. Deliver the full amount of 17 million - "

"It's 15," he growled.

"Two million more for the inconvenience of stalking your woman."

"If you even so much as touch her, I swear to God - "

"17 million at midnight, at the pier, or every minute you're late, she'll receive the brunt end of our frustration."

"Don't hurt her - "

"Midnight, Mr. Barnes, at the pier - you know where. Don't be late, she looks like she won't last long."

The line went dead after he heard your screech of pain, confusion, and fear. The moment the line cut, he dropped his phone and slowly lowered himself to sit on the kitchen floor, shock coloring his system. It wasn't that he didn't have the money, quite the opposite - but he and his men had a plan in motion to take out HYDRA, their org's competition, and this was totally against all they anticipated. After a minute to sit in his own worry, Bucky jumped to his feet, grabbed his phone, keys, wallet, and two handguns; holstering them both before shrugging his suit jacket on.

He made every phone call he could, gathering the men he trusted most to (one of) his warehouse(s).

For hours, you were strung up by your wrists in a joint-pulling position while the Brooklyn Mafia formulated a plan of attack. It was the most pain you've ever known, but then the abuse started and you were blinded by this new pain. You had bruises most places, cuts that wept blood; scars that would never heal, wounds that wouldn't ever close. You were delirious, miserable, confused, just dazed and confused; praying to a God who didn't listen.

"Oh, look at that," your captor mocked, holding a thick-bladed hunting knife in hand, "it's one minute til midnight, and I don't see your loverboy anywhere."

You sniffled, unable to respond.

He stared out the lone window, tisking and narrating, "Nope, I see not a soul - and with how protective he is over you, you'd think he'd want to ensure your safety. Not leave it to chance, huh?"

You whimpered as the clock struck midnight, your heart hammering in heavy-hung worry. You had tears in your eyes, heart nearly beating out of your chest, feeling incredibly nauseous. The desire to scream never lessened, just fearing what was to come; the men in the room making you fear for the state of your life, their knuckles cracking. You only begged, "Please. Don't."

The main captor laughed, "You can do better than that! C'mon, give me the satisfaction of tellin' ol' James you begged for mercy - but it wasn't enough to sway me. I'll lie, for sure, and say it happened but it will be so much sweeter if you actually do it."

"Please," you shook your head, avoiding eye contact. "Just don't do this, please."

"Oh, honey," he mocked, "it's not our fault he's late. Lads! Have at her, but leave her face for now - she's still real pretty."

You listened as he gave commands in Russian, understanding after the years at Bucky's side; whimpering when the first blow landed to your gut and knocked the wind out of you. The minutes drug by and you felt your resolve crumbling, heart still hammering to a never-before-felt speed that made it feel as if it were jumping out of your very body at every single pulse point. You struggled in your restraints, but it was futile by how tight you were bound; unable to protect yourself.

At 12:03 am, the doors blew open in a resounding blast; concrete crumbling and sprinkling the floor. You cried out as the smoke choked you, coughing through the haze; only barely able to make out certain figures to know Bucky had brought his best men. However, despite the sting to your eyes from the swirling dust and smoke, you saw a lone man stalk through the blasted wall, through the fray, and straight up to you.

"Bu-Bucky!" You choked in relief as he reached to untie your feet first. You dangled for only a moment as his metal prosthetic ripped off whatever held your wrists to the torture contraption. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God, Bucky, holy shit, baby, please, please, please," you rambled as he freed you and instantly caught you on his broad shoulders.

"I got you, Peach, I'm here, I've got you," he promised in your ear, hoisting your legs around his waist so they latched and then wrapping his arms around you securely. "Don't let go and don't look up, okay? Hear me, Peach?"

You nodded into his neck, only able to cry.

Bucky jolted and jerked slightly as he moved through the fight again, but not a minute later, you were stepping outside into the sobering, brisk spring air. This was the moment you understood how dangerous and fleeting life with Bucky could be, making a promise to yourself that if he says take the car, you'll take the fucking car.

And now, here you were, outside the high-rise apartment's lounge (which was just a converted bedroom), listening to your boyfriend complain about you some 2 months after the whole fiasco. HYDRA had been all but wiped out, and in the weeks since, Bucky's men had gone on smaller missions to eradicate the HYDRA members they heard rumor of being local. Yet you didn't feel safe, yet.

You didn't feel safe if you weren't around Bucky.

Everything made you jump: the beep of the done-dryer, that spritz of the automatic fragrance mister in the bathroom, the "duh-dunnn" of a loaded-up Netflix. Keys jingling, car horns, the barking of the dog in the apartment a floor below you... Everything.

Being around Bucky was just like holding a safety blanket. He would always protect you, and for about a week after your rescue, he laid in bed and around the home with you; being lazy; time off work to simply hold you and assure you were safe. Safe in his arms. Safe in his embrace, his presence.

So now... To hear this... You were devastated.

You didn't mean to eavesdrop, it just sort of happened. It was still earlier in the morning, but Bucky hadn't been in bed beside you and based on the feel of the sheets, his body hadn't been there in a while. So, you made some coffee and then ventured around the home in search of your lover; coming upon the lounge and hearing voices from within.

You knew it was common for Steve Rogers and / or Sam Wilson to stay late or visit early, so, you weren't shocked by that, but did falter in announcing yourself when you heard Sam ask how you were doing since the kidnapping. He used your name specifically, making Bucky sigh, and for your curiosity to peak.

"She's different, man."

"How so?" Sam wondered.

"She doesn't like being without me now," he chuckled without humor. "I'm serious, she won't go to the gym until I do, waits to have meals together, won't leave the house if I'm out, and," he scoffed to himself, "you can forget going to the grocery store or anything - she's even stopped going to work - "

"You told her to stop working, like, two years ago when y'all first moved-in together," Sam deadpanned.

"I know," Bucky shrugged, "but it feels tenfold now that she's so reclusive."

"It's normal," Steve sighed gently.

"Yeah? Is it normal that I can't even go take a shit without promising her I'll be right back?" Bucky snapped in exasperation. "It's that bad, she's that fucking clingy, man. I go in the kitchen to make dinner, she's in there 30 seconds later to 'help' me. I take a shower, she finds a reason to linger in the bedroom, but that was better than before, when she wouldn't even shower by herself. It's just a lot, she's everywhere I look. I'm starting to find new reasons not to come home, man, she's always fucking here - and when I walk in the door, she's on me. I need to fucking breathe, but I can't tell her to stop, she'll get her feelings hurt and then I'm the bad guy."

"Man," Steve laughed, "you can't be the bad guy if you go to her in a calm and collected manner, but it's only been two months. She's still recovering."

"Exactly why if I say anything, no matter how calm and collected, I'm the bad guy. I get she's hurting and tryna recover, but Goddamn, does she have to be in every room I'm in? Do everything with me? How do I tell my traumatized girlfriend to back off? Let me breathe?"

Sam laughed, "You don't! You just said it - she's traumatized! Cut the girl some slack, she's got a lot to fuckin' deal with!"

"I'm not negating from that fact," Bucky argued, "I'm just trying to say, the way she's clinging onto me like she can't function without me is just grating at my nerves. I just need to breathe and recharge, but I can't tell her that - fuck's sake."

"Buck," Steve smirked, "you're worried Peach isn't gonna listen, but that's her literal superpower. Just communicate, she can't read your mind, but you need to remember how traumatic all of that was for her to experience - she's scarred from that kidnapping, man. So, sure, you need to recharge, but she needs the support."

"Is it wrong to ask for a day here and there to do that? To recharge?" Bucky asked quietly.

"If you communicate, it's perfectly reasonable to ask for," Sam assured softly. "And whatever you do, don't tell her you think she's clingy. Chicks hate that, that word is, just, like, taboo or something. Real heavy, negative connotations."

"But she is," Bucky growled quietly, "'s like she's afraid to let go 'cause I'll disappear or something."

"Oh, noooo," Sam mocked, "I'm Bucky and my girlfriend loves me too much and trusts me too much and actually feels safe and dependent on me too much - ohhh noooo!"

There was a thump, Sam's cried, "Ow!", and Bucky telling him to shut up. You slowly backed away from the door, trying to settle your breathing as you made your escape down the hall. When back in the kitchen, you whimpered and let the first tears fall... The first of many you shed in the hour it took you to prepare breakfast for everyone; doing your best to eat as you cooked so you didn't have to linger around the men. You took Bucky's words to heart, and maybe you were too sensitive, maybe you should venture outside again.

So, when the lads came out, you set the table without making eye contact with any of them. "Here," you directed, setting the pancakes down, "I made breakfast, come eat, it's still hot."

"Wow," Sam smiled brightly, "thanks, Peach!"

You hummed, still avoiding their eyes as you just set the abundance of food to the table. "You... Cooked without me?" Bucky asked you with skepticism.

"Mhm," you hummed, setting the coffee pot down to a hot pad, "and I'm going out shopping with Nat, so, eat up, lads, I'll do the dishes when I get home. Love you, boys, bye," you waved them off, snatching your keys and then moving to the door to stuff your feet into your sneakers.

"Woah, woah, woah," Bucky left the table, approaching you urgently, "hey, what do you mean? You're goin' out?"

"Yep, figured I've stayed in too long, might as well get out and remember life doesn't stop just 'cause I'm sad."

"Peach - "

"I'll see you when I get home, Buck, okay?" You mumbled, slinging your purse on your shoulder.

"Well, here, here, hey, wait, hang on," he pulled his wallet out, handing you over a wad of big bills. "Spend it all, okay? Have fun, call or text if you need me, yeah?"

"Sure."

Bucky leaned in to kiss you but you just opened the door, ready to leave. He frowned, watching you, barely managing to call a quick, "Love you!"

You didn't return the sentiment, feeling hallow and all too silly to return the affection. In your purse was your laptop, headphones, chargers, and whatever else, so, instead of meeting your friend, Natasha - being just a ruse to avoid Bucky - you started small and just went to the local café. You used to frequent it back in the day, but times were changed, and yet, they were all the happier to serve you the same as before. Getting cozy in the corner, you set up camp and ordered your favorite coffee basically every other hour - letting the day waste away as you caught up on work emails.

Might've wasted time on Instagram and Facebook and Pinterest. Got shopping done on Amazon. Browsed through Target's online selection. Checked out the sale items at Kate Spade. Perused Fenty Lingerie because you could.

Before you knew it, a message was coming in over your MacBook from Bucky, asking where you were - why had you turned your location off?

You packed up and with a to-go cup, made the short trek back home. When you got back, Bucky was pacing in the living room; staring at his phone and typing, then deleting, retyping, groaning, glancing up, typing again, then doing a double take. "Where've you been, Peach? Huh!?" Bucky demanded. "You're late!"

"Out with Nat," you eased.

He huffed through his nose, nodding slowly, "You have a nice time?"

"It was okay," you answered. "I'm gonna go to bed after I shower."

His brows furrowed, "I have a meeting tonight."

"I know."

"O...kay?" He let you go, wanting to ask why you didn't ask him to join like you had so often in the past few weeks.

And it didn't stop there, in fact, it got worse. When Bucky got home from his meeting, he was actually shocked to see you nestled in the bed; teetering on the edge of the shared space while snuggling a weighted body pillow.

When he tried to give you a snuggle, you stirred to life and pushed him back, muttering, "Too hot."

The following morning, he was relatively surprised to see you up and about before him; barely getting a word in before you were slipping out the door to go on a morning jog. He was confused by how all of a sudden, where you were once everywhere he looked, now, you were disappeared and distant and gone. You worked out alone, cooked alone - but always left him a plate, but long gone were the cute little sticky notes you left for him. You once haunted the apartment by never wanting to leave, and now, ghosted in and out of it on a daily basis.

You never bothered to go far from home. You liked hanging at the coffee shop and luckily, your job let you work from home most days, and the rare time you were due back in the office, it was only about a 20 minute walk. You got better at lying, couldn't even remember the last time you and Bucky had sex, and even now, the last time you had a meal together. You didn't text him about your day; where you once might've told him about an adorable dog you saw on the street, now, you only ever texted him if he asked a direct question.

Food lost appeal, your appetite vanished.

Sleep evaded you, plaguing you with nightmares when you did rest.

Interest dulled, passions were snuffed, and only fearful, confused anger remained. It showed in the way weight seemed to shift around your body, thinning; the lack of sleep creating dark rings and bags under your bloodshot eyes.

After two weeks of this, Bucky grew irritated and short with everyone around him. It reflected in his work, the way he spoke to everyone; even Steve and Sam getting the brunt end of his anger. Without you to assure him, Bucky was off his rocker; losing his cool; his patience stretched far too thin. So much so, the two mates approached an outside associate, Natasha Romanoff, after a particularly snappy meeting to plead for her to talk to Bucky.

"James," Nat greeted as she strode into his office without knocking.

"I know you're my oldest friend, but you don't have that privilege yet," he mused, never looking up.

"What?"

"Not knocking. What is it, Nat?"

"Just came to check on you, you know, like friends do."

"Hm," he chuckled without humor, "and what did Peach say to you?"

"About...?"

"Me."

"Nothing, I haven't gotten ahold of her for weeks."

Bucky paused, slowly lifting his head in confusion; brows furrowed and mouth set in a firm, straight line. "What?" He grit.

"Huh?" Nat wondered.

"She's been telling me that she's hanging out with you for the past two weeks," he revealed.

"Nope, not since the incident with HYDRA."

Bucky's (right) flesh hand crushed the pen in his grip, taking a long breath. "All right," he sighed, "so, why come today?"

"What's really going on, Buck?" She worried softly. "Is it really whatever's going on with Peach? You're this pissed off? What'd she even do?"

"She just..." He cut himself off with a long sigh. "It's nothing."

"Bucky," Nat gave a pointed look.

"She's just avoiding me," he muttered. "It's like she's barely home, almost like a ghost."

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Yes, and no," Bucky snipped, rolling his neck out. "I'm just worried about her now, she's never not communicated before."

"Something's bothering her," Nat shrugged. "She probably needs you right now, Buck."

"I can't do it all," he whispered. "I can't be who she wants and run this organization at the same time."

"She doesn't need that, she just needs you to be her partner," Natasha spoke softly. "She needs to feel loved and supported, and surely, she maybe felt weird about whatever you were projecting. Instead of taking it out on your men," she smirked, "why don't you just talk to her? 'Cause I hear you're bein' a more-than-usual asshole lately. You need to ease up or get laid, 'cause you're taking it out on good, loyal men, and that's entirely unfair."

"They can take it."

"Sure, but they shouldn't have to," Nat rolled her eyes. "Look, since you won't answer me, I'm assuming the sour mood is in regard to whatever relationship issues you have right now?"

"Sure," he tossed the pen away, opened a skinny drawer to his right and select an identical one.

"Bucky," she growled.

He sighed, "She's lying to me, Nat. Saying she's with you when she's not... Is this an affair? She's gone all the time now."

"No way," Nat laughed. "Baby girl doesn't have the energy to entertain anyone - let alone two men. You're just the exception."

"Why lie, then?"

"Maybe she didn't want you questioning her..."

"No shit."

"Well, did you get into a fight?"

"No."

"Any reason she doesn't want to be home?"

He shook his head with a sigh, "Not that I know of."

"You had to do something."

"Honest, I haven't. She was being all clingy, but then one day, a switch flipped."

Nat frowned, "You think... Your girlfriend is being clingy... Because she was kidnapped and beaten up... Because of your fucking job... And is probably scared...out of...her mind...? I get that correct?"

Bucky paused for a long moment, muttering, "Oh, my God."

"Yeah, you asshole. Think of it that way! She's afraid!" Natasha snapped. "And probably picked up on your energy, so, she made herself scarce."

"I didn't mean - "

"I don't care, go home, apologize to that sweet angel - she doesn't deserve this."

Bucky paused, "What is 'this' exactly?"

"James. Focus on the present - your woman. Go make this right. We all know you're this big, bad dude - but it's okay to be a little sensitive towards the woman who loves you without condition!"

Bucky relented, figuring the redheaded Russian mobster was right.

The entire drive home, Bucky considered the ways you had changed in the few, short weeks since he vented to Sam and Steve about your clinginess. You didn't take meals with him, didn't cook, work-out, or do anything you used to do together. Sex? Forget it. Dates? Nope. Cuddling? No, you're always 'too hot'. And when he thought about it, he remembers seeing the wads of cash he'd leave for you stuffed in his sock drawer - surely trying to make him think it was just another emergency fund he had hidden. You never spent his money, feeling humiliated by his choice of words.

Clingy...

You didn't text or call him when he was gone, you hadn't even so much as kissed him in what felt like ages... Well, more like you hadn't initiated any kisses...

His heart weighed in his chest as he realized he hadn't even so much as hugged you in days. You were rarely in the apartment together, and when you were, you were just silent and busy with chores. It was as if you operated on the exact opposite schedule as he did, went to new extents to avoid him, and his heart clenched in his chest.

When he got home, you were caught cooking in the kitchen - being obvious that you weren't expecting him. The door slammed and his baritone voice snapped, "Peach!"

You gulped, holding the sauce-covered wooden spoon to your chest. When he rounded around the corner, he found you and slowed down, sighing in relief. "What's wrong?" You worried in a timid tone.

He panted lightly, relaying, "Needed to find you."

"I'm here."

"I know," he relented, charging up to you and engulfing you in a tight, heavy hug. "I needed to talk to you, Peach," he whispered.

"What's wrong?"

"You. You're what's wrong."

"What the fuck does that - "

"No, no," he pulled back to stare down at you fondly, "I don't mean it like that, just that... You're struggling. I can see that. But you're not alone, I'm here with you, and I got a little caught up in my head when I realized someone was so very dependent on me - it fucking scared me. But then... Then you just shut yourself off and hid away from me, and oh, my God, it's so much worse, baby. Don't do that," he breathed, "okay? Don't ever shut me out - don't stop loving me, don't stop talking to me, don't give up on us. I can't read your mind, you can't read mine, it's not an excuse - but we understand better when we trust each other enough to communicate what's required. I'm so sorry I got caught up in myself, I didn't know what you needed - but I'm here now, I'm here - I'm not leaving you."

You collapsed into his chest, taking a shuddering breath.

"Don't ever stop talking to me, Peach," Bucky whispered, kissing the top of your head; keeping you close. "I'm so sorry, baby, if I - "

"If?" You snapped, pulling back to glare at him through your tears. "I heard you, Bucky. I heard you talking to Sam and Steve, and about how clingy I am."

"I was wrong," he insisted. "I was overwhelmed and tired and just stretched thin, the easiest thing to do is attack those closest to me, and that's you. It's not right, it's the worst I could do to you after all you've been through, and I'm so sorry. I was wrong, you're not the person to take this out on - and I'm so sorry, Peach."

You sighed, "I don't mean to be... I don't mean to cling - "

"Nah," he chuckled, caressing your cheek, "you cling as much as you want. Cling as tight as you want, baby, don't let me go. I'm sorry for what I said and the way it made you feel, it was wrong - so fucking wrong of me, and I see that. When you pulled away from me, I just... I couldn't think. It felt so wrong, and I knew it was my fault." He took your face in both palms, promising, "I'm so sorry, Peach."

You shrugged meekly, "It's okay."

"It's not."

"No, but apologizing is a step in the right direction."

He nodded, "What else can I do?"

"Nothing - "

"Peach."

You paused to think, smiling shyly, "Movie night?"

"Whatever my pretty girl wants," he nodded.

"Hmm... Get a bath with me?"

"All right... Sure, okay..."

"And face masks."

He sighed, "Okay."

"And mani-pedis."

"Baby."

"You said you were making it up to me, right?"

He smirked, "That's right... All right, yeah, sure, fine, we can..." He sighed again, "We can do all that, Peach, whatever you want."

"I just want you," you told him softly. "I didn't mean to be so clingy. I was just afraid... I felt afraid everyday, just so very unsure in this life. You're the only thing that makes sense to me, Buck, and when I heard you, I just... I guess I realized how dependent I'd been and wanted to give you space. Last thing I want is to smother you, to drive you away from me."

"Not ever gonna happen," he promised softly. "I just didn't handle it like I should've. I'm sorry, Peach, but I'm here now - for whatever you need. Want me to take a few days off, just be together? I'll arrange it. Want to get away for a bit? We can go."

"I just need you," you whispered. "Only you and I should be okay - I can be okay if I have you, but feeling like I lost you? Even a fraction? Buck... James, it was such a harrowing feeling, I wasn't sure what to do to move forward. So, I think I just panicked, shut down; thought if I could just get back to normal, you'd love me again..."

"I never stopped loving you," he swore, "I just had a bad lapse in my own judgement. Nothing against you, baby. Nothing."

You nodded again, letting him tuck you into his chest; perfectly snug under his chin as he coiled his arms around you. He let out a long sigh, his guilt swelling to new heights, but for that present moment, everything seemed okay.

Felt okay.

Appeared okay.

And you'd both do whatever it took to remain as okay as you possibly could.

requesting rules and masterlist

Marvel masterlist

Clingy Baby collection masterlist

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel au #mob bucky barnes #mob bucky au #mob bucky x reader #mob bucky x you #mafia au #mafia bucky barnes #mafia bucky x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes hurt/comfort

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ddejavvu · 3 months

Note

JAMES POTTER THE MAN THAT HE IS i wholeheartedly believe would spoil you so much and you’d make sugar daddy joke about him CONSTANTLY even if you were the same age

"Why has your aunt just told me I look too young to be your boyfriend?" James leans over to murmur against your ear, throwing a glance at your aunt who's currently indulging in another glass of wine that she doesn't need.

"I dunno," You shrug, "Older ladies are always saying things about the way people look for their ages."

"Your grandma frowned at me when I came in," James recalls with a groan, "Not necessarily angry, I don't think. Just confused."

"She's always confused," You scoff, "Don't worry James; no one else thinks I've robbed the cradle."

"Y/N," It's a cousin of yours this time, elbowing you hard in the shoulder and sitting down beside you like you're not huddled up privately with your boyfriend, "I thought the wallet you snagged was halfway to the grave already. 'This his son?"

"Wallet?" Your eyes narrow, nose crinkling at the accusation, "What are you talking about?"

"You said you had a sugar daddy," Your cousin scoffs, and realization hooks your stomach, dragging it down towards your feet through an ocean of blood, "We all thought you were gonna bring some war veteran tonight, this kid looks like he just graduated high school."

"I'm twenty-two," James rambles, scandalized, "Y/N, you told them I was your sugar daddy?"

"No! No, I told them ages ago - when we started dating, that I had a boyfriend but- I mean, I dunno, I've thrown around the term sugar daddy while showing off some of your more... extravagant purchases."

"Like the cruise," Your cousin helpfully supplies, "And the tennis bracelet, and the summer home."

"That was a rental," You hiss, "Jamie, I swear I've used boyfriend 90% of the time."

"We thought she was just being optimistic," Your cousin admits, a wrinkled grimace on their face as they rush to free themselves from the awkward conversation, "But- uh, good for you two, remember me in the will."

"Oh my god," James buries his face in his hands, "They thought I was ancient. They thought I was some pervert chasing after girls, throwing money at the ones who'd pity me enough to look my way."

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Jamie," You croon, taking his face into your hands and shooing his own away. He leans in desperately to the soothing kisses that you stick to his face, looking for all the world like he might die of embarrassment right here right now. For all that he moans and groans, he's tucked himself into your hold like a helpless infant, and you're happy to oblige his neediness.

"No more using the word daddy." James instructs, though he's not in a position to make orders while nestled securely in your protective grip, "Not unless we decide to take a leap of faith in the bedroom. God, no wonder your grandma was so disappointed when she saw me- I don't have enough wrinkles for her."

#james potter x reader #james potter imagine #james potter scenario #james potter oneshot #james potter one shot #james potter one-shot #james potter headcanon #james potter headcanons #james potter hc #james potter hcs #james potter fanfiction #james potter fanfic #james potter fic #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter dialogue #james potter fluff #james potter x reader fanfiction

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hier--soir · 9 months

Text

a lover's pinch | one

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: a one-night stand with a charming texan turns into something much more thrilling when you discover he is your new college professor. warnings/tags: au, age gap [20 something years diff], alcohol consumption, irrational sexual tension, smut, sex in a public place w/ a stranger [and i'm talking depraved/zero time wasted/known you for thirty minutes type strangers], oral [f receiving], protected piv, rough sex, dirty talk, a spot of degradation + misogynistic language, a split second of soft!joel, you get the picture word count: 5.9k series masterlist | main masterlist a/n: my friends.... oh boy, oh boy. this series is a complete au, self-indulgent, fantasy land idea that has plagued me for weeks. horny academic brain rot to the highest degree. hope some of you enjoy it with me x

Friday.

You sit with three almost strangers.

Listen to them talk about their summers and their families and their degrees as you twirl a straw around your half-empty glass, disrupting the melting ice as you try to wrap your head around what a master’s in environmental engineering might entail. One of them, the only man at the table, takes great pleasure in explaining it to you all for the second time. You take mental notes and hope he’s not expecting you to remember words like sparging and leachate.

They do ask you about your undergrad, and your internship, nodding and smiling curiously. They don’t ask what type of job you plan on getting after your postgrad, which is a welcome relief. The bombardment of questions from immediate and extended family is enough.

Cousins wondering aloud, saying you study Greek mythology, right?

Or your grandfather, before he died, berating you ad nauseam at family events about what’re you gonna do, kid? Be a historian? There’s no money in being a historian. Now, being a lawyer, that’s where the money is.

And you’d respond no, not quite Greek mythology, and no, I don’t plan on being a historian, as you gorge yourself on red wine and triscuits and wait for Christmas to end.

Thankfully you aren’t expected to rehash these scenarios with your almost strangers, who routinely ask a few well-mannered questions and then go back to talking about themselves.

After a week of living with them, in a new house, and a new city, you’re becoming used to their company. The way the four of you commune lazily in the kitchen most mornings, swathed in the light streaming through a window above the sink, making idle small talk as you wait for coffee to brew. How Pete and Trin study opposite each other at the dining table, while Nora prefers to spread her limbs across the couch, laptop balanced precariously on her stomach. She’s doing her master’s in education, which she describes as an expensive way to get a pay rise. She’s kind, with wild curly hair and dark humour, and is easily your favourite of your new roommates.

It was her idea to go out that night. One last hurrah, she’d called it. Before we enter the final circle of academic hell next week. And between four overworked, already burnt-out, twenty-something students, it hadn’t taken much convincing before you were sharing three bottles of wine and hightailing it to the bar with the highest Yelp rating.

The late August air is dry; a faint warmth that follows you into a quaint bar in downtown Biddeford. The space is small and crowded with patrons, with dim overhead lighting that casts a soft glow across the booth you’re crammed into. A thin sheen of sweat coats your skin, and your shirt sticks to your back uncomfortably. The others seem unbothered by the heat, nursing sweaty glasses and discussing how different Maine is from where they all grew up. You involve yourself here and there, offering up stories about your family and friends from back home, and suddenly an hour has passed, and then another, and you’re pleasantly tipsy, body humming as alcohol spreads its way through your veins, and your latest drink is practically empty, spare a few melting ice cubes.

“I need another drink,” you tell Nora, who nods absently before turning her attention back to the others.

You wander toward the bar, fumbling for your phone as you go. Fall in between two leather cushioned stools and rest your elbows atop the sleek wooden counter. Check your bank account and mentally traverse the list of reasons for returning to student-life when you see the number staring back at you. I don’t want to be a lawyer, I don’t want to be a lawyer, I don’t want to be a lawyer, your internal monologue runs, although you could admit how sweet a solicitor’s pay check would feel right now.

It’s a low, Southern drawl that pulls you from your reverie.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Deep. With a rough, lilting quality that piques your interest and has your eyes drifting upward from your phone screen.

You notice his body first; a tall frame with thick arms, thick shoulders, thick neck. A navy-blue t-shirt that stretches thin around his biceps, hugging the tan skin there. And then you look higher, and—oh.

Your heart stutters a beat out of time as you take in his face. Loose brown curls that are just long enough to hang across his forehead. Dark, almond-shaped brown eyes. So dark they almost appear black on the first glance. The strong nose and dark hair across his jaw, dappled with streaks of grey. A moustache resting atop a set of dark pink lips. Gone are thoughts of academia, of bank accounts, of your almost strangers. All replaced in an instant by wanton, pulsating desire.

Something like surprise cuts across his face, but it disappears just as quickly. In a far recess of your brain, you register that he must be at least twenty years older than you. You wilfully ignore the thought, perfectly content to continue admiring him.

A dark eyebrow ticks upward then, and you realise you haven’t responded.

“No,” you rush, flashing him a quick smile. “All yours.”

He gives you a pleased nod, a hint of a smirk passing over his lips as he sits down. He looks vaguely uncomfortable perched on the tall chair, all six-foot-something of him cramped onto such a small cushion. You cast a single glance back towards the booth, and then slip onto the stool beside him.

Silence descends between you for a moment. A song by The Eagles plays faintly, but you can’t figure which one - too distracted to make out the lyrics. You take a careful sip of the melted ice at the bottom of your glass, taste the last remnants of tequila in it, and watch him out of the corner of your eye.

“’m Joel,” that accent rings again, sending a volt of warmth through your chest.

You tell him your name, fingers fiddling with the hem of your skirt. If he notices the tension in your posture, he doesn’t let on. “You a Southern man, Joel?” The name feels warm on your tongue. Soft and silken like honey.

“S’it that obvious?” he grins crookedly, pink lips tearing back to reveal a straight white smile.

“An accent like that is hard to ignore,” you smirk. “It’s not a bad thing.”

‘Thought it would fade a little since I moved here,” he explains. “Y'can take the man outta Texas, but… you know.”

You hum, eyes alight as you watch him speak. His mouth is beautiful, lips parting around prolonged vowels.

“You here alone?” he asks.

“No,” you say. “With friends.”

“Let me guess,” Joel tilts his body, glancing around the bar. His shirt shifts with the movement, hem raising to reveal the slightest hint of a soft, tanned stomach. He points somewhere over your shoulder. You shut your mouth, careful not to gawp. “Them.”

You turn, a soft laugh of surprise bubbling up through your chest when you spy the bachelorette party set up across the bar. Women dressed in gaudy shades of pink. One of them with a sash—reading Jenny’s Big Day—across her chest, a short veil pinned to her head, and an empty champagne glass clutched in her fist. One of them teary-eyed, gripping the bride’s arm and yelling something in her ear, sloshing champagne onto herself all the while.

“You got me,” you turn back to him with a grin. Hold your hands up in mock surrender. “I wouldn’t be caught dead missing Jennifer’s last night as a free woman.”

The corners of his eyes crease, entire face blossoming into a smile now. He has a dimple on his right cheek.

“Knew you were a good girl,” he nods. Says the words in a matter-of-fact tone. Something twists in your stomach, and your palms dampen. You wet your lips quickly and don’t back down from his gaze, allowing the corner of your mouth to kick up a little.

“And you?”

His eyebrows raise in a silent question.

“Who’re you here with?” you clarify.

“Just you, darlin’,” he says, left eye dropping in a quick wink.

It's easy with him, you find, and the two of you sit there for a while; exchanging small talk about Maine, the hot weather, the music at the bar, slipping in flirtatious comments that are about as subtle as a neon sign, until he finally spies the empty glass in your hand.

“What are you drinkin’?” he asks.

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” you say, hoping it doesn’t come across too eager. He seems pleased though. There’s something provocative to his gaze, a teasing warmth that raises the temperature of your skin wherever he looks. But whatever it is, it’s gone by the time he reaches across the bar for the bound beverage list.

He peers at the menu, squinting ever-so-slightly to see through the dim lighting of the bar. The skin beside his eyes is soft and creased with age, crow’s feet that hint at years of laughter and smiles. You wonder again how old he is. How much older than you.

“Forget your glasses?” you tease, testing the waters.

Joel’s eyes flash up to yours. The muscle in his jaw ticks.

“Watch it,” he says. There’s a playful note in his voice, but it rings deeper somehow—a hint of a warning.

Your thighs squeeze together on the stool, warm sweaty skin peeling off the tacky leather as you move. His eyes dart to the bare skin of your legs, and then back to the menu.

He orders you both a whiskey, and a moment later the bartender is sliding a crystal tumbler in front of you. A finger of amber liquid with a single grandiose sphere of ice resting in it. Fancy.

“Cheers,” he holds his glass out. You knock yours against it gently before taking a short sip, fighting a grimace as it burns down your throat.

He watches your face closely, tries to gage your reaction. You take another sip, holding strong in your efforts to show him that you can handle it. Whatever he wants to give to you, you can handle.

“So what brings you here?” he asks. You notice how large the glass feels in your palm, and how small it appears in his. Long, thick fingers wrap around the object, dwarfing it. He takes a sip, and you watch him swallow. His Adam’s apple bobs, and you want to graze your teeth across it.

“To the bar or to Maine?”

“Either.”

“Well, I just moved into town last week, from the West Coast. It’s actually my first week back in the US; I was travelling before the big move.”

“Busy girl,” his tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth. You blink. “Travellin’?”

“I was in Greece,” you explain, sip your whiskey and definitely don’t grimace at the harsh taste. “For a month or so.”

“A month in Greece?” His eyebrows raise and he does a low, impressed whistle that has your stare zeroing in on his mouth.

“Ever been?” you ask faintly.

“No,” his reply is swift. “Never had much interest.”

And you’re nodding absentmindedly, but you can’t seem to drag your stare away from his mouth as he speaks. The trance is only broken when he raises his glass for another sip, and you shake yourself out of it, eyes shifting to stare into his brown orbs once more. They’re darker than you remembered, gaze loaded as he looks back at you. The tension was palpable when you first sat together, but now it feels impossible to ignore; an electric tangle of wire between the two of you that just keeps getting shorter and shorter. And you think, fuck it, if you’re about to descend into the final circle of academic hell, why not have a little fun?

“Can I tell you something, Joel?”

You say it softly, make your voice as sultry as possible. He watches you over the rim of his glass, eyes sparkling with intrigue. And then his mouth tilts into a sort of knowing smirk, and he’s nodding.

“I’d really like to kiss you,” you confess.

He hums, smirk broadening.

Sets his glass down on the bar top with a soft clink, and then lowers his hand to the bare skin of your knee. You gasp at the contact, nerves fraught. The callouses on his fingers scrape against your skin in slow, rhythmic circles, goosebumps raising in their wake. His fingers are long, and as he tenses them over you, squeezing your knee once, you see the way deep blue veins flex beneath the skin, hot blood pumping through him. Your stomach turns molten.

“Is that all?” he asks, a taunting lilt to his voice.

Your mouth is dry, eyes wide as you sense the proposition in his words. The hint of something darker—something greedy—in his gaze.

“No,” you say definitively. “That’s not all.”

A sharp tut escapes his mouth, fingertips dragging higher on your leg as he shakes his head. “Do you have any idea how old I am?”

“Don’t look a day over forty,” you hazard a guess, resting your shoe onto the rung of his stool, using the leverage to drag yours closer. Both your legs are between his now, thighs bracketing thighs. The denim of his jeans scrapes against your outer thighs, and you shiver. His hand pauses, fingertips just shy of the hem of your skirt.

Joel wets his lips. “Guess again, sweetheart.”

A low heat licks at the base of your spine, spreading its way through your veins until you feel like you could combust at any given moment. Fuck it.

“Don’t care,” you mutter, and drape your hand over his. You trace your nails over his skin, feel how the bones shift underneath it, how warm he is. He still doesn’t move, face pensive as he regards you. You arch an eyebrow. “You approached me, you know.”

His lips purse tightly. Another squeeze to your thigh, fingers moving again. “I know.”

Driven by boldness, by arcane desire, by animalistic instinct, you lean forward on your barstool and rest your hands atop the thick expanse of his thighs. Hear his breath kick as your nose traces the side of his square jaw, lips settling at the shell of his ear. Right at the soft, sloping crest of his neck. And you whisper those same words again, quiet enough that no one in the world can hear it but him, can I tell you something?

Your movement drove his hand higher on your thigh, the heavy weight of it now settled beneath your skirt, fingertips skimming the indent where your leg meets your hip, toying at the soft fabric of your underwear there. Painfully close to where you want him.

“Yes,” his deep voice rumbles.

Ever so slowly, your tongue slides out of your mouth to trail against his earlobe. Joel’s thighs tense beneath your palms, and you roll the balls of your thumbs against the muscles there.

“I want to kiss you,” you murmur. “So I’m going to. And then I want you to fuck me, just like I know you want to.” Your teeth graze his lobe, and you bite it once, gently, before rearing your face back to peer at him. “Hmm?”

The muscle in his jaw jumps, shifting beneath the skin, and instead of responding verbally he cups your face with a rough hand. Cool drops of condensation from the glass have stuck to his fingers, and the liquid smears across your skin as he cradles your jaw and draws your mouth to his.

Soft lips envelop yours, the coarse hairs of his moustache tickling your face as he steals the breath from your lungs. And when you lick into his mouth you can taste peppermint on his teeth, and then that oh so familiar whiskey tang across his tongue. You don’t mind the taste so much when it’s on his lips.

You nuzzle closer, dig your fingertips firmer into his thighs and grin when a deep groan falls from his mouth into yours. Wet heat pools between your thighs, liquid fire that stokes at your insides, begging for more more more of him. And, as if he can read your mind, Joel is dragging his mouth away, teeth grazing against your swollen bottom lip as he departs.

“Bathroom,” he says, voice low and commanding. “Now.”

Shock and excitement lace your blood, the proposition of something so dirty, so lewd, making your heart race. With your pulse a dull, thrashing roar in your ears, you allow Joel to help you down from your stool. Your legs feel unsteady now that you’re back on solid ground. Gripping your hand, dwarfing it in his, Joel tugs you away from the bar top and towards an obscured hallway. You amble past the bachelorette party, down the dark hall and then he’s pressing a dark hand against the ambulant bathroom door and dragging you inside, sliding the lock shut behind you.

Joel’s on you in a second, arms bracketing you against the door as his wet mouth slips over yours. His hands are so big, all wide palms and long fingers splaying across the entirety of your back, tucking you against his solid chest. He bunches your shirt in his hand, twisting the material between his fingers as he pushes into your mouth. Tongue hot and wet, gliding against your teeth, your tongue, tasting you, devouring you. there’s nothing polite about it. No more wariness, no more hesitation, no more eyes that could see the two of you at the bar. He’s insatiable, touching you everywhere he possibly can, and even then it doesn’t seem like enough for him.

“Fuck, I want you,” you say against his mouth. He makes a low sound in response, and one of his palms lower to grab a handful of your ass, dragging your hips against his. You can feel him, hot and hard, straining in the confines of his jeans. Your hand presses into the crevice between your bodies to palm him through the material, grinning into the kiss when he groans. His lips trail a slick path across your cheek, past your jaw.

“Gonna let me fuck you here?” his hot breath fans across your neck, tongue darting out to taste the salty sweat there.

“Yeah,” you say. “Fuck—yes.”

He steps back, dragging you with him, and then he’s turning you around so that you’re facing the mirror. Your hips dig into the sink, and he’s holding you there, forcing you to stare at your reflection as he bites and licks and sucks down your neck with reckless abandon, leaving marks in his wake. There’s a low, steady throbbing at the apex of your thighs, and you can feel how your underwear clings to your skin, damp and ruined. You whimper, tilt your chin up to give him access to more skin. He grinds against your ass in response, and then he’s crouching down on the ground behind you.

Fast hands push your skirt up over your hips and then flare across your ass, massaging the flesh there. You feel a nip of teeth against the sensitive skin there and flinch into the porcelain. He makes quick work of dragging your underwear down to dangle precariously at your knees. And then long fingers are spreading you apart, revealing you to him. You tilt your hips back so he can see more. Moan at the sensation of cool air rushing to meet your dripping core.

You think you can hear him speaking, but can’t be sure over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears and the low music playing in the bar. And then it doesn’t matter anymore, because you can feel his hot tongue glide through your folds, parting you like the sea. He buries his face in you, nose nudging against your asshole as his tongue swipes at your clit, moaning roughly as he absorbs the taste of you. You’re gasping, hooded eyes staring back at you in the mirror, and this time you can definitely hear him saying you’re so fuckin’ wet. The flat of his tongue smears from your clit to your entrance, and then he’s sinking it inside you. You reach behind your back and card your fingers through his hair, gripping the salt and pepper curls between your fingers and holding him against you. Joel doesn’t complain, groaning as you tug on his locks in encouragement, in fucking desperation.

Your thighs tremble where they bracket his head, threatening to squeeze around him at any moment if it weren’t for his vice grip keeping your spread apart. A choked sob of a moan claws its way out of your throat and then he’s standing again, chest against your back as you hear the clink of his belt coming undone, and he’s saying, I know, I know, you need it so bad, don’t you?

Your hand skirts around the firm sink and slips between your thighs, fingertips ghosting over your throbbing clit. The sound of foil crinkling echoes around the room, and you hear him exhale a ragged sigh as he rolls the condom down his length. You peek over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of him, eyes widening as you take in the sheer size of his length. It’s long, with a prominent vein running from base to tip. It pulses, raging beneath the skin, practically daring you to drop down and run your tongue along the length of it. And you would if you thought he’d let you.

“Shit,” you breathe, skin tingling with a fresh wave of nerves and anticipation.

“It’s alright,” his voice is a low rasp, filling your ears like molasses, and his hand is rising to push stray hairs out of your face. “So fuckin’ wet f’me, I know you can take it, honey. You gonna show me how good you take co—”

He cuts himself off, eyes narrowing as he spots your fingers shifting between your thighs.

“So impatient,” he smacks your hand away with a grunt. “Silly little slut, can’t wait just a minute for me?”

A broken moan falls from your lips, shameful heat soaring through your chest. You shouldn’t love the way that word sounds falling from his lips, shouldn’t be so turned on by it, but you can feel how the ache in your core intensifies, and so you push your hips back against him.

“’m sorry,” you whine pitifully.

“You want it that bad?” Joel asks. His lips brush your earlobe as he nudges the thick head of his cock between your folds, gliding it through your slick once, twice, before notching himself at your entrance.

“I want it,” you gasp. “Wanted it from the second I saw you, Joel, please, pleas—”

Joel curses under his breath and loops a hand around your front, pushing the neckline of your shirt down to reveal your left breast. He slips his palm underneath the cup of your bra, long fingers pinching at the peaked bud of your nipple. Your skin burns under the attention, and you push your chest further into his hold.

“Shit,” he grunts, beginning to press himself inside. “I wanna fuckin’—wreck you, sweetheart.”

“Whatever you want,” you’re pleading, arching your back for him. Your fingers tighten around porcelain, bracing yourself. “Give it to me.”

You hear a muted, dark chuckle before Joel says, “Whatever I want, huh?”

And then he’s pressing inside you with a single, harsh thrust. His thighs come flush with yours and you gasp, face twisting at the sharp sting. The weight of him inside you is heavy, and you squirm at the intrusion, shifting on your feet. He allows you a moment—just a moment—to adjust to him, before he’s moving.

Joel finds a pace he likes and sets it. Heavy, unrelenting, expert rolls of his hips that have his tip brushing against the opening of your cervix with every shift forward. The air fills with harsh sounds of skin smacking against skin, and stilted moans and spilling from your lips as your hipbones collide rhythmically with the sink.

“Christ,” he spits, hand leaving your breast to grip your jaw. He forces your face forward, pace never slowing. “Fuckin’ look at you.”

You do as your told, gazing at yourself in the mirror. And you look wrecked. Hair a wild halo around your head, makeup smudged around your eyes and mouth, lips swollen and shiny with spit.

“Bein’ so—fuckin’—good,” he punctuates the words with his thrusts. His thumb digs into your cheek, and you can see him grinning in the mirror, lips peeled back to reveal that fucking perfect smile. “Dirty little thing, lettin’ a stranger fuck you like this.”

You mewl in response, stomach tensing as his cock grazes a particularly sensitive spot within you. Joel notices and seizes your waist, one hand holding you in place and the other falling to rub your clit while he pistons into you from behind.

“Shit,” you cry, eyes pinching shut as the intense medley of pleasure and pain begins to overwhelm you. Your orgasm claws its way up your chest.

“Yeah, you like that, huh?” he’s panting. “Can you feel you squeezin’ me, sweetheart. Go on, give it t’me, show me how wet that pretty pussy gets when you come.”

“Oh, fuck, oh—oh god, Joel.”

Your lungs feel empty, chest on fire as you rake in rapid breaths. Your entire body is constricting, muscles in your stomach drawn tight as you press firmer against the sink, thighs shaking with every impact of his hips against the plush of your ass. The pressure makes your head spin. And then something in the base of your spine snaps, and you’re falling apart in his grasp. Joel curses behind you, but the sound is faint, almost inaudible over the ringing in your ears. Your vision goes white, body shifting forward as he fucks you through the high.

And even as you begin to come down, muscles going lax and body slumping against the sink, Joel is relentless. He uses you; gripping your hips to keep them tilted at the perfect angle, and just fucking wrecks you, exactly like he said he wanted to. A stream of profanities fill the air as his movements become disjointed, and you know he’s close. Can feel the way his cock twitches inside you, desperate for release. You tilt your face to the side and stare at him over your shoulder. Those dark eyes meet yours and his face crumbles, hand reaching to grip your shoulder and hold you down as he nears the precipice. You rut your ass back against him and he almost shouts.

“Fuck,” he growls. “That’s it, that’s it..”

And then he’s coming, cock jerking inside you in sporadic movements, and you’re wishing he hadn’t worn a condom so you could feel the heat of him spread inside your cunt. It’s intense, the yearning you feel to have him dripping out of you once he’s gone. But you settle for watching his face through bleary eyes, admiring the way his lips part and chin tilts towards the ceiling, eyes pinching closed as his body convulses against you.

For an all too brief moment, Joel doesn’t move. He slumps against your back, forehead resting in the gap between your shoulder blades, and just breathes. Haggard, drawn out exhales that send whisps of your hair flying forward into your face but you don’t care, too blissed out and relaxed underneath his weight to say anything. And then he’s straightening, and you gasp in unison as he grips your waist and slips out of you. There’s a determined ache between your thighs, pussy clenching around his absence, missing the weight of him already.

You sag onto the cold surface. Your mind is a blur, senses dulled from the intensity of your orgasm. The music in the bar has increased, and you imagine that your roommates must be wondering where you are, but can’t bring yourself to care all that much. You can hear him throw the condom into the trash, then there’s a low rustling as he drags his boxers and jeans back up his legs. Body trembling, you close your eyes and wait. Wait to hear the door open and close as he steps out, and leaves you in the bathroom alone, as you know he inevitably will.

But instead, you feel those hands, almost familiar now, grazing your back. They drag your panties back up and smooth your rumpled skirt down over your ass.

“Hey,” a soothing voice murmurs. “You good?”

You peer at him over your shoulder, uncontained surprise no doubt evident in your face. Joel’s expression is soft; cautious. He grips your shoulder and pulls you up, straightening your body. Drags a thumb over the corner of your mouth, wiping away the lipstick smudged there. His touches are so gentle, so tender, in comparison to a few moments ago. It almost gives you whiplash, and yet you find yourself melting under his gaze, because fuck, he’s handsome.

“I’m good,” you breathe, and he bares his teeth in a smile, cupping your jaw.

“Sweet girl,” Joel says. His head shakes once, slowly, eyes darting across your features, as if trying to memorise them. “I’m gonna remember this.”

You heart is in your throat all over again.

Your fingers fumble to adjust your top, smoothing it out as you smile, humming, “Yeah… yeah, I think I will too.”

A heady silence swells between you. His thumb brushes along your lower lip again, eyes watching the way your swollen mouth yields to his touch. The tip of your tongue slides out and glides over the tip of his digit, just for a second.

“Probably got your friends all worried,” Joel says then, hand dropping to his side. “Must be wonderin’ where you got to.”

You swallow down the disappointment you feel. It burns its way down your throat and into your stomach, not unlike the whiskey had. I don’t care, you want to say. Take me home with you. But you nod and agree. Glance in the mirror and rake numb fingers through bird’s nest hair, trying to tame your wild appearance. You swear you feel his hand graze the hem of your skirt one last time, playing with the soft material while he stares at you in the mirror.

The bubble pops as he unlocks the door, outside sounds rushing in through the gap, infiltrating the space that once smelt like sex and lust and now just feels like any other room. Joel doesn’t kiss you again. Doesn’t touch you. He steps into the hall, and you follow him out. And when he trails toward one side of the bar, with a final lingering glance at you over his shoulder, you begrudgingly head in the opposite direction to the booth, where your almost strangers await you with curious eyes and pinched brows.

Tuesday.

You feel hungover on the day of your first lecture.

A dull ache blossoms behind your left eye, a persistent reminder of how little sleep you had the night before. Your fingers wrap tightly around a tall styrofoam cup, and you take slow mouthfuls of the black coffee inside, attempting to savour the liquid gold, and letting the caffeine act as a saving grace for as long as possible.

You were normally so much better than this, too. Years had passed since your undergrad, and in the past you’d prided yourself on being punctual and prepared. But apparently one of the professors for this semester had it out for you, because when the required weekly prep work for your 9 o’clock Tuesday morning lecture was released the day prior, you were stunned to find that it included an entire fucking book.

After spending a dutiful two hours going over the weekly notes and required journal articles, you’d found yourself glaring at three sentences, written casually at the bottom of the professor’s notes.

Also, read Hesiod’s ‘Theogony’. It will do you well to have these ideas and themes fresh as you undertake the first weeks of this class. See you tomorrow.

Cue you staying up until two am reading fucking Theogony, and walking to your first lecture with a near-permanent yawn sprawled across your face.

As you approach history commons, a guy wearing a bottle green shirt that reads UNIVERSITY OF NEW ENGLAND in garish gold lettering shakes a pamphlet in your direction. It has a picture of a girl in a tiny athletic uniform on the front, preparing to spike a volleyball. You avoid eye contact and sidestep him quickly, continuing into the building.

The theatre room is easy enough to find.

Thirty odd chairs line the space on an incline, all facing toward a desk at the front of the room. A projector hangs from the ceiling, displaying the beginning of a slide show on a white wall. The slide is a muted beige colour, with stark black lettering that spells out: The Language and Literature of the Odyssey and the Aeneid.

Your professor stands with his back to the room, shuffling through a myriad of notebooks and loose-leaf pages splayed across the desk. Standard.

You traipse your way up the stairs, buoyed along by the steady stream of other students shuffling into the room, and take a seat a few rows from the front. Not too far back that you seem disinterested, and not so close that your professor will notice you falling asleep on the first day.

You open your notes on your laptop and then slump back into your chair, slurping down the final morsels of coffee in your cup before discarding it to the floor by your feet. And then the room quietens as a final group of students file in, heavy door swinging closed behind them, and you allow your eyes to rest upon the man at the foot of the space.

He’s tall. It’s impossible not to notice that first. Tall and broad. A thin white dress shirt stretches across the arch of his back, fighting to pull free from where it’s tucked neatly into the waist of his brown pants. From where you’re seated, you can see a dark head of hair shaking side to side every few moments, the man muttering inaudibly as he peers down at his notes.

You glance down at your laptop again. Watch your cursor blink against the white screen. And then you hear it.

“Alright folks,” an all too familiar voice drawls. “Let’s get down to it.”

You stiffen in your chair. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, palms going damp as a memory flits through your brain. One of your own voice.

An accent like that is hard to ignore.

You can’t make out what he’s saying anymore, every word overpowered by the sudden roar of your own heartbeat in your ears.

Slowly—so fucking slowly—you peel your eyes away from your laptop and glance upward.

And there he is, in all his glory. Pearly white smile. Strong jaw. Dark eyes.

Joel… your professor.

Fuck.

thank you for reading!! x

#my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #professor!joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut #ALP

4K notes · View notes

hoseoksluna · 2 months

Text

WINE | jjk

pairing: fuck buddy!jungkook x f. reader

genre: smut

word count: 4.7k

summary: both of you have a party to go to, but jungkook makes you needy again.

playlist: it's jeon time / pinterest board: wine

warnings: forced drinking, neck kissing, dom/sub dynamics, use of pet names and one particular title <3, degradation and praise, reader has daddy issues (like the writer), sensual dancing, dirty talk, spanking, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, orgasm denial, squirting, rough sex, plushie used during intercourse, hair pulling, jungkook needing to be in control, the importance of dom/sub role-play being just a role-play and not extending past the sex practice, aftercare

note: this was meant to be a fluff fic with jimin but then jungkook x calvin klein happened and i was fucked. my libido was awakened by that man, my ovulation triggered by his seductiveness and fucking godly beauty. this might be tmi, but i genuinely felt turned on while writing this, so i hope you enjoy. my bestie who always reads my work first said that my jungkook fics are vastly different from the ones with other members, and i agree. the sole reason behind it is the simple fact that jungkook owns my sexuality. so, yeah. please, show some love in the comments. happy reading!!

side note: HAPPY BDAY HOBI ᡣ𐭩

“A bit tipsy, aren’t we?”

You’re twirling. Twirling in golden circles as the late afternoon sunset traces the curves of your figure with its fingers, giving willingly a brisk dose of vigor to the movement as your delicately tousled curls spin around you. The warm light hits the shimmer on the highest points of your cheeks—coalesces with the glitter and you smile at the sun, fluttering your eyes shut. The ardent giggle spilling out of the mouth of your close friend is the music you dance to, and it helps your smile to grow in width.

You have somewhere to be. Both of you do. But you deem this is more important—it is your pregame after all, even though the wine glass in your hand is empty. Small drops of the white nectar make traces on the parquet floor, leaving behind the evidence of your joy, light as a feather somewhere within you.

Freshly showered, Jungkook watches the show you put on for him. With one shoulder, he leans against the large wardrobe and rolls his sleeves upwards on his forearms, wrists adorned with golden bracelets that tinkle with each effort. He does it slowly, blindly. Prefers to focus on you, and not on the task he’s done too many times. You face him, aware of his warm gaze, and you lean your glass towards his chest, tilting your head to the side.

“Barely,” you say. “Had one glass. Have another one with me?”

Jungkook smiles fondly, dropping his eyes to his wrists as he fixes the stacking of the thick gold. The cherry wood accentuates his countenance in a way that magnetically pulls you closer to him. Your legs act on their own, feet making their way to his. Something about the way they are shod in shiny dress shoes and yours are bare, toenails painted in cotton candy pink, drives a certain scarlet hue to go mad upon your dew-kissed face. Or maybe it’s the fact you two fucked hardly an hour ago that does it. You’ve always liked the scene, in which you’re naked and he’s fully dressed. Or it’s your ever persistent daddy issues and your obsession with Lolita. Maybe it’s a mixture of both.

You notice a ring on his pinky finger as he sweeps his ebony hair back. It wasn’t there when he had those digits wrapped around your throat in missionary. You take his inked hand to get a closer look, noticing the engraving of his last name. His father must have the same one. You caress it with your thumb. Its yellow gleam seeps into your skin—illuminates you and envelops you in its aura, fixing a heavenly halo above your head. You find yourself smiling when you look up at him and find that he’s been gazing down at you the whole time, his very own angel.

“If I were to have a glass of wine with you,” he mutters, and the mischievous twinkle that appears in his eyes excites you in a way that angels shouldn’t be provoked. “Then, there would be no party to go to.”

You know what he means, but you play dumb. You want to hear him say it.

“How so?” you ask and you widen your eyes softly to appear more alluring. You’re not sure if your body would handle another round, but you do enjoy the teasing—you enjoy the talk, the chase, the fuzzy feelings in your tummy.

Jungkook straightens and reaches for the bottle on the coffee table four steps away from you. Sinks the body of the glass onto his palm, pouring a good amount of the liquid inside. Nibbles his bottom lip as he stalks towards you, handing you the nectar, although he doesn’t let go. Your fingers wrap around his and it’s him who does the first move—lifting his arm to tilt the glass to your mouth. He’s gentle, a safe distance away to watch his whimsy unfold, but firm. He doesn’t lower his hand until the spillage of the gilded liquid trickles down your throat. Only then does he chuckle, setting the glass down. Satisfied.

Dizziness stirs your mind and you hardly have time to take a breather before Jungkook latches his mouth onto your wine-stained neck, tongue coming out to play—cleaning you up in figure eights that cause you to roll your eyes back. The ends of your curls tickle the back of his hand as he brushes his fingers along the dip of your spine, the skin bare in the open back of your knitted dress—made perfect for his sly touches.

He doesn’t press you against his body when he begins to suck on your neck; he still keeps the distance. Perhaps to make you needy, perhaps to make you ask for more. And it’s working, the magnetic pull does its thing once more and you roll your chest against his, aching to fit in the spaces of his figure that you know full well are there for you to hide in. Your nipples perk up at the slight attention, and electrifying sparks glide down the perimeters of your form in a way that you wish his hands would.

Absentmindedly, you touch them and Jungkook notices as he switches to the other side of your neck, the more sensitive one, the one that always leaves you dripping with your essence. You let him know, vocally, how much you like him there, and the sounds of pleasure you utter into his ear force him to pull out his phone from his pocket, steal your hand from your breast and place it in your palm.

He withdraws with a pop, plump lips coming to trace the shell of your ear. “I think we need some music,” he whispers, fingers skimming the curve of your ass. “Can you play some? Can you do that for me?”

Oh, that degradation kink of his. He knows he flung you out of his world into a pretty pink planet somewhere out there in the universe with that skilled tongue of his. He knows how dumb you get when horniness flushes your body with heat—he knows it intimately, for he’s the one who fucks you, the one you give yourself to when you blossom with the need to do so. He’s the one who opens the petals one by one, never to tear them, but to smell them, kiss them, hover them over the tender skin of his face just to be close to you. He knows you and he knows how to play with you just how you like it.

And you like to get into this state of mind. You like to be degraded, even though you’ll never admit it. You particularly like to get degraded by Jungkook.

Because of that reason, he likes to awaken it in you, beckon it to come out. How he found out is beyond your understanding. You reckon he sensed it while having your orgasms in his control. Somewhere in that dynamic, he found a little nook of a library and its contents fell into his grasp when he sank his fingers inside of you. All he had to do was read. And, also, listen.

Your bodily and vocal reactions didn’t protest.

You can’t even see his lockscreen, the numbers as you type in his mother’s birthday because Jungkook begins to toy with your earlobe, nibbling at the flesh ever so slightly. The pleasure, the wine getting into your head—it’s all suddenly too much. Paradoxically, you find the app somehow without looking out of a habit you learned throughout the months you’ve been casually seeing him, for Jungkook never fucks without his ‘It’s Jeon Time’ sex playlist. And he always wants you to pick out the first song.

It impacts what he does to you later.

You scroll and you tap on a random song.

No BS by Chris Brown.

You return the phone and Jungkook begins to pepper soft kisses on your throat, pocketing the device. A sudden throbbing on your bundle of nerves makes you tenderly whine and in your head, you curse him out for making you needy again. He pretends not to hear you, making a way to your chin. He kisses it. Ghosts his lips over yours, puckers them to tease you and hums in appreciation for the song. You grab him everywhere you can. Hair, neck, shoulders. Squeezing. As if he hadn’t fucked the soul out of you earlier. As if you weren’t spent. And he just laughs.

No matter how soft the sound is, it forces all of the peach fuzz on your body to rise.

Oh, you’ve made him horny. You’re fucked.

No party for you.

“Good little girl,” he coos, grabbing your ass and pulling you flush to his body. The praise before the degradation—the calm before the storm. “Can always expect the best from you. You never fail to please me.”

His hardness greets you first, pressed torturously against your mound. You mewl at the feeling, but he silences you. His lips are second to say a playful hello as they delve into a firm kiss, hand grasping your hair in his fist. He inhales against you and before the two of you know it, you’re moving your bodies to the slow, sensual rhythm of the song. Jungkook kisses you again, parts your lips with his and slips his tongue inside.

Just to taste you, briefly.

He spins you around.

Towering over you, he wraps his arms around your middle and sways with you, pushing your hair to one side, so he can focus on your neck once more. Gliding his lips up and down your neck, nose nuzzling into the safe space there near your ear, he inhales again, your scent being the translucent ship that gets him to heavenly places he dreams of every now and then. He guides you with his hips, needing to be in control of everything, even of something as insignificant as a simple, intimate dance. You love it, you could never get enough of it. The stability being the foundation that holds it is what attracts you to it, the stability that you never had, the one that your inner child deserves.

Palms flat on your tummy, Jungkook drifts them down and stops at your hips, fingers reaching your mound.

“Those hips will be the death of me,” he murmurs, caressing your sides while continuing guiding you, pressing you just right against his prominent length. “Did you really expect me not to get hard seeing you dance like that?”

You bite your lip, furrowing your eyebrows, rotating your hips to the chorus of the song, head empty.

Jungkook grunts. The sound intoxicates you even more.

“My princess doesn’t really know what she’s doing to me, does she?” He hooks his fingers under the hem of your dress. “Too horny, too needy to think, hm?”

Shamelessly, you nod. “Want you again. Want to feel you inside of me.”

Jungkook hums, then breaks into a gentle laughter. Lifts your garment and lets his fingers roam on your clothed folds, the white fabric drenched in your dewiness—pellucid enough to show the beauty of your flesh.

Aware of how wet you are, he clicks his tongue. “You filthy girl, how many times do I have to fuck you in order for you to have enough?”

You grow silent. Brimming with a woozy desire, you opt to grind your ass against him again. Your brain cannot come up with any smart answer that would please him, so this is the best you could do. Jungkook curses under his breath, leans back to watch you. He meets each and every movement of your hips and completes them, creating waves that spur the butterflies in your belly to life.

“Filthy”—He spanks you—“Fucking”—Another spank—“Girl.”

Knees bent, Jungkook grinds against your core, cutting short your hissing. He turns you around and bends you against the wardrobe, places your hands flat on the cherry wood. Takes off your panties swiftly and lets them pool by your ankles. Spanks you below your ass cheek, moaning at the lift and ripple of your plumpness. Does it again on the other one, letting out a sound that makes your dewiness, similarly like the wine down the sides of your neck, leak and stick to your inner thighs. Something between a dark chuckle, a moan and a purr of endearment.

“What am I to do with such a greedy girl like you?” he says, fingers tracing each curve of your ass to etch the memory of it deeper into his brain. “You deserve to be fucked like this. Mercilessly, for my pleasure. Like the little slut you are. But I’ll be good to you.”

He pushes your left inner thigh, guiding you to spread your legs. Cups your pussy, digits spreading your essence all over you.

“I’ll be good to you because you just can’t help it, can you? Poor little baby is just a slut for this cock.”

You mewl at his words, but then you discover that he didn’t lubricate your cunt for you, but for himself.

You yelp when you feel his tongue right there on the softness of your inner thigh, licking up a stripe to drink you. You didn’t expect him to do it so quickly and your whines increase in volume when Jungkook buries his head in your pussy, the deft muscle swirling around your pulsating bundle, licking between your folds and teasing around your hole. You push your hips back, wanting him there more than ever, but he spanks you, bites your flesh before he soothes the pain with his kisses. Big kisses as he calls them, the ones with full tongue. The nasty, the dirty. Big kisses for big girls with experience—those he teaches.

Jungkook stands up and wraps his fingers around your jawline, holding you like that as he draws closer to your ear.

“Looks like you can’t go out with your little pussy wet like that and those pretty panties soiled like they are, can you?” He turns your head so you look at him and you let him see your star-filled eyes, damp with the cosmos. “What would they think of you?”

“Koo,” you cry out.

He purrs in mock sympathy. “I left you alone for what, half an hour? And your pussy is needy again. That’s not right, is it? You should stop and think about this. Daddy’s not fixing it for you.”

As if he hadn’t spoken a word, he sinks his fingers inside of you. Middle and ring. Jackhammers them until you scream, then he pulls them out and spanks your pussy once, twice. With all four of his digits, he rubs the entirety of your femininity, sloppily and rapidly, the drops of your essence joining the company of the drying wine on the parquet floor. You’re seeing white, your orgasm inches away from you.

“Jungkook, please, don’t stop—” Your mouth rounds, voice breaks into a moan. “I’m gonna come, please, please—”

He withdraws his fingers. Entire body, too. Like a starved animal, head tipped low, he stares you down.

You struggle to catch your breath, swallowing dryly, leaning your head against your forearms.

“You said—you said you’d be good to me,” you croak out, throat dry, eyes lidding, mind absolutely fucked out.

“I am.”

The meaning of his words eludes you, but you soon forget about thinking when he licks his fingers clean. Wraps those pretty, puffy pillows around his slender fingers and sucks them. Then, he undoes the few buttons left of his ebony shirt, slowly and precisely. You clench around nothing, walls pressing together tightly. You’d slip a finger inside if you weren’t holding the side of the wardrobe for dear life.

“Get on the bed, now,” he orders. “Leave the dress on. Panties, too. I’ll show everyone how much of a little slut you are.”

Without a second thought, you do as he says.

You sit down on the edge of the bed and spread your legs as wide for him as the undergarment enfolding your thighs allows you, the ivory material pulled taut—your dewiness on show. Jungkook walks into the room like he has all the time in the world, like you aren’t gripping the flesh of your sides in order not to touch yourself. His shirt is fully unbuttoned now and the fabric lets you see a slither of his defined abdomen and fine black pubic hair peeking out of his Calvins due to how low his slacks are fixed on his hips. You lick your lips, dig half-moons into your skin until your knuckles turn white.

You need him. You need him so much that tears pool within the cosmos of your eyes.

“If only they were to see you right now,” he mutters. “So desperate for me. It’s too bad only I get to see you like this, isn’t it?”

He worsens your desire with that mouth of his. It’s extreme. You scratch your nails down your thighs to relieve yourself at least a little bit.

Fists on each side of you, Jungkook leans towards you. His simple gold chain swings in your face and you bite your lip to keep your needy mewls at bay.

“Am I talking to myself?”

You shake your head ‘no’.

“Did you forget how to talk?” He cocks his eyebrow.

“I need you so bad. I can’t take it anymore,” you whine out, the best your brain could muster.

Jungkook puckers his lips at you in feigned sympathy again and you expect the worst to come out of his mouth, but he surprises you when he says, “what do you want me to do to you?”

You gasp almost soundlessly. Your heart skips in your chest happily. Fire of the starlight shines in your eyes and a brand new flush finds its way to your cheeks, hotter than the one from earlier when you were dancing with the sun. Before you can think you answer through, it slips out of you.

“Lick my pussy, please.”

Jungkook smirks and the blush of roses smears across his cheeks and nose as well. He wipes at his mouth as if your answer made him drool—cuts the anticipation and kneels down at the bed, pushing your legs back.

“Who am I to deny you?”

The butterflies within your tummy go berserk.

Tongue flat, he licks up your cunt. Over and over, lapping up your wetness, moaning, seizing your girlishness and rolling it over in his mouth. You tip your head back between your shoulder blades and your arms begin to shake, holding all of your weight. Like you were previously grinding against him, you do the same movement now into his face. Recreate the waves as he rides his tongue against your clit.

He stops when you catch his gaze.

You cry out for him, bucking your hips. He shakes his head, eyes never leaving yours. His puffy lips glint in the dimmed light, the sun rays seconds away from saying their final goodbye.

“Needy little whore.”

Jungkook flicks at your little seashell, wraps those pillows around the muscle out of habit, but decides against it. Denies you the pleasure, knows too well you come too quickly from the suction. Decides to flutter his tongue instead, the pressure light, making you tremble like a butterfly wing. Retracts. Starts the torture again, alternating between light and hard. Fucks with your brain. Fucks with you.

“This feels too good, Daddy, oh my god.”

You watch him at work, mouth parted open, sounds of gratification coming out freely. He’s never done this to you before. It’s new, it’s different and it feels otherworldly; it feels like he’s transporting you back to pink planet again. The faint pleasure, the build up, the hard intensity at last before he starts again. He pins your hips down to prevent you from getting ahead, lidded eyes zeroing on yours, and the cord in your belly tightens. You near to the edge, gusts of gasps and ragged breaths flowing out of your mouth.

“I’m coming, Daddy, I’m coming, oh fuck.”

The harsh light of stars comes down slowly upon your eyesight. You’re almost there. You roll your hips to meet his tongue one last time, despite the deathly grip he has on your hip bones, but he lifts his head. Rips the orgasm away from you.

“No.” He wipes his mouth with his hand.

Your vision blurs and frustration burns you hot.

“What?”

“You’re not coming.”

You stare at him, eyelashes flittering. At loss for words.

“We have a party to go to, don’t we?”

You scrunch up your eyebrows. You thought you weren’t going anywhere?

“And if you’re good, I’ll think about letting you come tonight.”

Your mouth falls open.

“Close it before I fuck it.”

He cups your chin, closing it for you. Wraps his fingers around your throat and pushes you back on the mattress. Your hair fans all around you and you hold your clothed breasts for emotional support, your brain not really registering that you’re getting fucked and that you’re not allowed to cum. You sob tearlessly at his cruelty, lifting your head to look at him.

Jungkook unzips his slacks. Doesn’t bother to lower them, only pulls out his heavy length out of the tight confines of his boxers. His precum shines prettily on his mushroom and he spreads it all around him, jacking himself off, grunting, groaning, throwing his head back. All while being completely ignorant to your inner turmoil.

“Look at what you’ve done to me,” he whispers, letting go of his cock to show you just how hard he is.

Your head spins. His tip reaches his belly button and the thickness of his shaft obscures most of his pubic hair. You moan, aching to have him inside of you. Feel your slick trickle down onto the bedding.

“So hot,” you say, lifting your eyes to catch him focused on the reactions painted on your face with his bottom lip sucked between his teeth, chest heaving quickly. “You’re so beautiful.”

Abruptly, Jungkook flops you onto your stomach. Crawls over you. Straddles you. Veiny forearms, partly shielded by the waterfall of your hair, come to stay on either side of your head.

He reaches for the white bunny plushie resting against the pillows and hands him to you. Brushes your hair away from your face to whisper into your ear, “you better hold onto him.”

You clutch him to your chest and bury your face in his soft fur.

“Remember the rule?” he asks and you feel him drag the tip of his cock down the line of your ass—you feel him stop at your tight hole.

Your breath shakes. “I can’t come.”

Body reacting on its own, hips lifting, you allow him to glide down to your pussy.

Jungkook hums in appreciation. “That’s right. Look at you, so good for me already.”

He chuckles darkly and you hate your life.

“You only know how to behave yourself when you want to come, don’t you? Such a slut.”

He punctuates his sentence by sheathing himself inside of you. You grip your plushie tight, groaning into his fur. He does it all in one go, not stopping once to let you adjust around him. He huffs against your hair, mocks your sound, eyelashes fluttering at your tightness, mouth agape. It’s otherworldly how he fits. It’s otherworldly how you can make out his expression, how you see it clearly behind your closed eyelids—how him mocking you and imitating you makes you drip even more, the lewdness of your juices encouraging him to go balls-deep.

He rams into you.

You scream into the bunny.

He rams into you in staccatos, the headboard of the bed colliding over and over again into the wall. Swift jerks. Hard.

You feel so full.

“Slutty fucking pussy,” he whispers, gathers all of your hair into his fist and pulls your head back. Begins to fuck you evenly, picking up the pace. “So tight around Daddy, fuck.”

You must be floating. Somewhere out there within that pink planet. All your surroundings are bleary, distorted, but so vibrant. Just as your hair is pulled back so are your wings retracted in the same way, held by your captor. You feel his lips at your temple, parted, breath hot and heavy. You can’t even hear yourself amidst your pleasure and his, but somehow—all of a sudden—you hear the voice of your favorite singer echoing in the living room.

Do I Wanna Know by the Arctic Monkeys.

Little by little, you feel yourself returning back to planet Earth. Drool wets the corners of your mouth and you don’t have the strength to wipe it off, focusing all of your strength on stalling your orgasm, the voice of your beloved Alex pushing against you in a fight.

Jungkook lets go of your hair, but wraps the same arm around your shoulders, plushie and neck, his weight coming on top of yours. Continues to slam into you without any care of the world, heedless of the way you’re fighting for your life.

“If I’m not mistaken, this is your song, baby, isn’t it?” he breathes into your ear, slowing down his pace, hips rocking against you to the rhythm.

You sob at the mercy, the ferocity of your incoming orgasm dwindling away.

That is until he starts pounding you into the mattress again.

You scream out. White vision begins to chase you again, the cord tightening in your full lower tummy.

“Jungkook, please, I can’t—I can’t—”

He grunts at your helplessness, hand gripping your mouth. Pace so fast your head knocks back into his shoulder.

“You can take it. It’s your song.” He squeezes your cheeks. Grinds his hips slowly. You roll your eyes back, feeling him nudge your cervix.

He begins to kiss along your jawline, your earlobe, the contours of the shell. You do the same, peppering kisses upon his forearm as your position allows you.

“We could be together, if you wanted to,” he huffs the lyrics into your ear, just for you to hear.

The cord snaps.

Wetness gushes out of you; a sweet stream of your dewiness forces him to pull out of you—and your wet orgasm triggers his. He paints your open back white with his hot spurts of cum, sealing you, completing you. Jacks himself off with one hand while the other rubs your pussy, spanking it. You’re squirming, screaming, the orgasm long and so intense that you don’t even know where you are. Jungkook fingers you with three digits and coaxes another surge out of you. Slacks destroyed, dress soiled, bodies spent—your screams silent.

He caresses the roundness of your ass to calm you down.

“Breathe for me, baby,”

You try, but you can’t.

Too exhausted.

You feel him leave, but in a moment you sense the mattress dipping beside you. The coldness of wet wipes on your skin, getting rid of the evidence of his pleasure. The warmth of his thumb on the tear-stained skin under your eyes as he turns you to your side.

A glass of cold water is in his hand. You suddenly feel parched. His touch brought your senses back to you.

“Sit up.”

You finish the glass in gulps. Some of it leaks down your throat. Jungkook smirks.

“Well done.”

You hug your plushie tighter. “I’m sorry for coming.”

Jungkook caresses your hair. You’re sitting on your legs while he’s standing by the side of the bed. Running his fingers through your disheveled, ruined curls.

“I fucked you that hard on purpose,” he murmurs, curling a strand of hair behind your ear, finger coming to a stop at the beginning of the line of your jaw. “It was my intention to make you come.”

You lean into his touch. Kiss the edge of his palm. Drowsy, droopy eyes still bearing into his.

“Like I said. You did well.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Arms up.”

He takes off your dress and slinks your arms through the sleeves of his black shirt that he had discarded while fucking you. Your eyelids are shut when he lays you down on the cold side of the bed, tucking you in, and you’re halfway through the footpath to your pink planet when he promises, “I’ll make it up to you about that party.”

BACK to masterlist / read part two

#jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #btscreatorscorner #kpop smut #jungkook one shot

2K notes · View notes

bumblebeesfromvenus · 2 months

Text

TF141 getting a boudoir photo album as a wedding gift ♡

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

A/N: THIS WAS SO FUN!!! Great, absolutely phenomal idea, dear anon. Simon's part is very sappy (I cried) which might be ooc for him?? Idk, that's how I write him/interpret his character! :) let me know who's your favorite 👀

~Fi 🐝

《Warnings》: NSFW content. proceed with caution. PiV, creampie, cunnilingus, Johnny's oral fixation (yes, that is a warning.)

It's still very sweet and lovey dovey with all of them bc I'm a certified sap <3

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

John would be grinning and smirking like a proper idiot when he lays his eyes on those delectable photos of you.

I imagine you had a date night at home, sipping wine on the couch and talking about your wedding that's supposed to take place in only 3 days. He's telling you how he can't wait to see you in your wedding dress and slip that ring onto your finger.

Be prepared to he called Mrs. Price the days leading up to the big day. John excuses it with "Need to practice, love. Don't wanna mess it up in front of anyone, eh?"

Sneaky bastard.

He knows what he's doing, you know what he's doing, all is well because if he only knew what that did to you. You're just talking, trying to get the nerves out now so you can go into your wedding with a clear mind and have a good time. When you tell him you have a gift for him, his eyebrows almost overshoot his forehead. Yeah, he knew that was a thing some people did, but he never gave it another thought.

In all honesty, marrying you was the best gift he could ever get. Which is why he feels slightly guilty that he doesn't have one for you (at least that's what you see, internally he's crushed) but that all goes out the window when you sit back down with a sleek beige photo album that has a little romantic quote on the front.

"And what's this, doll, hm?" His heart feels warm and fuzzy, thinking these are some lovely pictures of you together on holidays you went on, casual trips to the local pub or just some domestic shots you managed to sneak during his leave.

What he doesn't expect, however, is the angelic image of your plush body on full display, draped over a velvet chaise lounge with layered pearl necklaces hanging from your neck. This man is shell-shocked. If he wasn't frozen in place, he would've snapped the book shut.

You can basically see the connections to his brain frying. His jaw slacks, and only after what feels like 10 minutes he regains his ability to think and close his mouth. John is sweating and his cock is rock hard as he flips through the remaining pages.

He shoots you the occasional glance while he's trying not to hyperventilate. You just sit back and savor your wine, trying to hide your laugh behind the rim of your glass. You'd expected a reaction, of course, but you didn't think you'd render the John Price speechless just from a few suggestive photographs of you.

But what absolutely breaks the camels back (or John's, in this case) is the last picture of you. You're kneeling, slightly leaned back and supported by your arms, with one of his Flannels covering your soft tits. That alone would've been enough to drive him crazy, but the sight of his old dogtags sitting against your sternum has him groaning out loud.

The only other thing covering you is a simple pair of lace panties, cupping the soft curve and rolls of your tummy so beautifully, John was ready to take a bit out of that damn page.

He nearly misses the inscription underneath the photo;

To my John; the love of my life, the man of my dreams,

I love you.

You hold my heart and you will forever.

May I be so lucky to find my place in the stars by your side when the time comes, so we'll never have to be apart.

With all my love,

Mrs. Price

And that does it. The album snaps shut and you barely have time to put down your wine glass before John is all over you, taking handfuls of you, whatever he can reach. With how fast he smashes his lips on yours, he nearly gives you whiplash.

He's tugging and pulling at your clothes as well as his own, not saying a thing, just hungrily swallowing every one of your sounds and giggled objections before he decides the couch is uncomfortable and he moves you to the bedroom. You're hoisted up without a warning and you cling to his neck. Immediately, worried words start spilling from your lips, remembering how he'd complained about a sore back just today;

"John, baby, your back-"

"I don't give a flying fuck about my back, love."

He's heaving and grunting like a fucking animal, he's downright feral. Despite all of that, you're still laid down gently on the bed, John would never, ever be reckless with you. But he needs to be inside you now, he'll actually lose his mind.

Usually, he'd spent hours between your thighs first, but he just can't wait. He's pounding you into another dimension but with such gentleness in his gestures, it makes your head spin.

He's holding your hand, breathing sweet praises into your ear despite him filling you to the brim. His urge to claim you goes haywire and he fills you with his cum multiple times before he's sane enough again.

He's covered in sweat and his beard is wet from your spit from all the sloppy kisses he gave you. John will definitely make it up to you and eat you out for as long as you want after.

He'll make a copy of one of the photos and take it with him when he's on deployment, just for the nights he's feeling lonely.

His wedding gift to you are the hickeys on your thighs and tummy and new sheets because you two tore the other ones to absolute shreds.

♥︎

Johnny would probably have a boudoir album for you, too. You get at least one shirtless pic a day, so a whole album of his body on display or in suggestive poses basically screams Johnny. He's already drooling the second he spots that book because he knows what it is and that he's in for a treat.

He's buzzing with excitment.

You never really send nudes for privacy reasons, and then for you to do something like this hit him like a truck in the best way possible. You're standing opposite from him behind the kitchen counter, and you look so nervous to him.

Cue his signature shit-eating grin. You tap your fingers on the dark blue album before having enough of your nerves and just sliding it over to him with a few mumbled words of what it is.

"Awe, for me, mo leannan?" He's a teasing bastard, and he chuckles when you huff and turn your head, obviously flustered. Johnny is legit licking his lips, but when he opens the book, his grin fades so fast.

He knew it would be good, but holy shit, this was so much better than he expected. His pupils dilate as he takes in each of the pictures of you, all of you, all your curves and bumps.

Everything he loves about you. God, you're such a woman, he thinks to himself. Some with lingerie, some without. He's full on drooling at this point, and the only reason why he roughly wipes it away with the back of his hand is to not get it on these sacred images.

He smirks at the picture of you in a tub, all soapy, with pebbled nipples. An obvious dig at his nickname, but, god, does your ass look amazing when it's covered in a thin layer of bubbles. He loves lathering you up in the shower and feeling you up while you're all wet and slippery.

"Good thing I can hold my breath, aye, hen? Might even try to set a new personal record." He's grinning and chuckling meanwhile you give him a sharp glare. You can't deny that the idea intrigues you, though.

But this, oh, this one was him swallowing thickly. It's you in very sheer panties (they're barely even underwear) and his name patch is sewn onto the front. Your hair looks so nice, so do your thighs, he doesn't know whether to look at your eyes or your tits. The button on his jeans is about to pop off from his throbbing boner.

He can't take his eyes off that 'MacTavish' patch that sits right on your lower belly, with the slight curve it has to it from your soft tummy.

Johnny has to hold himself back from gripping the book too hard. He wouldn't want to ruin it.

"Steamin' bloody Jesus, bonnie..."

The album is shut and tucked under his arm, and Johnny jumps over the counter to get his hands on you. Or his mouth, more like. He has a huge oral fixation, so he loves sucking and biting on every inch of your skin. You're pushed back into the bedroom, even though you end up on the floor, and the book is thrown onto the bed.

He rips your shirt up and sucks at your tits and nipples, groaning and moaning at the taste of your skin, all while he's rubbing his clothes cock against your leg. You end up on your hands and knees with one of Johnny's hands on your lowerback while his face is buried in your cunt.

He's eating you out like he's been starved for years, and his stubble is already starting to irritate the skin of your thighs and ass.

You'll have the worst case of beard burn in the morning, but how could you care about that when his tongue is so deep inside of you?

Remember when I said he'd have a boudoir album too? Yeah, now you're in between his legs, your back pressed to his chest with Johnny's album in your shaky hands. And the way your engagement ring catches the dim light of the room has your eyes rolling back.

And Jesus christ, Johnny looks fucking phenomal. You clench around his fingers hard, and he doesn't even have to pull his head from your neck to know what photo you're looking at.

He's smirking and grinning like the ceshire cat, knowing that the image of him in a kilt with no shirt one is gracing your field of vision right about now.

"Ah knew ye'd like tha' one, bonnie..."

Johnny's cooing in your ear, telling you to keep looking at the pictures while he's knuckle deep in your pussy. His bare dick is pressed against your ass and you can feel him rocking his hips to get off.

He's mumbling all kinds of gibberish into your ear, but one of the few things you can make out is "mo bhean"* which pushes you over the edge. You won't be leaving that bed anytime soon.

*(My wife)

♥︎

Kyle is such a sweetheart. I've said it before, and I will say it again, he's such a cutie pie!!! But that doesn't mean he can't or won't get nasty.

He'd offered to make lunch, which was delicious as always, and now you're chatting casually about your day at your dining table. Your fingers are laced together, and he's wearing the biggest smile because all he can think of is how he gets to marry you in just a few days.

He's over the moon. He can't wait to see you walk down the aisle, say your vows to each other, and overall have a great time with all your friends and family.

But the thing Kyle is looking forward the most is the honeymoon. He'll have you to himself for 2 whole weeks and he's stoked. He can't wait to treat you to nice things, love on you, but he's the most excited to fuck you as your husband.

He may look sweet and 'innocent' but this man can fuck, okay. And he fucks well. He knows every little spot that has you mewling and he's so good at using them for his gain.

Kyle will fuck you into the mattress in the Hotel you booked, he's already made up his mind about that, but he wants to absolutely melt your brain by being so loving whole doing it that you can't help but cry out for him.

He has heart eyes at this point, watching you talk about all that happened today and he only snaps out of his dream world when you present the deep red album to him with a sweet smile.

He's got a hunch of what it is so there's a hint of a smirk on his lips. Still, he almost gets whiplash when he opens it.

There's no easing into it, just straight up tits, ass and tummy. And let me tell you, Kyle is loving every second of it. It's no secret that he loves your chub, and that fact that it's extenuated so beautifully in every shot makes his heart and his cock happy. He's a very balanced man after all.

He comments on every single photo because he think it's endearing how you get all flustered and giggly from his compliments.

One picture that has him taking a second, though, is one where you have a lacy band tied around your thigh, with a little golden 'Kyle' charm hanging from it. He's all smiley and giddy, but he does try to discreet adjust his trousers because, holy shit, that's hot.

"Have you still got that, dove? Would love to see it tied around your pretty neck."

All you answer is that he'll have to be patient and wait till the wedding night to find out. He's laughing and teasing now, but just what till you get to the last page, Gazy.

And the way his smile just melts off his face is priceless. His gaze is flitting between you on the page and you sitting across from him with a shot eating grin. All the blood that drained from his face went straight to his dick.

Not only are you wearing a set of lingerie in his favorite color, but you've got his iconic pair of sunglasses hooked on the center of your bra. And that's not all either, his eyes travel upwards and his base cap is sat on your head and you've got that beautiful smile of yours on your face.

He makes an audible noise, one that indicates you took his breath away, when he takes in the whole picture.

"How in hell did you manage to snatch my hat and my glasses from right under my nose?!"

"Skilled hands, babe."

He's laughing at you breathlessly because he's still enarmoured by the sight of you.

And Kyle will absolutely whisk you away and fuck you stupid in front of your bedroom mirror while you're wearing his hat.

It makes him feral, seeing you like that. He's got both of his arms wrapped around your middle and he's panting into your shoulder. He does look up from time to time to see your blissed out face all while still wearing his cap.

He lets out a strained moan everytime he looks at you in the mirror and his hips stutter ever so slightly.

Kyle is just spewing jumbled words of love because he's genuinely so happy. You make him so happy.

He honestly can't wait to give you your wedding gift. It's a little booklet filled with poems or quotes that reminded him of you, or of how you make him feel. And it will make you cry when he reads them to you.

Definitely not because he'll be ballsdeep inside of you while doing so...

♥︎

Simon, Simon, Simon.... first of all, he's completely blindsided by this. And he hasn't got a fucking clue what's in that black book you hand him one night when you're cuddling in bed.

There's just a giant question mark above his head. When you tell him it's a wedding gift, he goes silent and just looks at that album in his hands.

He never really got gifts, which obviously changed since he's been with you, but he's still not used to it. You're so thoughtful. And sweet. And kind, and perfect and-

he turns his head to you when you softly call his name and if you notice the slight sheen of tears in his big brown eyes, you don't mention it. You just encourage him to open the book. And when he does, a small huff and gentle smile leave him because how are you so perfect?

Yes, all of the pictures are all filthy, but they're all radiating of love and softness, and he can't get over it. How are you so soft? Simon can't get enough of you. You mess up his emotions in ways he never thought possible, and he can't help that his heart starts beating twice as fast.

That you did this for him means more than you could ever fathom, and he'll treasure this album until his end. He absent mindedly reaches for your hand as he flips through the pages, trying to tell you thank you when his words fail him, like they did so many times before with you.

He comes across a shot of your neck, a black leather collared fasten around it with a little silver skull charm. It makes him smile just a bit. He knows just how much meaning is behind it.

That you love him. All of him, which includes the Ghost. In cursive, 'Riley' is written right above your heart, and he gives your hand a squeeze.

Although you love the Ghost because it's a part of him, you've shown him that it's not all he is. That Simon is enough. That he should give Simon a chance and that he's not incapable anymore, like he was as a little boy. Ghost is sort of a protector of Simon, something not many people know, that's why he wears the mask outside of duty too. To shield himself.

But as much as the Ghost's service is appreciated, Simon can handle himself now. The Ghost will forever be with him, but so will you, and you'll wipe his bloody hands with a smile. You've shown him that you accept Ghost just as much as you accept Simon, and that means the world to him.

He sniffles ever so quietly, and you lean your head against his shoulder, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He moves on, gently turning the pages, and as much as his heart is touched by your kind gesture of this album, that doesn't stop his cock from stirring. It's pictures of your naked form, after all.

He loves every single inch of you and he's told you and shown you so many times, kissed all your insecurities away and took your mind off any bad thoughts about yourself by fucking you so well and lovingly to the point of tears.

Never, in a million years, had he expected you to return these efforts. You kissed all his scars and held him softly when reassuring any doubts he had. That's when he truly and fully fell in love with you.

He can feel himself getting hotter with every passing image of your soft body bent in different positions and clad in delicate garments, if any.

The best for last, as always, and it's a picture of you kneeling in front of a mirror, completely nude. A picture of Simon in full military regalia is tapped to the mirror and it's surrounded by a bunch of hearts drawn on with lipstick.

His name is written under the picture in your handwriting, and he can see you holding a lipstick, in the middle of finishing another heart. His breath hitches just for a split second.

He swears he'll burn this photo into the back of his eyelids.

It shows him just how great and raw your love for him is, and it makes him all fuzzy on the inside. The text at the bottom finishes it all off, and he's actively holding back tears, overwhelmed by so many feelings for you.

Dear Husband,

We're flawed; but that's how I like us. You're you, and I'm me, and I wouldn't change it for the world. You've made me a better version of myself, and that makes me love you so much more. I'm so proud of you, Simmy.

Love,

Your wife

"Thank you, my love. Thank you for this, and for loving me and for everything you've done for me. I love you"

His words are soft and painfully honest as he gently sets the album aside. You've made him a better man. A better Simon. A happier Simon. A Simon that's slowly starting to heal.

It starts off with a soft kiss that slowly turns more desperate and needy to the point you're gently being pushed back onto the bed, your clothes are discarded, and Simon absolutely worships you. He kisses every inch he can reach and touching you in all the ways he knows you like.

And, yeah, Simon can be rough and fuck you stupid for hours, but tonight, he just wants to feel close to you, and make you feel as good as you make him feel by simply loving him. He's talking you through it, holding you while he makes sure you take every inch of his cock.

His strokes are slow and deep, just like his love for you, and he revels in the way your eyes roll back each time he slides into you to the hilt. The drag of his dick against your walls has you moaning and whining, and when he presses down on your pudgy lower belly to intensify the sensation, you're putty.

You two fuck the whole night like this, no matter how sensitive you are, you need to be close to each other.

And in the morning, he'll wake you up with his face buried in your pussy because he's out of his sappy mood and his only goal now is to absolutely ruin you.

♡

Bonus: I can totally see Simon giving his dad the biggest middle finger known to man all the way in hell when he's standing by the altar on your wedding day. It just screams: 'fuck you, stupidly bastard. Despite all you've done to me and my family, despite all that's happened, I've persevered. I've overcome it all. Look at me now.'

Right after he's smiling up at the sky, knowing that his mum and brother are watching and that they would've loved you just as much as he does <3

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

I hope you enjoyed!! I love all my boys <3

(If you find any typos, it's 2.am. give me a break pls)

#bumblebeesfromvenus #captain john price #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #cod x reader #cod mw2

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jymwahuwu · 14 days

Text

-You play a stripping game with Aventurine! See how much you can win?

cw: yandere, dub-con, manipulative behavior, naive, drunk reader, reader has female reproductive system, creampie, getting stripped naked after playing games

"What? Did that customer really say that? This is so silly!" You held a wine glass with ice in one hand and giggled drunkenly. And Aventurine is sitting next to you now. He confirmed your question, causing you to snicker again. He adds the sweet golden liquid to your cup. "That's right - I always advised them not to… Who would have thought that that business would become so exaggerated?"

"Hmm, that's enough, that's enough…" You took another sip of wine, leaned on his table, turned your head, smiled, and looked at the outline of his face. It's been weeks since you talked to Aventurine like this, in his villa. But once you meet him, there is an endless stream of things to say, maybe this is the precious friendship.

"Anyway, how about playing a game when you have free time?" he suggested.

You got interested and asked him what his game was. Aventurine held up your palm and explained the rules to you several times. You nodded, but you didn't really understand. "Okay, okay, how many credits should we bet?"

"It's vulgar to talk about money all the time, my friend." He smiled and held up a finger. "How about taking off one piece of clothing after losing a round?"

"Take off… clothes?" You tilted your head… closed your eyes and shook your head. "ah?"

Aventurine said in surprise. "It's a popular game. Didn't you know?"

"I-Of course I know!!" You raised your voice, pretending you already knew everything. Thinking of the value of his outfit… "Hmph, I can take away your hundreds of thousands of outfits soon."

"1, 6, 2!"

"6, 6, 6!"

"It's time to take off your clothes." He raised his chin and reminded. You snorted, removing a jacket and throwing it on his couch.

"4, 5, 6!"

"6, 6, 6!"

"What?" You picked up the three dice, checked and struck them from different angles, but there was nothing strange about them. "Did you cheat? Why are the results always so incredible?" Aventurine chuckled and shrugged. "I told you before that I'm very lucky, don't you believe me?"

"Ah, okay…" You reluctantly stared at his exquisite attire, which he had never taken off, and then looked down at your own graphic t-shirt and shorts, which were pulled up so that the bra and the breasts wrapped inside were exposed to the air. Embarrassment tugs at your heart and you try to fight back. "Next round! I don't believe you can beat me!"

2, 1, 1.

6, 6, 6.

If question marks could pop up in reality, a thousand question marks would have popped up above your head. You stare at the results in disbelief. How could Aventurine be so lucky? You can't even take one of his watches or rings? And are you so defeated now that you have to take off either your bra or panties?

"I-I won't play anymore. Boring game!" You bluffed, asking to get your clothes back, but Aventurine raised his eyebrow. "Awwww, it seems there is a coward here…"

"Who are you calling a coward?"

"You didn't keep your bet."

You are not a coward! You took back the hand holding the clothes and tremblingly touched your underwear and bra. Which one should you take off? If you lose again, will you really be completely naked? How do you get home? In the midst of your thoughts and drunkenness, you settled on a bra, but then covered your bare breasts with your hands. "Humph, now is the beginning of my victory!"

Victory? Aventurine almost laughed out loud, holding back the ridicule rising in her throat, knowing that you might leave in a huff, and all the previous arrangements would be ineffective. You open a dice simulator from the Internet to avoid possible cheating from Aventurine.

5, 1, 3.

6, 6, 6.

…It’s really…BEYOND WEIRD. How on earth is this possible? Is Aventurine walking on some lucky path you don't know and being protected by the lucky Aeon? But anyway, now you have to take off your panties and keep your promise. Now you were completely naked, in his villa, in front of your friend.

"Hey! You... don't have to do this... " You watched as Aventurine put them all in a box and locked it up. These clothes…are no longer your property. "There's no way I'm going home naked!"

"Didn't someone just say they were going to take my clothes away? I thought you were serious?" He chuckled, pulled your arm, and guided you onto his lap. With your brain like a drunken fog and embarrassment, you knelt on the sofa in confusion, your legs spread apart, and the luxurious sofa sank. A gentle kiss. Bring some hot air. Like an electric shock. "Umm…"

"Too bad your clothes won't come back, but you can win a new set by…"

Aventurine's thumb rubbed against your hot cheek for half a minute before he reluctantly unbuttoned his pants and took out his long, swollen and erect cock, the glans teasing your slit. You whimpered, placing your hands on his chest, and the glans stretched your folds and the warm inside of your vagina. "I…"

This is really more incredible than these rounds of dice. You were bouncing on his cock, moaning and sobbing in ecstasy. His hand cupped your ass, occasionally slapping it in exchange for you squeezing his cock unconsciously, while rubbing your clit with his other hand.

As the cream spurts into your body, ecstatic bliss fills you. You tighten your limbs, your butt trembles, and you wrap your hands around his neck, gasping for air.

"You win. I'll give you a new set when you wake up, okay?"

#aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #honkai star rail x reader #hsr aventurine x reader #hsr x you #hsr x reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail aventurine #hsr aventurine #honkai star rail x you

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notafunkiller · 6 months

Text

out of style

Summary: A year after your divorce, you and Bucky come face to face at your closest friends' wedding. Emotions run high, leading to a fiery confrontation that takes a detour to Bucky's hotel room, where the old flame might just reignite.

Pairing: ex-husband!Bucky Barnes x female reader

Warnings: 18+, teasing, dirty talk, pet names, daddy kink, fingering, oral séx, no condom (but f is on birth control), language, a little alcohol, no mention of y/n

Word Count: 7.2K

Bucky Barnes masterlist

A/N: I really hope you'll enjoy it!

Please, do not repost or translate without my permission!

What an ass... He has no shame at all. And the worst part? You’re still somehow surprised by it. As if you haven’t known him for years.

You look away, making sure to take a sip from your wine before focusing on the conversation again. It’s Nat’s big day, and you’re so happy for her, but listening to this story for the seventh time is exhausting. Same reactions, too: “Wow, he’s so well trained.” or “The wedding bands didn’t fall even once. Enzo is fantastic.” He’s a trained dog, you don’t get why they’re so fucking impressed.

You give Nat a smile before you excuse yourself to go to the bar. Maybe you should get a cocktail, the wine tastes terrible. On the way, you notice Steve talking to Miss Sunshine in the right corner, and you just nod toward him politely, trying to look unbothered. It’s his best friend’s girlfriend after all. What did you expect? Plus, maybe it’s just a polite conversation.

“A Sex on the Beach, please,” you murmur to the bartender.

“Vodka so early?”

You turn your head with a sigh just to see a guy you recognize from Nat’s engagement party. A fresh haircut, a simple suit and wandering eyes.

“Is there a time limit for a cocktail?” you respond, rolling your eyes when you notice he is still fixated on your chest.

He immediately raises his hands in defense as he takes a seat next to you.

God, if you hate one thing about being single besides the lack of sex is this… needing to deal with those men. It was perfect when Bucky used to take care of them.

“I didn't mean it like that, sweetheart.” You scrunch your nose instantly. God no!

“Here you go!” The bartender places the glass gently in front of you, and you’ve never been more grateful to see her.

“Thank you!” You smile before taking a huge sip, hoping it will turn him off and make him get away.

“A vodka tonic for me.” His tone is commanding, and you try not to roll your eyes again as he leans in closer. “We’re matching.”

“Huh?” You choke.

“Vodka lovers.”

Alright, time to get out of here!

You quickly grab your glass and stand up, making sure to fix your dress just in case, but his eyes are already on your breasts again. For fuck’s sake! How is he Steve’s cousin?

And talking about Steve, you almost jump when you hear him saying your name.

“Hey.” You’ve never been happier to see him.

You can’t say the same thing about his friend, who’s right next to him, looking the creepy blondie up and down.

“Is everything alright?” Steve asks with obvious concern. “Do you feel okay?”

“Hey, man! The food is great and the company even better. Look at her, such an eye candy, am I right?” He chuckles at his own disgusting comment. “I mean, you’re married. Don’t answer that, I don’t want Romanoff on my back.” And after all of this, he has the audacity to wink at Steve. But before you can throw your cocktail over his shirt and make a scene, Bucky’s already getting in front of you, blocking your view with his huge back.

“If you want to keep your teeth, get the fuck out of here and never, ever get even within three feet of my wife. Am I fucking clear?”

His tone is so cold, harsh, and arrogant at the same time, but also so possessive. It surprises both: you and Steve, because he immediately looks at you confused before dropping his eyes on your hand.

He must be looking for a ring.

God, you never hated Bucky more than when you see blondie standing up and going straight outside just like that. It makes you even angrier because it’s always a man who has to explain the obvious signs to these assholes so they leave. You say no? You are playing hard to get. You are with a man? Then it’s all off-limits.

You sip your cocktail with frustration, the taste of vodka lingering on your tongue.

Then, you take a step toward Bucky, grabbing his arm and turning him so he can face you. “Listen and listen good, I’m not your wife and I don’t need you to play the macho hero! I can handle myself, so back off!” You wanted to leave after saying this, but the way he looks at you makes you change your mind. His eyes softened, showing a trace of your old Bucky, and it only pisses you off more. He labeled you just like that... “I divorced you for a reason, I’m not your property or responsibility. Stay out of my fucking business or I’ll show you exactly how well I can take care of myself!”

You hand him your half-full glass and storm out, seeing red. Or well, blue.

You anticipated that he’d come after you, of course you did. You know him, as much as you hate to admit. You still know him well. Too well.

And when you hear his sigh behind you, you don’t jump.

“You can handle yourself, but he was all over you. Sorry for being a gentleman.” He apologizes sarcastically. “I guess old habits die hard.”

“Too bad, Barnes! I am not your little wife. I am not your girlfriend. I am not even your friend.” You turn your head to look at him as he’s standing on the other side of the balcony. “And I am not that flavor of the month of yours, you have to kill these habits.”

He raises his head. “Flavor of the month?”

“Yeah, your plus one. You know, you should take care of her instead of trying to play hero and calling me your wife.”

“Keeping an eye on me? He smirks. “Thought you divorced me for a reason.”

Fuck him! He thinks he got you... “I did! You couldn’t open your mouth to say what bothers you, remember?”

“Well, I opened my mouth to do something else, far more exciting.”

You gasp, incredulous at his audacity.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You scream, walking toward him. “Seriously!”

“What is wrong with me? You tell me! You divorced me for a reason.”

“Don’t you have someone else to bother? Fuck off already, Bucky!”

“You got angrier with me now than back there with him. Unbelievable!” He shakes his head.

You take a deep breath, trying not to have a crisis. You are not gonna let him get to you. “Look, can you just pretend this didn’t happen?”

He instantly looks at you shocked as he leans in. “This as in,” he waves between you two. “Our marriage? You think I can pretend our marriage never happened?” His voice grew louder, his words punctuated by sharp, angry inflections. “You think just because we divorced, you get to ask me that? How can you...”

You’re taken completely aback by his whole attitude, and it’s like you’re back in time at your wedding as he made you sneak out so he can make you come on his tongue after saying all sorts of things.

You don’t know why you suddenly remembered that, but you need to snap out of it.

“I meant the whole interaction, you annoying man!”

“How was I supposed to know?” He looks much more relaxed now, though, and before you can think about it, you’re poking his chest.

“Why would I tell you to forget about our marriage, Bucky?” You smile. “You are more than free to think about me as you fuck your little flavor of the month. I am not gonna stop that.”

You see his eyebrows raise instantly as his gaze drops to your finger. “My little flavor of the month? How many times did you think about me fucking her?” His hand finds your wrist. “Did you wonder if I’m fucking her from behind as I choke her? Did you imagine me coming all over her tits? Did you-”

You grab his cheeks, just the way he likes it, to stop him.

“You think I have nothing better to think about? I have my own dicks that occupy my thoughts,” you lie through your teeth, and he knows it. God, he knows it as he chuckles right away.

“What’s so funny, Barnes?” You let go, expecting him to do the same, but he’s still holding your other wrist.

“You have no dick to think about. I know you broke up with your last flavor of the month, honey.”

He knows how much you hate being mocked with the word honey, but you bite the inside of your cheeks. “It’s funny really,” you fake giggle, looking up at him. “You assume I don’t have someone already. Maybe I’m just enjoying my life after our divorce... new dick every month since I am a free woman. I don’t even need something serious. You know how much I love sex.”

His smile immediately drops, his face reddening.

“You are absolutely infuriating!” Even his tone carries a sense of irritation.

“Aww, what happened?”

It’s his turn to grab your face, making you gasp. You don’t remember the last time he touched you, and you’re shivering.

“You’re playing a very dangerous game, and you know it!”

“I don’t play games, Bucky, that is your specialty.” You smile, trying to maintain your composure. “Now let me go and get back to your little girlfriend. You can be mad about how many dicks she thinks about.”

“You can’t do the whole non-attachment shit. I know you well, don’t forget that. You’re my...” He talks so fast you’re surprised he stopped. You know what he was gonna say, of course you know. The audacity!

“I am not your wife, Bucky. You literally have a woman with you here tonight. We divorced, we live in separate places, and we fuck different people.”

“Who are you fucking, huh?” He almost spits the last words. “Tell me! Nat said you’re single.”

“You’ve been asking Nat about my personal life?” And she is spilling to him? No way.

“Fuck...” he frowns, dropping his hand from your face. “No.”

“Steve!” You realize. “God, this is pathetic! Why do you keep tabs on me, huh? Can’t you just mind your own business? Is your life goal to piss me off?”

“I’m not the one calling Jessica the flavor of the month.”

“Ha!” You laugh in his face. “Well, you have no success in getting a girlfriend. And they all look pretty familiar.” You can’t hide the venom in your voice. “The differences are they’re just taller and with less in the chest department. Quite interesting, don’t you think?”

“So you’re keeping tabs on me too!”

“You flatter yourself. It’s quite obvious, look at Jessica. Does she know you were married to me? Does she beg you to fuck her mouth? Does she...” You take a deep breath. “Does she call you daddy, James? Does she ride you until you lose control and turn her on her back so you can pound her?” You don’t care anymore. Right or wrong, you’re gonna let it all out. “Do you praise her? Tell her how wet she is for you? How your cock is made for her? Do you... do you tell her you love her while she’s coming? Do you fucking call her your good girl?”

“Jesus-” You don’t let him continue his sentence, interrupting him.

“Does she take you like I did? Does she beg for you because she feels empty, James? Does she? Did any of them?”

“Stop. It.”

“Why? You didn’t stop!”

He sighs, reaching out to grab your cheeks gently. “No one does, are you happy? I don’t even fucking try. I don’t let anyone call me daddy, I don’t choke anyone and I definitely don’t fuck anyone like I fucked you. Are you happy? Seeing me miserable and pathetic? Are you enjoying it?”

You can’t deny the satisfaction and relief you feel when you hear that. Dating post-him was a very bad experience overall, so him not upgrading, indeed, in any way, makes you feel victorious. At least, you’re both suffering.

“Yeah, I actually enjoy that.”

“What about you?” He snaps. “Do you do all of that?”

“I don’t want to be called daddy, James.”

“You know exactly what I meant! You call those losers daddy? You choke around their cocks? Do you beg for their small dicks to go deeper and finish yourself off after it?”

“Like I begged for your small dick?” You ask annoyed, knowing how dumb this lie is, but what else can you say? No one compares to him and never will.

His response shocks you as he reaches down to the zipper of his worn jeans and pulls it down.

“What the fuck are you doing? Are you crazy?”

“Wanted to, you know… give you more mocking material in case you forgot how small it is.”

You have to think twice about what to say because the first thought was: I have enough videos, thanks. But you can’t. You can’t expose yourself like that.

“James, what the fuck are you doing? Are you trying to hurt me?”

“With my small dick?”

You look away for a few seconds, not wanting him to read you. “Why are you doing this? We divorced, you’re seeing someone, I’m good by myself... just let it go.”

He smiles at that, and you realize you indirectly told him you are indeed not fucking anyone.

“Why would I let go of my wife?”

You’re slapping his chest before you realize what you’re doing. “Stop this, Bucky! Just fucking stop.”

He’s hurting you, how can he not see that?

“You said you divorced me for a reason. You said...” he pauses. “You ordered me to leave you alone. Well, what if I don’t want to?”

“What are you, a fucking stalker?”

“No!” He almost screams. “I am fucking in love with you, you infuriating woman!”

“W-what?”

He can’t be joking about this, can he? He is not cruel. He is not vile. This isn’t a game.

“I’m in love with you. I love you. You own me... you fucking control me.”

“How?”

He laughs hysterically, running his hands through his hair before pulling. “I am fucking obsessed with you: how you are, if you’re doing well, if you miss me, if you’re fucking someone else, if your date went great, if you regret being with me, if someone else makes you smile wider. I dream about you, I am so miserable I couldn’t be with anyone. With Mia it lasted a month. I wasn’t... I wasn’t okay. I am not okay.”

You look at him, waiting for more. “Go on and zip your jeans, we’re in public.” You watch him quickly do what you demand before you continue. “And what about Jessica tonight? Or Alexa a month ago? Why are you lying to me?”

“It’s not real. Jessica... I was just trying to make you jealous, okay? I was sneaking looks all night, have you not noticed at all?”

You don’t smile, despite your huge instinct to. Instead, you cross your arms, watching him drop his gaze straight to your boobs.

“Why would I notice, James?”

“Well, how did you notice Jessica looking a little like you, that she’s with me here?”

Fair point...

“Just...” You’re suddenly gripped by this crazy urge to just fuck him right here. You even regret telling him to zip back up. You could have just lifted your dress as he lowered his briefs and took out his cock. And just like that, you could have just fucked against the wall or something. You would have let him rip off your panties too. You just need his cock so badly! “Shut the fuck up!” You snap, grabbing him by his neck so he can lean in enough for you to be able to kiss him. And oh, you kiss him!

You don’t have to fight to dominate the kiss, surprisingly, because he lets you. He lets you bite his lip and almost draw blood, he lets you unzip his pants again and push down his unfit-for-a-wedding jacket, and most importantly, he lets you be his again, as pathetic as that might sound. You feel him emotionally, not just physically.

Without wasting more time, you drop to your knees, making sure only your dress and shoes touch the floor directly. You drag down his pants and briefs at the same time from your position, and he looks at you surprised.

“I thought we’re in public and you were fucking some-” his words die as you bring your tongue to the head of his cock, tasting the precum, but not sucking even a little bit.

“Weren’t you saying something?” You tuck your hair strands behind your ears as you mock him. You love being on your knees for Bucky. He has this dominant energy, but he always makes you feel in power even when he fuck your mouth. And you enjoy it, you feed on it. One of the reasons you missed him so much. And he can take mocking. “Please go on. I am all ears.” You breathe out on his dick. “And tongue.”

“Oh god,” Bucky’s voice is a moan at this point, and you laugh. So easy...

“I’m your god now? Aww! Come on, do I have to do everything tonight?”

He looks down at you confused. His blue eyes are almost grey, and you know he’s on cloud nine already just because you’re there.

“What?”

“Oh, you need translation. Well,” it’s all you say before wrapping your lips around his dick and using both of your hands to push him as deep as he can go inside your mouth. He moans at the same time you gag, and his balls slap you in the face. He instinctively looks at you to ask if you’re okay, but you are more than okay. You are fucking alive. You encourage him to fuck your throat at this point by squeezing his ass cheeks and touching his balls.

“God, look at you! That pretty black dress…” He pulls out and back in not as forcefully as he can, but enough to make you start tearing up quickly. “On your knees for your man. That mouth!”

You find yourself moaning at the feel of his fingers grasping and tugging at your hair. Jesus, how you missed this...

“You have the sweetest mouth.” Does he even realize what he’s mumbling? “I could die right here. Right now,” he says and thrusts harder, which makes you close your eyes. You can barely see anything because of the tears, and he’s already close. “My pretty baby, my fucking girl.”

You’re getting wetter and wetter the more he talks, and it’s crazy. You’re cold and your jaw is hurting, yet you love this.

“Not caring if someone can catch us, just making sure you mark me again. God, I'm gonna come, baby. Gonna... should I p-pull-”

You don’t let him finish his sentence as you grab his ass to make sure you keep him there, in your throat, as he comes while moaning your name.

When he finishes, he immediately helps you stand up, before he kisses you desperately, his tongue immediately licking your bottom lip to get access. He lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist tightly. You moan in the middle of the kiss because his semi-hard cock is right where you need it, and it’s like torture...

“Need to taste you, okay, baby?” He asks with so much need in his voice. He sounds so whipped. “Need my pussy. Can I take you to my room?”

That is perfect, a dream at this point. But you need to make him a little more desperate.

“But the wedding… They would kill us.”

“I am sure you care sooooo much about this wedding and Nat’s stories. More than about getting my tongue on that pretty clit of yours and making you come all over my face.”

You can’t hold back your laughter.

“Fair point, Mr. Barnes. I deserve my orgasms, especially after listening to you pathetically trying to seduce me by admitting how desperate you are.”

“You dropped to your knees on this balcony just to mark my cock as yours.”

You pull his hair a little. “You said it yourself, it's already mine. Now get that ugly jacket and carry me.”

Bucky snorts, kissing your cheek. “You bought me that ugly jacket.”

“I know.”

You don’t know where you left your phone and even though you should feel panicked, you don’t. All you can focus on is Bucky taking off your dress and groaning at the sight of your cups. You couldn’t wear a full bra, so you improvised. They could barely hold your breasts, but no nipples showing? Win.

“Hurry up!”

“Jesus,” he moans and reaches for your cups. Desperate man... you roll your eyes, but let him uncover your breasts and grab them into his hands eagerly. He’s not just holding them, he looks and touches them as if he’s never seen boobs in his entire life, let alone yours.

“James...” You sigh, throwing your head back in pleasure when he finally gets your nipple into his mouth. Your hand finds his hair instantly, and you watch him suck happily while playing with your other nipple.

“You’re quite hungry,” you say with a smile, stroking his hair. You missed this so much. His need to always touch or sleep on your boobs, the way he grabs them while he’s pounding you... You shiver in anticipation when he switches to the other tit.

“Fucking shit, I missed them so much.”

You snort. “My boobs?”

“Mine.” He’s not sucking anymore, he’s eating them, shocking you.

“H-hold on a second, Bucky. They’re breasts, not my clit.”

“It’s been a year, love. Let me get my fill. I died without them. Died!”

As much as you wanted to think only about the part he missed your boobs, you can’t help the jealousy that clouds your mind. You were divorced, yet the image of him sucking someone else’s tits makes you want to hit a wall. Mia all over him... You pull his hair angrily. “You surely had other tits in your mouth, Bucky, for the past year. Don’t pretend this is any different.”

He immediately stops sucking. “You... you can’t believe this. Tell me you don’t believe this.”

You look away, too proud to face him. “What am I supposed to believe, huh? It’s been one fucking year.”

“I’ve been yours this whole year. I’ve been thinking about you, fucking my fist while watching... our videos, as fucked up as it might be. I tried to date, but I failed, and trust me, it has nothing to do with the size of my dick and my age. No one is you. No one smells like you or talks like you. No one is my brat with the god complex.”

“God complex?” You raise your eyebrow, keeping your face straight. “Fuck you.”

“I will fuck it out of you as I usually do, don’t worry.”

“Then why does it keep coming back?”

He chuckles. “Because you want to get fucked all the goddamn time.”

“Like you don’t!” You puff. “Come on, I breathe in your direction and you get hard, Bucky.”

“Did you see yourself? Did you have sex with yourself? You cannot judge me!” He grabs your breasts again. “There is no comparison, okay? You have no rival. Never did, never will.”

“That’s all?” You puff, amused. “My looks?”

“Do I even have to say… Your god complex exists for a fucking reason. You’re the smartest, most sarcastic, and feistiest person I’ll ever meet. One mocking comment, and you know how I get.”

“Pathetic?” You mock him on purpose just to get the reaction he is talking about. You love it when he compliments you.

“Is this why you divorced me? Cause I am a pathetic son of a bitch?”

You take a deep breath. “I divorced you because you refused to communicate properly with me anymore, and you know it.”

“So not because of my small dick, either,” he remarks, making you roll your eyes.

“No, your small dick is one of the reasons I am here.”

Bucky dramatically touches his heart. “So you’re using me for my sex skills!”

“As if you don’t beg me to use you. Come on, put that mouth to good use before Nat comes after us.”

He doesn’t disappoint as he finally rips your underwear off, just like you fantasized about, and you use this as the perfect opportunity to fish for more.

“What happened, Jamie? So eager. Aren’t you a little good-”

The word boy comes out as a moan when you feel his index finger curled up inside you suddenly.

“What happened, honey? Too big for you?”

“Dick!”

“You’ll get that. I just need to erase the memories of having little pencils in here. That must have been traumatic.”

“You’re such a jerk!” You snort, but he’s right. It was really bad.

Bucky shrugs, finally kneeling properly between your legs before lifting them on his shoulders. God, yes!

“Gonna give my pussy some loving.”

“D-didn’t know you have a pussy, James.”

He smiles against your inner thigh. “I certainly keep what I lick.”

“Eww, what the fuck.”

He snorts, kissing your slit. “I am joking, baby. Tried to imitate one of those dicks you thought you could replace me with.”

Petty fucking bitch! You grab him by his hair and push him closer to your pussy.

“Shut the fuck up and eat!”

His tongue feels like heaven, indeed, on your clit. You’ve lost count of how many times you remembered him eating you out so you can come this year. He's just so good at eating your pussy.

You let out a satisfied sigh when he adds a second finger. You start to feel like before… like you and Bucky are still married and with no problem. Like you're happy. He makes you so happy. Made.

So you stare at his hair and stroke it as he sucks on your clit, completely squashed between your thighs, and try to hold back your tears.

When he adds his third finger and starts tracing eight figures on your clit with his tongue before he flattens it, you know you’re about to come.

There is something about the way he always manages to make you vulnerable even if it’s not intentional, to cut you open and get in... and you don’t want it to be over. You can’t let him go again after tonight. You’d suffocate.

Your efforts to delay your orgasm and not tear up are futile because when he sucks a little harder, you come and start sobbing somehow. The orgasm is strong and even though you’d want to watch Bucky, you close your eyes, letting yourself go, and shut your mind down for a second. Everything feels so overwhelming. So amplified…

You’re grateful he doesn’t stop fucking you with his fingers, either, even though you felt him hesitating when he heard you crying. You really needed this.

As soon as you finish, you drop your legs, furiously trying to wipe your face. He knows the difference between crying because of a crazy orgasm and you being emotional. He instantly gets back on the bed next to you and pulls you into the tightest hug you’ve had in two years.

“God, I’m...” You don’t know how to continue this phrase. You should not feel sorry for crying and you’re not pathetic for it. “I m-missed you so much, Bucky. Why did you give up?”

You feel his warm breath on your forehead. “I never gave up, baby, I swear.”

“B-but you did. You didn’t even try for more than six months. When I told you...” You take a deep breath. “That I want a divorce, you didn’t even look at me. Once, Bucky! Not even once…” You show him your index finger. “You simply agreed. You gave up on us. I was waiting for you to say: no, let’s try. No, I’ll communicate. Your words...” You sob. “Your words would have been enough for me. You should know that.”

“Oh my god, baby, please, breathe!” He kisses your forehead over and over again. “I never gave up, I swear. I wanted to say no, I wanted to tell you all of that, but you asked me for divorce. It felt like you wanted out. You were tired of fighting... you were tired of me. And I didn’t want to tell you to stay just so you could either stay with me out of pity or reject me. I would have died... To look at you and beg, and to see you detached.”

You shake your head into the crook of his neck. He cannot...

“How would I be detached if I tried for six months? How would I get tired of you?”

“Exactly. You tried for six months. I thought you snapped out of it...”

“Out of what?” You whisper, scared to say it louder, but he hears you anyway.

“Out of love.”

You immediately lift your head to look at him. He’s crying, too. “Bucky...” You bring your fingers to his cheeks and start to caress them.

“I just couldn’t remember us like this. I couldn’t look into your eyes and see you staring at me like I’m a stranger.”

“Jesus Christ, when did we fail to communicate this much?”

He knows you don’t expect an actual answer, so instead of speaking, he holds you, and kisses you, and makes you giggle.

The more you move into his lap, the better you feel his erection pressing against your pussy. So close, yet so far.

He groans, placing his hands on your hips. “Careful.”

“Well, I don’t want you to be careful. I want you to fuck me raw right now.”

“Right now? He snorts, using his position to his advantage and moving. And just like that, you’re suddenly pressed with your back against the bed, and his mouth covers the valley between your breasts. That didn’t take a lot of convincing.

“Did you fuck anyone else without protection?” You ask unsure how to formulate it without it sounding a little weird. You’re not even sure you want to know the answer if it’s positive, but still.

“No. Only condoms and well... to be honest more my fist,” he chuckles, helping you get on your back again by bringing a pillow under your head. “I tested myself, of course.”

You nod, trying to hide your happiness. You selfishly wanted this: no one but you to feel him without any barrier.

“Good.”

“What about you?”

“No one for me, either.”

You would laugh at his proud face if you didn’t know he might use it to tease you later. You can use it too, though.

“Come on, baby, spread your legs for me. Daddy’s home.”

You laugh surprised, but you do what he says. You really missed having him between your legs.

Needy, you reach for his T-shirt, that for some reason is still on, and you tug it down, showing him you want it off.

He hesitates for a couple of seconds too long before grabbing his T-shirt by the neck.

“Come on, what did you do? Got a tattoo?”

You get your answer as soon as he’s finally naked.

“Oh, God!” You instantly lift your hand so you can grab his necklace. “What the fuck, James...”

“I told you I never gave up on us.”

“So you’re telling me you’ve been keeping it on since we divorced?”

He blushes, looking away. “Yeah.”

“Even when you were with other girls?”

Your heart is racing.

“Never took it off.”

You giggle, touching the surface of the ring over and over again.

“No wonder why nothing worked.”

“I had no intention to make it work.”

You say nothing, just looking into his eyes and letting him see how fucking much you love him, how he could never be a stranger, and you kiss him, wrapping your legs around his ass to show him what you need.

“I want you to pound me, okay? I want to feel you for days, do you hear me? I am so wet and ready. Please, just fuck me!”

You shiver a little when you feel the back of his hand brushing against your clit while he brings his cock to your entrance.

“Gonna make you mine again, alright? Gonna make you forget this year and everyone who,” He finally thrusts inside you. “Tried to get you.”

He’s thick. Really thick, and you can’t believe how you managed to survive without this stretched-out feeling for a whole fucking year.

“I hate you so much!’

He snorts. “I am pretty sure you love me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have my cock inside you after one year.”

“This is the problem!” You hiss when he pulls almost completely out. “One year, Bucky!”

“Aww!” He says a bit mockingly before thrusting all the way in again. Oh my God... you close your eyes. “Is this your bratty way of telling me you missed my small dick?”

“Bratty? You think this is bratty?” You ask him sarcastically before bringing a hand to his ass. “Harder!”

“Harder, huh?” He quickly unwraps your legs and turns you on your belly before you can react.

You gasp, shocked by how fast he is and hating the emptiness, but he ignores it, bringing a pillow under your pussy.

“Ass in the air, come on.”

You comply immediately, staring at his face from the side. He looks like he’s on a mission, with his hair already in all directions and the wedding band hanging around his neck.

The first thing you feel is his mouth on your ass cheek, licking on a spot before biting.

You hiss. “James!” It hurts, not more than a spanking, but you weren’t ready for that.

“Mine.”

You snort, wiggling your ass. “Yeah, yeah. Now gimme my cock.”

And he does. He so does, he’s not slowly entering you, no. He pushes in almost fully with only one thrust, making you bite into your pillow.

“You missed that, didn’t you? The way I fill you up is so good. The way...” He slaps your ass. “No one can make you feel so good. No one can fuck you like the desperate whore you are for my cock.”

You moan loudly into the pillow. You love being called a whore like this. Because he is right and he is obsessed with it, anyway. “B-Bucky...”

“Tell me whose cock you love? Tell me.”

He’s thrusting so fast at this point that you can barely even hear him.

“Bucky.”

“No, no, no. That is not what you call me like this.”

“James...”

He suddenly stops thrusting, and you whine, lifting your spinning head to look at him over your shoulder. No matter how much you try to tilt your hips to make him move, you fail.

“If you want to get fucked, baby, you gotta call me the right-”

“Daddy. Daddy, daddy. Happy now?”

He rolls his eyes, obviously not that happy with your tone.

You smirk.

“I see you need a lot of battiness fucked out of you.”

“Then why are you not fucking me, daddy?”

“Oh, goddamn it!” He’s not holding back now, moving like he used to. “Tell me, baby. Tell me you love me... that no one, fuck- no one is like me!”

His voice tinges with a hint of neediness... maybe even urge. His vulnerability takes you a little aback because it’s stronger than his mocking. He’s genuinely seeking for reassurance as he gazes at you with a mixture of desire, desperation and longing. He’s searching for validation in your eyes the way you were earlier, so you give it to him.

“You’re the only one for me, J-James. I love you forever. I never... I n-never stopped!” You can’t keep your head up a second longer as you drop it on your pillow, moaning.

“We’re getting married tomorrow.”

You half-snort, half-moan. “W-we can’t.”

“We can.” The sound of his balls slapping against your pussy almost covers the sound of his voice.

“We... we have to apply first.”

He spanks your ass again, and you scream, the sudden pain making you feel so good.

“So wet for me. They stood no chance. T-they don’t know how hard you want it.”

“Daddy, please... Please!” You’re a moaning mess. You just need a little harder. Just a little.

You’re not sure if you’re gonna have a voice after this. He’s pounding you so hard.

“My good, good girl.” He’s squeezing your hips, and the sound of your skin slapping is echoing. “God, gonna come for me? Jesus, wanna fill you up with my come too. Please, baby.”

You don’t know when or how he manages to do it, but he sneaks one of his hands under your body and pinches your nipple. You gasp, the wave of pleasure hitting you as he keeps fucking you. You feel your body weakening when he says your name over andl over again, but you don’t open your eyes for a while, letting him fuck you desperately while playing with your breast.

“Gonna- fuck, take my come, wife! Take me!”

He’s coming so much... surprisingly much even for him. You can feel him dripping down your thighs even when he slows down, then stops his movements before he falls on top of you as soon as he finishes.

“James...” You groan. “You’re heavy.”

He places a small kiss on your back, and you giggle.

“I love you.”

You melt, but he moves to the side before you can reach for his cheeks.

“I love you, too.” You kiss him. “So much that I let you drag me out of my best friend’s wedding reception.”

Bucky snorts, brushing his nose against your face. “Pretend all you want, I know you were bored as fuck.” You feel him slowly pulling out of you, and you whine. It’s a little uncomfortable. “Sorry, wifey.”

“I’m not your wife yet.”

“Yet, but you were and you will be again this week.” He takes your ring finger into his mouth.

“Bucky!”

“What? We need new rings.”

You try to pull out your finger. “No, we don’t. I have mine.”

“We need...”

“How about we use all that money for a vacation instead?”

“Neah, honeymoon is honeymoon.”

He finally lets your finger go. “We are not buying other wedding bands.”

“I am not debating a new engagement ring, though.”

You roll your eyes, but you know it’s the best deal you can get.

“Fine, a new engagement ring,” you agree while rolling ro his side and placing your head on his chest. “I don’t wanna move.”

“Don’t want to or can’t?”

You decide to surprise him by biting a spot right above his nipple. He groans while you simply laugh.

“You just can’t be subtle, can you?”

“If you’d wanted subtle you’d have gone for someone like Steve.”

“Eww, Bucky. I have your come dripping out of me and you bring up Steve?”

“You literally talked about Nat a sec ago.”

Then, as if a switch was flipped, your eyes widen. “Oh shit, my phone!”

“Where did you forget it?” Bucky asks casually, so used to gathering your things for you. You really missed that, too.

“Table. God... Do you think they know?”

“Know what?” He giggles, raising both of you until your backs touch the headboard. “That you dropped on your knees in the middle of the wedding to suck my cock? Or how I fucked you raw until you cried.” A sudden realization crosses his face. “You asked me to fuck you raw. Are you... still on the pills?”

You roll your eyes. “You think I’d let you fuck me like this for the first time we talked to each other properly since we divorced if there was a big chance to get pregnant?”

“I assume you are still on the pills, don’t be patronizing!” He kisses your nose, which he knows tickles you.

Ass...

“You are asking a dumb question instead of getting your ass downstairs to bring me my phone.”

“How is that dumb? I wanted to know if I should get you a pill or something.”

“So you don’t want babies with me!” You try not to laugh as you say it, biting your lip to keep your face serious.

“Why do you act as if I told you I don’t want a baby with you?” He chuckles when he sees you pouting. “We’re just getting back together and no way you’d want a baby now. But if I am wrong, let’s go for it. I can give you a baby, just get off the pills.”

“You don’t give me a baby, James. We have a baby together!”

He sighs, getting off the bed to get his clothes back on. “Obviously, but I am the one coming inside you. This is what I meant. I am all in. But we need some adapting time at least.”

You should stop this whole teasing-testing thing. You both have the same opinion after all. You might have a baby, and you know he’d be involved one hundred percent, but not now. Absolutely not.

“I know. Thanks for asking.”

“You’re such a tease.” He snorts, putting on his pants. “Before I go, do you want me to run you a bath or should I bring you a towel?”

“Do you plan on staying there?”

He turns his head to you instantly. “Yeah, sure. I am gonna eat some steak and brag about fucking my wife.”

“Alright, alright. Bring me a snack and we can take a bath together. Actually,” you think about it better. “I’m gonna clean up and wait for you.”

“You want me to fuck you again, don’t you?” He asks as he fixes his jacket.

“Why? Is this all you could give me?”

“Oh, fuck you!”

“Sure.” You spread your legs at the same time you grab your own breasts, making him groan. It’s so easy to get to him. And it’s hilarious.

“Jesus, you’re planning to kill me.”

“Not you acting as if it’s the first time this happened.”

“It is the first time in over a year, baby.”

You feel yourself softening again. “True. Now, please, please, please, don’t give them any details and bring me a snack.”

“What snack?”

“Anything, make me a plate, I don’t care.” He nods before reaching for the keys. “Oh, and Bucky? Tell your flavor of the month you don’t need her anymore.”

“I told you she is not-”

“And tell Nat I’ll make it up to her!” You interrupt him before he can finish his sentence. You don’t need him to defend a random girl’s honor.

“You’re so jealous.”

“Lock the door!”

You giggle satisfied when he closes the door and let yourself scream out of happiness while staring at the bite he left on your ring finger. Mrs. Barnes never got out of style.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #ex-husband!bucky barnes #divorced!bucky barnes #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fluf #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #my fanfics #my stories

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