#oc: remy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nexusnyx · 1 year

Note

For daddy Bucky<3

“Nobody will know if you’re quiet”

jade green daydream

dbf!bucky x f!reader ; [3.7k]

⚠️ minors dni, explicit content. | 🏷️ daddy, established relationship, secret encounter, laundry room sex, semi-public sex (they're at a party?), soft!dom!bucky, orgasm delayal.

Usually, Bucky was better at hiding how much he wanted you.

That's why you pulled this move tonight—using the jade green dress that Bucky had bought you had been bold. Daring. A little bratty, if you would. Not something his usual 'good girl' would do, but something that needed to happen.

Defying Bucky had been buried deep inside your mind since the second you first laid eyes on him, three years ago at your eighteen birthday party, and it had never left. Never diminished or dissipated, not even with him finally giving everything you wanted: the attention, the touches, the praise, the feelings, the rush.

Bucky had been yours for a whole year now, but the first six months of trying were a tentative, rocky road.

Now was when you were putting your claws out.

And the effect... it was beautiful.

At first, you think your shot's wasted.

When you first walked in, Bucky had only looked.

Fixed, frozen, under a spell.

Not a muscle moved in his body, but that, you were used to. Initially, you had mistaken it for hatred, even. A deep dislike, or perhaps indifference. The man your father introduced as "this is James, darling" looked stoic, serious, and every bit as business-like as any other one of his boring, old colleagues. As beautiful as a man could be—his beard had initials signs of the grey taking over him, and even in his slicked back hair the platinum strands shone under the party’s light, as a bold and clear statement that James sent: he had no shame in them.

Who the hell would have? He’s Adonis.

Adonis proved to be more than a lifeless, made-of-numbers guys.

There was no bark in him—Bucky kept things polite, classy, and elegant most of the time.

He never cursed. Always smiled in contained ways—his jokes were never crude, and your father loved him. “So good, that kid,” he said, multiple times over that first year. Bucky quickly made his way into your father’s small and annoying little circle of men that often showed up at the mansion for their gin or bourbon, pool games and Cuba cigars.

The first time his mask slipped, you knew it had been the alcohol.

Just like tonight.

Bucky kept it cool, at first.

He smiled in your direction, but soon was back at talking in his melodic and pleasing tone with your mother and a few of her work colleagues about the intricate but delicate state of modern art work creation in the rooms of Hollywood; entertaining enough for her circle of friends, and interesting enough for you to stick around.

It was her birthday. You couldn’t be mad at Bucky for giving her attention.

But damn it, you hoped for more.

The dress received looks when you walked in.

It reminded you of the feeling of putting it the first time in that Valentino store in Paris. The secret gateway weekend with Bucky where you were finally allowed to hold his hand somewhere, and where he let out his inner lion.

The image of Bucky with a champagne glass in hand in that enormous leather cream couch, with his legs spread wide open in the most douchebag pose you had ever seen—it suited him. It fucking clicked with his expensive suit and shoes, and that smug corner-of-the-lip smile that only you seemed to see, it burned behind your eyelids.

Dreams ever since you came back from that fortnight in a parisian dream molded themselves around the crinkle in his eyes, and were often painted in hues of light, sapphire, and royal blue.

If those all complimented his eyes and the way they glowed like starlight when looking at you… well. That was between you and the four walls of your bedroom.

“Darling,” your mother called your attention.

Right.

Clearing your throat, you nodded, and ripped your eyes away from his black suit. “I’m sorry—I’m trying to remember all the good movies he wrote, but I’m coming up empty,” you joke.

The circle around you laughs, and your mother rolled her eyes fondly. “I don’t know why I ask an Art graduate and expert her opinion. Honestly—it’s impossible to please you.”

“You know what they say about apples and trees,” you sing song.

With a kiss to your temple, your mother laughed some more, and then launched on back on her opinionated rant of the director you had barely heard the name, and that’s when you first saw—

the first slip.

Bucky wasn’t looking at your face.

Instead, his eyes were glued to your exposed thigh. The slit of the dress was high, very high, and according to him on the store, one of the main reasons why he loved the design on you so much.

His love for your whole body had been noted, written, painted, and marked by him. With his lips, his fingers on piano keys, his hands tracing all over your naked body while he sat almost fully clothed inside his art studio.

Of course it would be the leg.

Feeling boldened by his eyes on you, the leg does it on its own—a slight and gentle tilt upwards, and his eyes snap in your direction.

His gaze holds yours for just one second, and you can feel the heat taking over you.

That’s when the game starts.

Forbidden, as much as it can be, but a dance that you two have grown great at: the subtle art of threading silk-thin lines connecting you two until an entire conversation existed without a word being said. Looks that went on all night, revoking each other’s attentions from conversations all the other way from across a room, until the first one has lost all focus, all notion of where the conversation went, lost.

He did it better than you.

Bucky could keep his composure for longer, which is why you had brought in the big guns.

You wanted to see him lost in desire, if only for once.

Wanted to see him blushing, in the same way you were left many times just by the sheer presence of him standing behind you.

Only when you see him swallowing thickly the bourbon in his hands is that you note that the dress is working.

Not once before was Bucky so… adamant, about looking at you.

But there he is—with his eyes fixed on you from across the pool.

Staring at you from inside the kitchen while you speak with friends outside.

Finding a way to always be in your line of sight, somehow—or better yet, a way for you to be in his.

It takes a little over an hour before he disappears, and ten minutes more after that for you to finish your way in the conversation you are to go and look for him.

With the party in full swing, it’s easy for you to lose other people, but with the size of your goddamn house, you’re roaming aimlessly for a while.

He must sense it, because a message arrives.

Him 🖤 Your favorite hiding spot, missy…

Laundry room.

You try to keep composure as you walk there, but it’s hard.

It’s been a while, and you’re still wondering, day after day, how is it that Bucky has this type of control over you. Whether it’s normal to be this attracted to another person; a pull that seems to have its own magnetic field. Its own North.

Between you and Bucky there is gravity—unique, intense, and solid. It has its own life. It pulls and calls to you. Just like always, you find him almost as if on instinct; this would be the next place you were going to after checking the cellar.

When you open the door, he’s standing right there.

Hands in his blazer pocket. The bourbon glass empty, placed right next to him.

Bucky looks up when you open the door, and smile.

Storms could start breaking the skies at this moment, and you would hear nothing. The room is filled in one second; it goes from empty to a box of pure electricity in the span of a second, and both of you are to blame.

What seconds ago smelled like fabric softener of the best kind — something aprhodisiac, sweet, and yet comforting — starts smelling like lust.

Bucky’s eyes finish drinking you in, and then chuckles. “What?” His voice is low, as always. “I don’t bite, duchess.” A lie.

His right hand exists the pocket, and his fingers make a ‘come hither’ motion.

North, meet South. Like gravity happens when an object is dropping mid-air, his fingers create the invisible thread, and your body waltzes inside. The door is closed with the heel of your shoe, and the sound of the door clicking is comforting.

In a few steps, you’re standing right in front of him, and the first thing you do is breathe.

A deep, steadying breath. His eyes are on the cleavage of your dress when his arms wrap around your waist. “God, this was the best thing I’ve ever purchased,” he whispers, pulling you closer to him.

Your hands come up to his chest, soothing the silky smooth fabric. “Was it?”

“A hundred per cent.”

That’s a bold statement. You giggle, rising your body slowly to get your face closer to his. “You’re a multi-millionaire investor who owns property from California, to Tokyo, to Dubai… and this is your peak?” The smell of his aftershave is intoxicating. How the fuck can that be? One deep inhale and you’re no longer here; you’re in Bucky Land, where everything about his existence is amplified and everything else is background noise.

His hands are spread wide on your lower back, massaging in a gracious touch wherever they go. “Affirmative.” Sometimes, Bucky’s old military comes out to play. Without a fail, you shiver every time. “Look at this,” he whispers back, hand continuing on its infinite mission.

“My hands have a mission, Duchess.”

“Do they?”

“They do.”

“And what would that be, hm?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Hmmm… not really.”

“This… right here.”

“Touching me?”

“Precisely.”

“Oh…”

“Touching all of you. For as long as you let me. In every possible way that can make you smile. In every way that can bring you pleasure.”

Pointing out that looking at yourself right now is the last thing you want would be rude, so instead, you nuzzle against his neck, pleased with the attention you’re finally receiving. His hands caress your ass without groping, touch on the side of your waist, and he seems to be as lost on your body as you are on his cologne.

“I thought we had a deal,” Bucky’s tone was so even.

You, on the other hand, could already feel the effects of his presence. “What deal?”

His next hum preceded the condescending tone of his, “Playing the act of dumb kitty, are you?”

You giggled. “I didn’t do anything to break our deal.” No more sex at your parents’ house, Duchess. This… this is the last time. Deal? “I behaved. All night long.”

“I’d spank you if I didn’t know how loud you get.”

That alone pulled out a whimper. Made your inner thighs clench together.

“See?” Bucky chuckled, sounding already so evil. “You’re already running hotter than a Californian summer afternoon. How can you have been behaving?”

“I didn’t—” his hand on your dress slides to the exposed thigh, and when they make contact with the skin, your breath hitches. “I didn’t do anything,” you insist, albeit a little more breathless.

Against your will, your body’s already pushing closer to his.

Bucky plays along. He caresses your inner thigh, and his eyes close when he feels your breathing spiking. When he asks you next, his voice is an octave lower. “This dress isn’t you doing something?” The question is rhetorical. When his fingers are tracing lines that lead to your inner thigh, anything is rhetorical because all you can think about is what you feel—him. He pushes on, “‘Cause I could swear it was you doing something, very clearly,” and then he grips. His whole hand squeezes around your thigh, making you clench once more.

If there was a game — there was —, then Bucky wins. (He always did.) If there was a game, this is the point where you forget if there are rules or not, because his hand that was on your lower back climbs through your back until it lands on your nape, and the firm grip it puts in there grounds you to Earth again. You’re thankful for him, even if your mouth feels like cotton candy. “You bought it for me,” is your weak excuse.

His laugh in your ear means he buys it, to some degree. “I did.” Finally, finally, he seems to get enough of looking. Bucky’s head dips lower until his lips are hovering over yours. “But you also remember what I did that night.”

Another whimper, and much louder this time.

“Put on the dress, Duchess. Only the dress. I’m gonna fuck you with it still on, just like you wanted me to do at that store, right on that balcony. For the entire city to hear. And they’ll hear you, right? They’ll hear how fucking good Daddy makes you feel.”

“I guess you do remember,” Bucky smiles.

“It wasn’t that long ago.”

His hand in your thigh pinches you skin, making you whine, and his smile turns wicked. Turns into a Chesire cat grin. “She’s so smart tonight.” Bucky leans until only a breath separates you two. “Smart mouth.” His hand dips lower, higher, and your legs spread apart almost as if on command. “Smartypants…” they go searching.

They find the panties, but Bucky knows his way around them with eyes closed and hands tied behind his back at this point.

When he pushes them to the side, you all but melt against his weight.

It’s a testament to how much you two have done this, to all the positions and situations that he’s placed you in that your body knows that he’ll catch you without even asking. Your eyes close when his fingers make a slow path between your folds.

They find what they always do—a river, a waterfall, the sticky sweet fact that he’s been affecting you all night long.

He groans, and at last closes the space between your lips.

It’s in his mouth you muffle the obscene sounds you want to let out. Bucky’s middle and ring finger are spreading the lips of your pussy apart to spread your slick on your clit, and his kiss has the languid and expert patience of someone who knows the precise way to melt you with his mouth. He pushes and pull until you two are in the same rhythm, and then sucks on them until your mouth opens up for him.

Your arms cling around his neck.

Kissing Bucky while he makes slow work of your clitoris is the best kind of torture. He’s patient, his hands have enough skilled dexterity for him to make a pool of wetness between your legs before slowly pushing his fingers in while the other massages the neck that holds you pinned to him, and if it weren’t for his weight pressed on one of the washing machines behind him, you’d be on the ground.

So slow. He moves like a jaguar that has spot its prey and is only making its way to it—eyes fixed, fingers buried in deep, mouth swallowing down all the noises. When air is needed and both of you pull back for it, Bucky’s pink lips are connected to yours by a string of saliva, and he’s massaging the spot he’s already found inside of you.

Each groan next becomes a silent scream.

He seems to hear them either way. “God, duchess…”

“Buck—”

“Shhhh.”

Bastard. “Too good—Buck—fuck—”

“I know, I know. Shhhh.” He laughs again, pushing his fingers deeper this time. “I know just how you like it, hm?”

“Yes.”

“Good. But you gotta remember… there are still people outside.” Your whine means that reminder is the last fucking thing you need. “Don’t worry… Nobody will know if you’re quiet.”

Does that mean he’ll let you cum? God, you hope yes. Bucky’s pressing your spot repeatedly, and your legs already feel weaker. You never have any clue how his hands never hurt from doing this, but Bucky will sometimes make you cum two times just like this before fucking you at last, and if you had never seen him work out, you’d be scared for his wrists.

Being quiet is a task.

But the edge is so close, and everything feels so good, that you ignore everything.

“Fuck,” you can feel a single drop of sweat forming underneath his palm at the back of your neck. The air around you two is hotter as well, and you can feel the snap of your orgasm approaching with each deep thrust of his fingers. “Daddy…”

As if you had said the magical word, Bucky does the last thing you’d expect.

He pulls his hand out, leaving you feeling empty and burning.

Your gasp of shock makes your eyes snap open, and there he is, sucking his slicked fingers into his mouth, and closing his eyes in pleasure.

What the—”Bucky.”

“That’s for wearing this without giving me any warning.” The statement comes out sharp, but not unkind. Fuck. Punishments are so rare that you almost forgot they’re a thing, and your next whine sounds like a choked sob. “Don’t gimme those sad eyes.” Bucky leans closer to your face. “Do you know what you did to me?”

You shake your head. “No.”

“I almost got hard, right there in the middle of the party. You put highlighter on your collarbones, Duchess. You’re wearing my favorite perfume on you, and god…” he holds you by your arms to pull you back so he can look at you again, from head to toe.

You imagine what a sight you must be.

The things he’s seeing right now.

Your hair must be frizzly—static, and everywhere. Your cheeks are on fire, for certain. As red as your chest, and as warm as the inside of your legs.

Bucky’s eyes are almost all black, no blue.

“Do you know what I left to do?” he asks.

You shake your head, trying both to answer you and clear your mind to ask him for something, for please, some mercy. For him to do anything; take whatever he needs, but just give you one bit of release, when he puts his hands in his pocket again and—

a condom.

Bucky left the party to go to his car, and retrieve a condom.

Your eyes widen, and he laughs at you.

“Yeah.” He sounds as in disbelief as he looks. “Even though this is the last thing you deserve—fuck, I should edge you ten more times before doing this, but you win. Okay? Tonight, you fuckin’ win.” Bucky rips the packet open with his teeth, and that’s when you look down.

When you notice that all this time when you leaned against his torso and rubbed yourself back on his hand, shamelessly searching for your own pleasure, Bucky had been rock hard. The tent in his pants made you almost lose every inch of composure you had—you almost drop to your knees right there and then, but you know he has other plans.

Instead, you turn around, and lean forward against the nearest surface.

You hear him curse in the back. Hear him take off his blazer, and with a side glance, see him place it next to the glass. You observe him roll up his sleeves, and for a second, your gazes meet. Bucky smiles at you, and you try your best not to wiggle your ass. When you hear the sound of his zipper, and the sound of Bucky putting on the rubber before his broad frame is clouding behind you again, you sigh, content.

It’s a hasty dream after that.

An usual song for you. The way Bucky slicks himself up with you is your bourbon, and your pussy all but sucks him in. He bottoms out with a soft grunt, and his levarage is gained by taking hold of all of your hair in one hand.

He leans in closer until his face is on the crook of your neck, and it’s with lips pressed on your earlobe that he asks, “Slow or fast, Duchess?”

You’re so close. “Fast. And deep.” You’re already half gone. “Please.”

He never fails at delivering.

This time, Bucky doesn’t stop.

When he starts, it takes only a minute for Bucky to gain momentum. He takes his time at first, angling his hips in a slightly different position at each thrusts until he finds the one that makes you clasp your hands around his with nails and all—that’s when he puts a hand over your mouth, pulls you like that until you’re half-facing him, and starts a fast, deep, and brutal pace.

He fucks you until you’re both closing your eyes at the feeling, drunk in lust and the nasty, wet sounds filling the room. Bucky snaps his hips until your eyes are rolling at the back of your head; the rhythm is everything you needed, craved for all night long.

It was your goal when you put on the dress.

The dream you had when you first saw it on a window in an unknown street.

Bucky fucks you until you’re shaking, spasming and cumming all over his dick. That’s when he finally grunts and lets it go; when he buries his face in your neck and whispers your name, his hips finally slowing down inside of you.

It takes a while before either one of you is back to reality.

He speaks up first.

“I should buy you more stuff.”

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solar-wing · 2 months

Text

[yandere] popular jock alpha 🏈 x overachiever omega 🎓

hunter ramirez x remy griffin

heeeeyyyy :)

if anyone remembers, I posted a poll a while back about what yandere scenario I should post first and it was a tie between jock and streamer. so here's the jock one now!

these are original characters and not associated with any fandom content I've posted before. thus, it is not x reader, BUT when I get more posts out, I will accept requests for those who want to create their own little scenario ;).

MAJOR SHOUTOUT to @darling--core and her yandere jock character who was pretty much the entire inspiration for me wanting to create yandere content. literally messaged her and was like 'gurl can I use this as inspiration?' and she said yes so I'm very happy to share this with everyone now.

⚣ T.W. 🏈🎓 → yandere | MINORS DNI 18+ only | possessive & controlling behavior | a/b/o dynamics |

⚣ Words 🏈🎓 → 1.4k

REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY 🏈🎓

Senior year is always the start of some bullshit.

Remy Griffin, upcoming class valedictorian, student council president, and recipient of various titles and awards is skilled at many things. Elected president of the Math Leagues for the last three consecutive years, he’s led his school to the national mathematics competition every year, never leaving with anything below 1st place.

He single-handedly rallied his school together for multiple protests, whether against unfair school rules or in support of a global cause.

He won his seat on the student council during his junior year, initially as the vice president, coming in 2nd behind Hoeniffer—*ahem*— Jennifer Farrow who was gunning for the presidential seat against him. He suspected the ho—girl of cheating and after thorough investigation and use of his charming Omega nature, he discovered it to be the truth. As a result, Hoeniffer was kicked from the student council, and Remy was elected to his rightful seat as President, with his close friend Dustin Bellerose taking his place as V.P.

There was nothing Remy couldn’t solve or achieve.

So why the hell couldn’t he manage to rid himself of the school’s most popular, yet insufferable Alpha, Hunter Ramirez?

Hunter held similar achievements to Remy, only his were mainly athletic. Captain to the football, basketball, and baseball teams since sophomore year. He’s led the school to numerous championships and has had college scouts from all over the country coming to see him play.

Yet, none of those things seem more important to him than obsessing and chasing after the school’s resident overachiever.

Hunter and Remy have gone to the same school since 1st grade, and as far as the Omega could remember, Hunter never showed him attention like this. Minus some instances where he noted the Alpha’s questionable behaviors, he never gave Remy reason to think he was an obsessive and controlling freak.

But he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed signs of Hunter’s growing obsession with him as far back as freshman year.

It was relatively small stuff.

When the school year started and everyone was given their class schedules, that first week, Hunter would be in maybe two or one of his classes. Their sophomore year, he wasn’t in any of his classes. But every year, Hunter somehow ends up in most of his classes.

He even somehow managed to get into his A.P. classes, which confused the hell out of Remy because Hunter barely passed his regular classes to his knowledge, but it goes to show you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.

Either way, whatever classes Hunter ended up in with him, he’d act like it was a crime for anyone to try and talk to the Omega besides him. And there was never any possibility of Remy getting one of their other classmates as a partner for a project.

If the teacher left it to the class to choose their partners, Remy would try and get someone else to be his partner, but Hunter would come strolling overall calm and quiet and give the guy or girl one look, and they’d be scurrying out of their seats like mice.

But if the teacher took it upon themselves to assign partners and gave Remy someone other than Hunter, it wasn’t long before he’d use the split personality that was reserved for adults and teachers alike to charm his way into getting what he wanted. Therefore, by the end of the period, Remy would have the Alpha as his partner, even if he tried to beg the teacher himself to let him keep his old partner.

That was just the beginning of Hunter’s seemingly back-then possessive attitude toward the Omega. But, little did he know of the other things that would follow.

Like members from the different athletic teams who Remy knew for a fact were either friends or associates of Hunter to a degree watching him in the halls, during study period, or in one of the few classes that the Alpha wasn’t in with him. It was like he could never be alone.

If Remy raised his hand to go to the bathroom or just disappeared somewhere, one of those jocks would suddenly be texting on their phone, then, two minutes later, Hunter would appear at wherever Remy was going with a smile that the Omega over time came to realize was only reserved for him.

Everyone else got his stagnant and bored face, which could be extremely intimidating since Hunter was very fit, very large, and generally just gave off silent but dangerous vibes. The adults and teachers would get his charming, pearly white smile, and that was only if the Alpha wanted something from them, like, say for example, Remy’s school file with his personal information like his address and phone number since the Omega wouldn’t give it to him initially.

In their eyes, Hunter was a good and noble student who was just looking out for his friend. And, even though school rules and the literal fucking law technically prevented this, Hunter did say Remy sent him there on his behalf. How could they not trust that innocent and charming smile of his?

Remy was still trying to figure out how Hunter got his number during junior year since he never gave it to him despite the Alpha’s numerous and persistent (almost considered forceful) attempts at getting it out of him. Hunter might have been an Alpha, but Remy was a stubborn little devil who never knew when to throw the towel in and would rather chew glass than even consider the thought.

Maybe that was why Remy seemingly couldn’t keep a boyfriend throughout his late middle school and high school years. Yeah, you heard right. Overachiever Remy Griffin whose schedule most government officials and CEOs couldn’t compete with also made time for romance and love. He was young. He liked attention. And most of all, he was horny. Sue him.

But, up until senior year, the Omega couldn’t name one relationship he had that lasted more than a month and where he didn’t get ghosted out of nowhere. It was almost like they were scared of him too.

Whenever he would try to talk to them and figure out what went wrong, they’d take one look at him, glance around the room or hall and catch eyes with something and then hightail it off like someone lit a fire under their asses. And when Remy would glance in the direction they were looking before they took off, guess who’d he find giving him that smug little smile just a few feet away?

Hunter fucking Ramriez.

Remy almost bashed himself in the head for not recognizing the signs of the Alpha’s obsessive behavior toward him earlier, and most of all, not doing something about it.

Now, it was senior year, and Hunter seemingly upped his game tenfold. He was practically acting like the Omega’s boyfriend, husband, bodyguard, and controller all wrapped up in one deliciously tight, hot, and muscled package.

Ironic as well when you consider the fact that the Alpha and Omega won ‘Cutest Couple’ in their class yearbook every year since freshman year despite Remy never remembering once even signing his name down on that blasted category. He always went for ‘Most Likely to become President’ and ‘Most Likely to be your Future Boss,' and yet somehow, his and Hunter’s name ended up in that section of the yearbook every year since they got their first ones in the 9th grade.

But, thinking about it now, it wasn’t that surprising, knowing Hunter’s influence in the school and the fact that he probably convinced bribed/blackmailed someone on the yearbook committee to put their names in. Another blatant sign Remy so ignorantly ignored.

And despite the Omega’s still strong feelings of aversion and disdain toward the Alpha, he couldn’t figure out if the jock was slowly starting to grow on him or if he just liked the attention.

Either way, Remy Griffin knew one thing. He couldn’t fucking stand Hunter Ramirez, and hell would have ice water and top-notch air conditioning before he let that smug and controlling Alpha think he’d just fall over and do whatever he said.

Remy was no punk, and he’d soon find out neither was Hunter.

“Me & Hunter? Sorry, I have to go home and laugh at that idea.” “You could pretend to like him.” “I could, but there’s a reason I never joined drama club.”

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